Why can't you all stay. Life is so short that I get claustrophobic.
One night I sit in a friend's kitchen and on the halfway of the wine bottle she tells me about panic attacks in which one feels as close to death as possible, still being alive. "The worst one can go through, and that a hundred times." She spills wine on her dress and as I do the dishes I think about how much I love her and her tiny apartment, the painted walls and the photograph beside the bed. I love the fact that there is someone with whom I can talk about death.
These years have made me live. I've learned to relax. I've learned to reveal some of myself. I've learned to express my endless excitement by running and shouting and waving my hands. And still I'm afraid that I will never in my life find a way to express my inner love for living, the strange fear and will for adventure. I'm disappointed with myself, because what used to make me live nowadays makes me dull and I have a terrible need for a congenial company, mad experiences and the bizarre and exciting feeling of being one with the world.
I get out of this head by filling my thoughts with people and often that seems to be the only way out. She said, "sometimes it breaks my heart and sometimes it’s killing me", and I could say the same about so many things.
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And I wonder whether the person sitting next to me ever thinks about the same things as I do
Perspective.
Electrically charged elementary particles form electrically neutral objects. If one looked close up they would look like an endless desert consisting of numerous units linked to each other by an electric interaction. One could live a whole life observing the features of each one of them, write an encyclopedia of five parts. Then finally, in the end one would raise one's look satisfied to see endless similar shapes repetitively surrounding one, strecting to eternity. And understand the insignificance of such a complicated object. A drop in a galactic sea, an atom in the empty space between groups of galaxies.
We live 30 000 short lives. Each one can not be good, but every single one seems to have a purpose. I spend a day sitting in an old house, surrounded by echoes, staring in front of me and calculating simplified simulations of The Real World, because I will need that skill in the future. I feel joy of success, I feel pride; because of a single cup of warm, soft coffee I feel endless pleasure. When sitting late in the night in a tram travelling through darkness I am able to enjoy the soft lights, the content look on a man's face and the familiar melody I've been longing for the whole day.
Is an outcome the sum of its individual parts? When from close up one sees the variations of electric charge and from a distance the galaxy groups spinning around dark matter, what ever could be the right perspective? Is a day equally valuable to a year, a decade, a lifetime? What is the sum of the parts?
Does a happy life consist of a daily cup of warm coffee and an absent-minded touch on the arm, is twenty-four hours the right scale for a human?
Electrically charged elementary particles form electrically neutral objects. If one looked close up they would look like an endless desert consisting of numerous units linked to each other by an electric interaction. One could live a whole life observing the features of each one of them, write an encyclopedia of five parts. Then finally, in the end one would raise one's look satisfied to see endless similar shapes repetitively surrounding one, strecting to eternity. And understand the insignificance of such a complicated object. A drop in a galactic sea, an atom in the empty space between groups of galaxies.
We live 30 000 short lives. Each one can not be good, but every single one seems to have a purpose. I spend a day sitting in an old house, surrounded by echoes, staring in front of me and calculating simplified simulations of The Real World, because I will need that skill in the future. I feel joy of success, I feel pride; because of a single cup of warm, soft coffee I feel endless pleasure. When sitting late in the night in a tram travelling through darkness I am able to enjoy the soft lights, the content look on a man's face and the familiar melody I've been longing for the whole day.
Is an outcome the sum of its individual parts? When from close up one sees the variations of electric charge and from a distance the galaxy groups spinning around dark matter, what ever could be the right perspective? Is a day equally valuable to a year, a decade, a lifetime? What is the sum of the parts?
Does a happy life consist of a daily cup of warm coffee and an absent-minded touch on the arm, is twenty-four hours the right scale for a human?
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