I am sucpicious of the idea of “guilty” pleasures. But here are two things that bring me more joy than I can find any reasonable explanation for. Continue reading
For context, this was written about YouTube vloggers, but I don’t think that’s all that relevant here.
The problem is not lack of context. It is context collapse: an infinite number of contexts collapsing upon one another into that single moment of recording. The images, actions, and words captured by the lens at any moment can be transported to anywhere on the planet and preserved (the performer must assume) for all time. The little glass lens becomes the gateway to a blackhole sucking all of time and space – virtually all possible contexts – in upon itself.
I am drowning in thoughts and opinions that want to be polished and turned into something with some emotional heft.
A song that evokes a simpler, timeless past. On the surface, it’s about the power of love.
A tinge of pathos in the music, combines with an implied contrast between the song and the harsh reality around us. Your stomach drops. Like a faded picture of a couple who never had a chance.
What does that amount to? The illusion of depth. But my feelings are made of the same stuff.
Maybe all we can do is resonate off each other. So be it.
A red light reflects on a window. Striving for significance.
A dew drop forms in the morning, and slides gracefully down a leaf.
A couple heading for divorce write a perfect song.
The starlight on the sand has no ideals.
Someone important is dieing. Maybe it’s a Good Death, whatever that means. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell from here.
It’s easy to find compassion for them now. To accept the totality of how they are in the world.
It’s easy to know that their caregivers need compassion too. Someone to talk to and share the burden.
Too soon that will be us all. I’ll try and have some compassion.
Here is what I think I know. Sometimes things happen. A lot of follows from previous actions; but in important ways it all has an underlying uncertainty – a randomness- that I try desperately to control.
I generate all these thoughts, and often I have hard time escaping the conviction they are Important.
My first album would be titled: no longer unreleased.
My second (hopefully superior) album would be titled: released
My masterpiece would be titled: The doomed beauty of trying
… Then everything would be differant.
She leaned forward, and after a dazed moment so did he.
- Their unarticulated feelings
- Promises of safety or shelter
- The future
Once upon a time, the sound of their pursuit would have left him consumed by terror. His left leg, already injured, twisted as a rock flew out beneath him.
He kept running.
The hastily tended gash on his side pulled as he rounded the corner and came out from the tunnel into a wide expanse.
The terror had never really gone away, it had just faded into the background as he cobbled together an escape. His hope lay in principles he barely understood and defenses based mostly on intuition and luck.
As he pulled the strap tight and placed the helmet on he checked the seal one last time. He could still breathe. He stared out into the abyss.
The terror had never gone away, but it had been replaced by the certainty that if he stayed, he was doomed. With that comfort, he leapt off the ledge into the unknown.