Chaos theory - give feed back?
Paper work, like the laundry, never ends. Sitting at a desk, there are fingers spotched with blue ink. Once organized white rectangular piles are scattered, crinkled, lost and confused. The face assosiated with the fingers becomes oily from the amount of fiddling with ones hair that comes with consternation and concentration, and begins to hope that end of this round of papers will be the end of everything: the end of worry, the need to account for the past and the need to account for the future, the end of all the unfinished projects carefully put just out of view from the desk, but not carefully enough, the end of every annoyance, of everything.
One may sometimes lead him or herself to believe, just for a small while, that sleep will be the end of the day, the end of the work, and the end of the ever adjacent world. It is a wearing down of repetitious reorganization and several of possibly infinite reiterations of a mix of daily habits and the relearning and reunderstanding of an ever increasing supply of knowledge, of increasingly complicated intricacies.
The fact that the day does indeed restart probably led my sister and others to drugs, and others to management, and others to religion, and others to gangs, others to hiring assistants and others still to suicide.
The world is chaotic and massive, and there just keep being more people on the world, and most of them annoyingly not empathic telepathic mind readers who can both teleport and perform telekinesis, and also pass down all their memories and understanding of the world to the similarly awesome offspring. I imagine these qualities would make the world a lot easier to organize. As it is, we all have to work really really hard to make and then distribute everything, and then try to be efficient at it at varying levels, from ending world hunger and aids to making sure the shipment of paperclips comes in on time and is approved by all the right people.
I've decided I don't like chaos. I like for everything to be simple and organized. Science textbooks, when done right, are satisfying. in addition to a table of contents and correctly labled pictures, most everything fits. Atoms make sense, the krebs cycle makes sense, everything fits together well.
... to be continued. sleep now. or book. Also remember something about chaos = beauty = order
to end "chaos and order in uncalculatably (and unmathematically) equal amounts" but with better words than chaos and order, and you know, a sentance around it that proves a oint, and few paragraphs backing up whatever that point is... (to be relvealed in said paragraphs)
This is an effort in my practice of concentration, by the way, and in putting aside other thoughts and distractions for whichever stream of thought ought to be most worth my attention, or at least enough worth it that I was actually trying to think it and would enjoy continuing to do so without being distracted with thoughts like, it is distracting to have other things in my line of veiw, but I should think that if all I had was a blank wall, I would stair at it and think about the fact that there was an obnoxiously blank wall. Or I might get distracted by the thought that almost all my great thoughts come to me in the shower and I can't write them down immediatly, so I iddelly (sp?) compose paragraphs, sometimes very nice succint essays, in my mind's voice, though usually I'd get distracted by the time I got out, and, more often than not, forget by the time I get to write something down. And then you get something like this paragraph. And now I am going to sleep presumably.
One may sometimes lead him or herself to believe, just for a small while, that sleep will be the end of the day, the end of the work, and the end of the ever adjacent world. It is a wearing down of repetitious reorganization and several of possibly infinite reiterations of a mix of daily habits and the relearning and reunderstanding of an ever increasing supply of knowledge, of increasingly complicated intricacies.
The fact that the day does indeed restart probably led my sister and others to drugs, and others to management, and others to religion, and others to gangs, others to hiring assistants and others still to suicide.
The world is chaotic and massive, and there just keep being more people on the world, and most of them annoyingly not empathic telepathic mind readers who can both teleport and perform telekinesis, and also pass down all their memories and understanding of the world to the similarly awesome offspring. I imagine these qualities would make the world a lot easier to organize. As it is, we all have to work really really hard to make and then distribute everything, and then try to be efficient at it at varying levels, from ending world hunger and aids to making sure the shipment of paperclips comes in on time and is approved by all the right people.
I've decided I don't like chaos. I like for everything to be simple and organized. Science textbooks, when done right, are satisfying. in addition to a table of contents and correctly labled pictures, most everything fits. Atoms make sense, the krebs cycle makes sense, everything fits together well.
... to be continued. sleep now. or book. Also remember something about chaos = beauty = order
to end "chaos and order in uncalculatably (and unmathematically) equal amounts" but with better words than chaos and order, and you know, a sentance around it that proves a oint, and few paragraphs backing up whatever that point is... (to be relvealed in said paragraphs)
This is an effort in my practice of concentration, by the way, and in putting aside other thoughts and distractions for whichever stream of thought ought to be most worth my attention, or at least enough worth it that I was actually trying to think it and would enjoy continuing to do so without being distracted with thoughts like, it is distracting to have other things in my line of veiw, but I should think that if all I had was a blank wall, I would stair at it and think about the fact that there was an obnoxiously blank wall. Or I might get distracted by the thought that almost all my great thoughts come to me in the shower and I can't write them down immediatly, so I iddelly (sp?) compose paragraphs, sometimes very nice succint essays, in my mind's voice, though usually I'd get distracted by the time I got out, and, more often than not, forget by the time I get to write something down. And then you get something like this paragraph. And now I am going to sleep presumably.