On This Day, Which Shall Not be Named
It's a sort of cross between Halloween (as was) and Armistice Day in the feelings it stirs. On the one hand, terror and loathing; on the other, regret and sorrow. Terror of the darkness, alone and ever-so vulnerable; loathing of the monstrous grinning pairs, partying and happy. Regret for lost life, wasted and tragic; sorrow that the wastage goes on without sign of ceasing.
There are many good things in life. Kind friends and loving family. Interesting work and enjoyable play. Good food. Comfortable living space. Throughout the year, the thing that is missing can be ignored, for the most part. It's easy to not notice something that isn't there, if you don't look at it, that thing that isn't there. But today's different.
A day is just a day. It's a period of local time measured by the speed our planet turns, a changeable quantity (when seen over the right distance). There's no innate reason for when it starts and when it ends, at midnight, that bewitching hour. This day is just one of countless many that has been before, and in time it will not even be remembered, just another box on a yellowed calendar. There's nothing forcing us to use the rotation around the sun to tie this day to previous days. Looked at dispassionately, it's supremely unimportant.
But importance is a status that adheres precisely in things that we think are important. Importance is always /for/ someone: look at anything dispassionately and it's unimportant - that way lies nihilism. And today is a day that society - we - decided long ago was important. It means something because we know it means something, because we feel it, the ecstasy and the excitement, the anxiety and the anguish. Ironically, we cannot escape our passions.
Posted via LjBeetle
There are many good things in life. Kind friends and loving family. Interesting work and enjoyable play. Good food. Comfortable living space. Throughout the year, the thing that is missing can be ignored, for the most part. It's easy to not notice something that isn't there, if you don't look at it, that thing that isn't there. But today's different.
A day is just a day. It's a period of local time measured by the speed our planet turns, a changeable quantity (when seen over the right distance). There's no innate reason for when it starts and when it ends, at midnight, that bewitching hour. This day is just one of countless many that has been before, and in time it will not even be remembered, just another box on a yellowed calendar. There's nothing forcing us to use the rotation around the sun to tie this day to previous days. Looked at dispassionately, it's supremely unimportant.
But importance is a status that adheres precisely in things that we think are important. Importance is always /for/ someone: look at anything dispassionately and it's unimportant - that way lies nihilism. And today is a day that society - we - decided long ago was important. It means something because we know it means something, because we feel it, the ecstasy and the excitement, the anxiety and the anguish. Ironically, we cannot escape our passions.
Posted via LjBeetle