(no subject)
This year started wonderfully and then fell flat on its clumsy-ass face.
I still find it a little mystifying that we celebrate something as inevitable and commonplace as the passage of time. We get dressed up and go out to kick our heels about because the calendar that we invented slips silently from from 12 to 1. We celebrate the motion of the tiny units that we've parsed Time into because the liquid nature of the passage of time is so shockingly beyond our comprehension.
We celebrate the human instinct for dissection and classification: time as years, months, seconds.
We celebrate the fleeting nature of happiness.
We celebrate the possibility of moving past pain.
We celebrate our own impermanence. We spend a few rare minutes, champagne and bubble-drunk, to kiss a stranger and erase the inevitability of death in a haze of spontaneity. If we could live in such bubble-moments we'd never feel fear or pain, moving through space like absentminded goldfish.
We celebrate the moments by seizing them. Curiously, the only thing that makes them worth a damn is our ability to string them together.
I still find it a little mystifying that we celebrate something as inevitable and commonplace as the passage of time. We get dressed up and go out to kick our heels about because the calendar that we invented slips silently from from 12 to 1. We celebrate the motion of the tiny units that we've parsed Time into because the liquid nature of the passage of time is so shockingly beyond our comprehension.
We celebrate the human instinct for dissection and classification: time as years, months, seconds.
We celebrate the fleeting nature of happiness.
We celebrate the possibility of moving past pain.
We celebrate our own impermanence. We spend a few rare minutes, champagne and bubble-drunk, to kiss a stranger and erase the inevitability of death in a haze of spontaneity. If we could live in such bubble-moments we'd never feel fear or pain, moving through space like absentminded goldfish.
We celebrate the moments by seizing them. Curiously, the only thing that makes them worth a damn is our ability to string them together.