(no subject)
i have trouble with time. it's precious. i should take full advantage. too often it's been wasted.
time is a resource, time is a river, we move through time or it passes through us
"not enough time" "the flow of time" "the opportunity has passed me by"
i decided to study linguistics when i sat by the river alone, reading by a railroad bridge north of town. i read about time.
a year and a half ago i read dueling essays of men who disagreed vehemently on the mechanics of metaphorical thought.
one thought they work because they do not mean anything
the other thought that they do not mean anything but that the meaninglessness was of a special variety
now though, i'm drinking cold coffee, trying to elevate my mind above the drudgery of exam schedules. i made up a small schedule for my summer courses. the heat is off; it's cold outside. i played confidant for many others this week and their confessions compete for space. someone cheated. someone judged. someone totaled their car and in the confusing aftermath decided to tell their mother they were gay. someone believes there is a god. i imagine i am each of them to make their shame more real. i nod. i listen. i validate their decisions to come to me with sensitive information. i don't tell them anything i've done. they don't ask, though. no conscious effort to keep myself hidden. in spite of the secrets i've been begged to keep, it is interesting how willingly people volunteer to tell you dangerous things about themselves.
no one is one hundred percent neutral. not wanting to detract from or minimize their very personal pain, there is one response i keep to myself: absolute morality is for the fearful. there are many who will publicly and privately judge you, but they don't matter. eventually, anything wrong you feel you've done will fade or disappear entirely. i'd be lying if i said this wasn't a self-serving philosophy, and i'm sure the same line of reasoning is employed by psychos the world over. it gets you through the day though, it gets you through the years. more importantly, it trumps the fear of judgment and obligates a sense of freedom.
my love, my sentiment, my guilt, my open arms... i've yet to see myself apply it all constructively. and it makes me a little sad, maybe, for all the things that do not endure and yet are constantly touted as great achievements of the human spirit.
time is a resource, time is a river, we move through time or it passes through us
"not enough time" "the flow of time" "the opportunity has passed me by"
i decided to study linguistics when i sat by the river alone, reading by a railroad bridge north of town. i read about time.
a year and a half ago i read dueling essays of men who disagreed vehemently on the mechanics of metaphorical thought.
one thought they work because they do not mean anything
the other thought that they do not mean anything but that the meaninglessness was of a special variety
now though, i'm drinking cold coffee, trying to elevate my mind above the drudgery of exam schedules. i made up a small schedule for my summer courses. the heat is off; it's cold outside. i played confidant for many others this week and their confessions compete for space. someone cheated. someone judged. someone totaled their car and in the confusing aftermath decided to tell their mother they were gay. someone believes there is a god. i imagine i am each of them to make their shame more real. i nod. i listen. i validate their decisions to come to me with sensitive information. i don't tell them anything i've done. they don't ask, though. no conscious effort to keep myself hidden. in spite of the secrets i've been begged to keep, it is interesting how willingly people volunteer to tell you dangerous things about themselves.
no one is one hundred percent neutral. not wanting to detract from or minimize their very personal pain, there is one response i keep to myself: absolute morality is for the fearful. there are many who will publicly and privately judge you, but they don't matter. eventually, anything wrong you feel you've done will fade or disappear entirely. i'd be lying if i said this wasn't a self-serving philosophy, and i'm sure the same line of reasoning is employed by psychos the world over. it gets you through the day though, it gets you through the years. more importantly, it trumps the fear of judgment and obligates a sense of freedom.
my love, my sentiment, my guilt, my open arms... i've yet to see myself apply it all constructively. and it makes me a little sad, maybe, for all the things that do not endure and yet are constantly touted as great achievements of the human spirit.