‘Sometimes, I just don’t see the point,’ he said.
I looked at him.
‘I mean, it feels like I’m just going through the motions, seeing it out till the end.’
We were walking through the streets. It was dark and wet and cold.
‘I don’t think I’m going to meet anyone now, you know, so it’s just me.’
We were drunk. In vino veritas.
‘I just go to work and go home. Go to work and go home. Sometimes I find it hard to see the point...’
I wanted to say something about friendship, about leading a good life, about happiness, about how sometimes it is hard, about how sometimes searching for a point is the wrong thing to do, but it all sounded trite so I didn’t say anything.
We walked on in silence.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Fissures In The Cerebrum
This week I have been mainly travelling inside my brain, exploring thoughts and discovering ideas.
I started at the medulla, ambling my way up towards the pons. From here, there’s a very good view of the cerebellum although it’s best to get there early or finding a table outside is difficult.
I don’t suggest venturing into the cerebellum as the going is tough. Appropriate clothing is required such as outdoor performance wear and cargo pants. Although, if, like me, you can’t carry off cargo pants then don’t worry as the cerebellum regulates fear so you can ease your own apprehension.
’Tis then but a short hop to the temporal lobe. I found it a bit noisy as auditory perception occurs here but well worth it to visit the hippocampus, the use of which escapes me at the moment.
I then cantered my way through the occipital, parietal and frontal lobes. It was hard to see anything in the occipital as vision perception occurs here and I was in the way. I got lost in the parietal for obvious reasons, and was finally kicked out of the frontal for not having enough ambition.
Next week: voyage round my father.
I started at the medulla, ambling my way up towards the pons. From here, there’s a very good view of the cerebellum although it’s best to get there early or finding a table outside is difficult.
I don’t suggest venturing into the cerebellum as the going is tough. Appropriate clothing is required such as outdoor performance wear and cargo pants. Although, if, like me, you can’t carry off cargo pants then don’t worry as the cerebellum regulates fear so you can ease your own apprehension.
’Tis then but a short hop to the temporal lobe. I found it a bit noisy as auditory perception occurs here but well worth it to visit the hippocampus, the use of which escapes me at the moment.
I then cantered my way through the occipital, parietal and frontal lobes. It was hard to see anything in the occipital as vision perception occurs here and I was in the way. I got lost in the parietal for obvious reasons, and was finally kicked out of the frontal for not having enough ambition.
Next week: voyage round my father.
Sunday, 17 October 2010
Attempt At A Self-Criticism
Yes, I’ve made some mistakes.
Yes, I’ve erred, but I am only human. Some ex-girlfriends may dispute this but I said everything I had to say in the goodbye fax.
So, yes, a few errors, a few missteps. I’ve given inappropriate gifts. I’ve made some bad career choices. I once slept with a married woman. I’ve worn penny loafers. I’ve been drunk and run around with my trousers down. One time, trying to impress a girl and get her into bed, I mixed up Nietzsche with Schopenhauer. But, overall, they are minor misdemeanours. Overall, I’ve tried to do the right thing. It’s not like I robbed banks, did time and was sodomised in the shower.
But mistakes aren’t just about things done but things not done. I’ve let opportunities slip by. I’ve let people go I shouldn’t have. I once missed a ferry and had to wait over an hour for the next. I’ve second guessed myself when I shouldn’t have.
My biggest regret is not being a better listener. Not because I’m not interested but simply because there is a tremendous soundtrack going on in my head and I find it hard to blot it out. My mind is constantly asking Why? like an annoying child. Sometimes I wish it would just ask Why not? like when I’m about to do something pointless yet fun, or when I’m talking to twins.
So, anyway, there it is, a mea culpa. I feel better for it.
Why?
Yes, I’ve erred, but I am only human. Some ex-girlfriends may dispute this but I said everything I had to say in the goodbye fax.
So, yes, a few errors, a few missteps. I’ve given inappropriate gifts. I’ve made some bad career choices. I once slept with a married woman. I’ve worn penny loafers. I’ve been drunk and run around with my trousers down. One time, trying to impress a girl and get her into bed, I mixed up Nietzsche with Schopenhauer. But, overall, they are minor misdemeanours. Overall, I’ve tried to do the right thing. It’s not like I robbed banks, did time and was sodomised in the shower.
But mistakes aren’t just about things done but things not done. I’ve let opportunities slip by. I’ve let people go I shouldn’t have. I once missed a ferry and had to wait over an hour for the next. I’ve second guessed myself when I shouldn’t have.
