1 + 1 = A Window

I watched a woman at lunch today ask a 10 year old boy whether 2 50 cent pieces make a dollar. She was serious as well. She wasn't testing him. Fuck me.

It's A New Dawn, It's a New Day, and I'm Kinda Feeling Fine?

'You enter the forest at the darkest point, where there is no path.
Where there is a path, it is someone else's path.
You are not on your own path.
If you follow someone else's way, you are not going to realize your potential.'

And thus spoke Joseph Campbell.

Enough of the quoting you fuckers say to me? Nup, Joseph Campbell is not relaying to me how to dissect the wounds. I'm past that now. The wound no longer needs dissecting. At this stage, the wound will remain. What is now required is moving to the right. To the right of the picture. The rest of the picture remains to the left. It still remains, we just won't keep going back there, even though the picture was quite stunning. Maybe later, we'll go back there. Time to enter that forest. I wish there was someone to light the way though, but, then again, maybe it would make life too easy.

Why The Title Changes

"Lush" (aka Sergei) emailed me today and proclaimed that I should die should I use the term "philosopher" to describe his sexiness. With this threat on my life, I immediately adjusted the title of the previous blog from "Dueling Philosophers" to proclaiming the 2 combatants. It could hardly be "The Philosopher Vs Lush", seeing as it makes no sense that a philosopher should go into battle against "Lush" who is a word whore assassin at best. So, I summoned the god of monikers and asked what title beholds the man behind the quoting of the conclusion of  "Mill On The Floss", and he replied, "A moniker for who?, Peter of The Clan Of Byrne? That Frazzled Haired Sexual White Chocolate?". Hence, the new title.

Dueling Shitshooters, Sophists. Frazzled Hair Vs Lush

Would it be better if we were to philosophize on life before it turns to shit? Or, are we better off philosophizing when it does in order to give ourselves comfort of speculation. I guess I vote for the latter. If we didn't try and rationalize the behaviour of the people we care about, then we don't actually care about them. Anyway, 2 dueling blokes, one described as "Frazzled Hair" and the other self-monikered "Lush", both with brains the size of a planet are attempting to draw from writings in order to understand the power of loss and how to bounce back from it or even understand it.


I quote Peter of the Byrne Clan and of COPS fame:


Looking at that latest post (Sept 17), I'm guessing that I know the Sergei in
question.  Pfft, quoting Koichi, what a poseur!  It won't have much
cred with the cool kids, but it reminded me of the conclusion to The
Mill on the Floss (19th century English novels can't compete with
Samurai for cool):

" Nature repairs her ravages,–repairs them with her sunshine, and with
human labor. The desolation wrought by that flood had left little
visible trace on the face of the earth, five years after. The fifth
autumn was rich in golden cornstacks, rising in thick clusters among
the distant hedgerows; the wharves and warehouses on the Floss were
busy again, with echoes of eager voices, with hopeful lading and
unlading.  And every man and woman mentioned in this history was still
living, except those whose end we know.

Nature repairs her ravages, but not all. The uptorn trees are not
rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred; if there is a new
growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills
underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending. To
the eyes that have dwelt on the past, there is no thorough repair."




Maybe I'll shave the 5 strands of hairs on my tummy, regrow new ones and maybe restart.

On The Subject Of Time Healing All Wounds

An adamant anti-blogging friend of mine sent me a tirade of thoughts about my current open wounds and in it he included the quote, and I quote Sergei

"I'm put in mind of a part of the narration from Chris Marker excellent film 'Sans Soleil' (wonder if you've seen it?), which is attributed to Samura Koichi, and which Google (TM) - thanks, The Internet (TM)! - renders thus:

'Who said that time heals all wounds? It would be better to say that time heals everything except wounds. With time, the hurt of separation loses its real limits. With time, the desired body will soon disappear, and if the desiring body has already ceased to exist for the other, then what remains is a wound ... disembodied.'"

Sums it up pretty much. We kid ourselves if we think distraction is the key to forgetting. It's true that at times it helps, but if you love someone truly, then no matter what it is you do, you will think about them.

Writing... writing... and maybe a little more writing...

So... having suffered severe trauma to the heart recently I've been spending a lot of time writing.. the time proven cathartic release. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that maybe writing will be the only option for now. I'm tempted to throw away all means of contact and become only contactable by letter. I love the old letter. It allows us to paint images and thoughts giving us the power to be more articulate and romantic with our reflections. As with speed readers and skimming over information, things can get lost when we speak, which is not to say I'm going to stop talking. It just means that when there's a point to be made, I'm going to put the fucker down on paper or nerdmachine so understanding can be consumed over and over again. I'm done writing about pain. The question is, what the fuck do I write about now?