Significant Offerings
Tuesday, September 5th, 2006 Madison, WI 12:25pm
The night before the first day of class... It has come once again. Not for the last time, no. I will have many nights before the "first" and "last" in my life. I have had many already. I am sitting in my new apartment room that I am sharing with a guy I know half well, and I am thinking to myself: How did I get here? That is quite unoriginal isn't it? Rather, maybe I am thinking: What are all the wonderful things I will do tomorrow? That's better I suppose, but still not quite touching it, well touching but not grasping... yet. My hand is close, metaphorically speaking. I sense a tone taking over the times. One of cynicism and disgust for the world at large but also of love and pride for those people and qualities we old dearly. That's the collective we of course... the collective we that somehow embraces each person to their own individuality and makes them feel as one, or at leaset as part, of something greater that is called community - in whatever form it may take. There's another one of those collectivist words agains - them. It seems that one cannot speak effectively without sounding heady or academic without somehow employing the collectivist ideal. The individual engaging the whole... something mundane that happens everyday, but what mst fail to ever realize. The connetions are everywhere. Life is just that, to reduce it to a theoretic model that somehow ma make it easier to understand. A human is an entity that somehow can take control of deciding its relationship to the rest of the phenomenon it sees around it. And where do the decisions enter? That, my kind readership, who for the moment are my two eyes that follow the lines of ink as they blend into the paper in their fleeting plight of somehow recording cognitive thought. For the ink, it apears effortless. If only cognition itself was such bliss.
And so I present a piece of me for public scrutiny. It is a piece of the past that for reasons of physical chemical properties became recorded in my journal, and seemed significant enough to me at the time that I made a point to present it for a more general audience. I will do better next time.
The night before the first day of class... It has come once again. Not for the last time, no. I will have many nights before the "first" and "last" in my life. I have had many already. I am sitting in my new apartment room that I am sharing with a guy I know half well, and I am thinking to myself: How did I get here? That is quite unoriginal isn't it? Rather, maybe I am thinking: What are all the wonderful things I will do tomorrow? That's better I suppose, but still not quite touching it, well touching but not grasping... yet. My hand is close, metaphorically speaking. I sense a tone taking over the times. One of cynicism and disgust for the world at large but also of love and pride for those people and qualities we old dearly. That's the collective we of course... the collective we that somehow embraces each person to their own individuality and makes them feel as one, or at leaset as part, of something greater that is called community - in whatever form it may take. There's another one of those collectivist words agains - them. It seems that one cannot speak effectively without sounding heady or academic without somehow employing the collectivist ideal. The individual engaging the whole... something mundane that happens everyday, but what mst fail to ever realize. The connetions are everywhere. Life is just that, to reduce it to a theoretic model that somehow ma make it easier to understand. A human is an entity that somehow can take control of deciding its relationship to the rest of the phenomenon it sees around it. And where do the decisions enter? That, my kind readership, who for the moment are my two eyes that follow the lines of ink as they blend into the paper in their fleeting plight of somehow recording cognitive thought. For the ink, it apears effortless. If only cognition itself was such bliss.
And so I present a piece of me for public scrutiny. It is a piece of the past that for reasons of physical chemical properties became recorded in my journal, and seemed significant enough to me at the time that I made a point to present it for a more general audience. I will do better next time.
posted by snirapnotreknipnnyldrahcir at
12:29 AM
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