My biggest regret is not being a better listener. Not because I’m not interested but simply because there is a tremendous soundtrack going on in my head and I find it hard to blot it out. My mind is constantly asking Why? like an annoying child. Sometimes I wish it would just ask Why not? like when I’m about to do something pointless yet fun, or when I’m talking to twins.
So, anyway, there it is, a mea culpa. I feel better for it.
Why?
Monday, 11 October 2010
The Meaning Of Life
So instead of looking for a job I’ve been reading about life and what it may possibly be all about.
The weird thing is that this feels like a silly thing to do when I really should be looking for work, which is a bit like thinking why eat steak when you can eat steak flavoured crisps.
But then I ask myself how can I possibly look for a job without having a clearer idea of purpose?
As I ponder this I get hungry. To feed myself I need food. To get food I need money. To get money I need a job.
So I need a job to be able to reflect on life to able to look for the right job.
That’s pretty screwed up.
What’s more screwed up is that any job which allows me to do this is actually the right job because it does allow me to do it thus giving me purpose.
So any job will do. And that’s my meaning of life sorted too.
Time for a cup of tea and the paper.
The weird thing is that this feels like a silly thing to do when I really should be looking for work, which is a bit like thinking why eat steak when you can eat steak flavoured crisps.
But then I ask myself how can I possibly look for a job without having a clearer idea of purpose?
As I ponder this I get hungry. To feed myself I need food. To get food I need money. To get money I need a job.
So I need a job to be able to reflect on life to able to look for the right job.
That’s pretty screwed up.
What’s more screwed up is that any job which allows me to do this is actually the right job because it does allow me to do it thus giving me purpose.
So any job will do. And that’s my meaning of life sorted too.
Time for a cup of tea and the paper.
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
1440
That’s the number of minutes in a day.
1440.
It only takes 1 to receive information that things have changed, that things aren’t going to work out.
That a verdant view you saw is being taken away from you.
God damn that minute.
Sometimes it really would be better if there were only 1439 minutes in a day.
1440.
It only takes 1 to receive information that things have changed, that things aren’t going to work out.
That a verdant view you saw is being taken away from you.
God damn that minute.
Sometimes it really would be better if there were only 1439 minutes in a day.
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Only Idiots Are Happy
Only idiots are happy.
I was thinking this over tea and toast this morning.
Idiots don’t think about death, like animals they have no concept of it so live as if they were immortal. And if you are immortal, you don’t need to anxiously seek a purpose for your short time on the planet, to try and make sense of it, you will forever be so you just eat, sleep, pass time, reproduce, and repeat ad infinitum.
But then as I brushed my teeth I thought the following: can you actually be happy if you don’t know it, if you haven’t asked yourself the question? Because if you are unhappy and realise it, at least you can try and do something to remedy the fact. Idiots could be unhappy and not do anything about it because they simply don’t know any different.
Sitting on the toilet I then contemplated this conundrum while I took a dump. The question of whether self-reflection is an aid or a block to happiness is a serpentine one. Some could argue that analysis leads to paralysis and even further anxiety. After straining long and hard, I finally came up with the following thesis: some idiots are happy, some aren’t; some non-idiots are happy, some aren’t.
It was a big dump. I had not quite refuted the initial premise but at least come up with the contention that questioning oneself is a valid exercise. And they were solid stools so I’m getting enough fibre.
I was ready for the day.
I was thinking this over tea and toast this morning.
Idiots don’t think about death, like animals they have no concept of it so live as if they were immortal. And if you are immortal, you don’t need to anxiously seek a purpose for your short time on the planet, to try and make sense of it, you will forever be so you just eat, sleep, pass time, reproduce, and repeat ad infinitum.
But then as I brushed my teeth I thought the following: can you actually be happy if you don’t know it, if you haven’t asked yourself the question? Because if you are unhappy and realise it, at least you can try and do something to remedy the fact. Idiots could be unhappy and not do anything about it because they simply don’t know any different.
Sitting on the toilet I then contemplated this conundrum while I took a dump. The question of whether self-reflection is an aid or a block to happiness is a serpentine one. Some could argue that analysis leads to paralysis and even further anxiety. After straining long and hard, I finally came up with the following thesis: some idiots are happy, some aren’t; some non-idiots are happy, some aren’t.
It was a big dump. I had not quite refuted the initial premise but at least come up with the contention that questioning oneself is a valid exercise. And they were solid stools so I’m getting enough fibre.
I was ready for the day.
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