- I hate birthdays. I hate every new age. It's a countdown to my death.
- There's no sense in living like that. You can't live hating each new year, you simply can't possibly enjoy your life like that. Be sensible: you can't do anything about this matter, so why worry about it?
- Exactly, I can't do anything about this matter! I can merely stand and watch the time pass. It's like running blind towards a cliff not knowing when you're going to fall. The powerlessness makes me frustrated, angry and sad, because I just want to live.
- I know you love your life but you should focus on the things that are good and see that you get so many of those amazing experiences and places and people every single year that comes, instead of worrying about the time that has been given to you. You can't live like that, woman!
- I know what it sounds like. And I highly appreciate you being able to live like you do. It makes me envious. But I couldn't live like that. This is what my life is like. It makes me real, and it makes me feel this world. It makes me feel it through my fingertips and eyes and ears and love each single detail I see. In this world everything is inspiring. Everything is beautifully complex or beautifully simple. Feelings are true and pure but not overwhelming. And then in the right scale nothing has any purpose or any significance whatsoever. In the most beautiful moments when I look around I see the world as if it was already gone. The fact that evidently everything I see will be lost in time forever makes me want to cry tears that spring from both happiness and powerless sorrow. Knowing that everything I have is borrowed as if I was already dead makes it all a billion times more beautiful. My life is to sadly love what I see. And to feel I never want to leave this world.
Showing posts with label scale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scale. Show all posts
20100222
I do it so it feels real
She talks to me about splitting my 24 hours into periods of 60 minutes, then 60 seconds... And I merely feel that same familiar anguish that I've never really understood. The next day I stand in direct sunligh in the graveyard and I'm not even cold, I watch the yellow and red lights swimming on the inside of my eyelids and I think of summer on the Baltic Sea. A man smiles at me and I want to be more like Henk Hofstede.
You can't tell if I'm serious or not. I look at people pretending to be accomplishing a lot and I think, "Fuck, that's it", and I walk back home and try to think of something else. There are more blank spots in my memory than I want to admit.
He has long hair and he laughs. I'm a paranoid idiot elitist shit. He wondered if she had some information about swamps that the rest of us lack. You can't tell if I'm serious or not.
You can't tell if I'm serious or not. I look at people pretending to be accomplishing a lot and I think, "Fuck, that's it", and I walk back home and try to think of something else. There are more blank spots in my memory than I want to admit.
He has long hair and he laughs. I'm a paranoid idiot elitist shit. He wondered if she had some information about swamps that the rest of us lack. You can't tell if I'm serious or not.
20090309
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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