Random is NOthing
We were all projects of capitalism, until we got to know ourselves.
A thought as random as that is what slides through my mind like film through an old projector as I mow the lawn. I have been battling grass in the deepest diversion of my internal gives and takes about life itself. Today, under 90 degree weather that felt like probably only 80, I realize the green was not as high as the stress I allowed to invade my mind over the course of a week. I appropriated the physical exhaustion of knowing I had a chore pending that no one has inflicted upon me. I create these expectations of people around me, as if anyone else cared about what I did to spend my time in the most useful manner in this time and place in which I find my self being.
Please take language play, spelling inclusive, as a given. It is funny how the greatest of writers have aimed at keeping their language play somewhat hidden. As if coding their genius were a task for the knowledgeable. That is what I most regret about Beckett.
Sir, if you and I had a word together, how much would I not question you? As I do those I admire. Maybe not. Maybe, I have a feeling, your stare would have been enough to identify what I already take as your enormous genius; the power of silence. Its grandeur. The sanctity it represents.
Going into representation is like stepping into deep, dark waters. Of those, for now, I decide to move forward.
I was driving a van of probably 8 to 12 passengers the other day, feeling guilty about knowing it was just me sitting in it when I should be driving for another 11. As usual, I found myself talking to someone who was not physically present. Do you do that? Drive as you talk. Or the other way around, really. Do you talk as you drive? I know most are ashamed of singing like the most normal and enchanting hobby one could have for which car radios MUST have been made.
Never corresponded conversations, is what I told myself. I keep having life-long discussions with people who are somehow not present in my life. It is ever rarely my dad. It is more like that line I did not utter to someone who I think could have used hearing it. That conversation I now know will never take place, as face-to-face interactions usually go in any other imaginable way possible than what you could ever foresee or expect.
Is linking your thought with your other cognitive abilities such a self-deprecating connection?
The vitality of silence in yoga is astounding. I have for some reason deviated from my kundalini practice into a more physical approach in hot yoga. Still, as I hear an Indian man speak of his experience in the slums of Mumbai, I cannot help but be grateful for any form of movement that takes my mind away from its self importance. How are these related? Precisely in how he claims his surroundings in his upbringing as the culprit for his ability to connect to his mindset as a way of pushing him forward.
It might seem like my writing is all over the place. It must be. Especially as it generates during my most introspective times of relaxation. In spite of that reality, it rarely ever is. There is something about what one of my professors categorized as circular writing that is truly inspiring. If it all comes full circle, is that not a true manifestation of a natural law? If not a proof of mere humanity, then at least a proof of sorts of the natural rules of conception.
I am absolutely getting nowhere here. Why is that? Why is it that speaking of what comprises us is bound to become unimportant? Should it not be our focus, rather? Introspection would have been a heck of a class subject as I grew up. Something like the ethics course I still remember and a bit more challenging than the rules of morality I was ironically taught in my religion class. In some parts of the world, like my hometown of San José, Costa Rica, religion is the equivalent to catholicism (and no, word corrector, Catholicism is only capital if your level of respect for it takes you there). How wrong is that? Both things.
Then I realize this conversation might just be another one I will never have with anyone who is reading me. What does that tell you about the writer-reader relationship? If you swap those two into its canonical expected order of a reader-author liaison, it would most probably fit a lot easier into some shelf of the literary theory shelves of the place in which I find myself sitting as I type this. Am I interested? Unfortunately, not really. I walked up the stairs of this Boston Public Library thinking why I keep denying myself the chance of walking into a Harvard classroom to do theater. It is in the back of my mind all the time. How do u reject options like that? And, is it a tangible option, really? Debating the topic would be letting these thoughts gain enormous strength. One of the truths is...I am not sure we need more college graduates.
Could we talk about that for a second? Bear with me. How many years and how many funds go into purchasing a college education? Where I come from, some might answer "none, really." It is considered a privilege to be able to walk into a building and have free access to a classroom where someone will be paid to show you everything they have learned in life (ideally). But let us take the financial transaction out of the equation for a second. How much time, energy, efforts and, overall, LIFE are you expending in getting a college education? 3, 4, 5...6 years, maybe? So one thousand to two thousand days, approximately.
And then take today, for example. A day in which I woke up to a 6:30 a.m. work appointment driving someone to the dentist, came back to a couple of hours of web content work for a person in Europe, continued to a meeting with a retired man at a public library who is helping me with our 501(c)3 to then rush to yoga and come back for dinner and playing cards with family. Well...that takes away a few hours devoted to working on our business, my wife and I's, trying to get it all legally sorted back here in order to do more of what we would like and would enjoy doing for a living. So...about 8 hours of those 2 thousand go a longer way than walking into class with a man who would rather fall asleep than teach his students anything.
Who am I kidding? I am a severe fan of academic living. Why do you think I need to write in order to make greater sense of my own living?
I have no idea how the argument against academia goes. All I know is that now is not the right time for it, which evidently has me out of a classroom into face-to-face meetings with potential partners of all sorts. Would I have been able to attain any of that without a college education? That is clearly highly doubtful. Why? Society expects it. Formal education is one of the pillars this project of society has set to keep its entire operation working. We all know that. Now, how is that relevant in any possible way?
Go out, talk to your gardener; say hi to the security person; listen to the woman at the checkout counter at your supermarket. Engage in dialogue with people in the service industries where you know a college degree is more of a dream or illusion than the reality for the most part. Those people have something I clearly lack; the education of having to work as a means of conceiving life as possible, even. That and something I lack so much I cannot even begin to fathom what it is, let alone verbalize it in any possible way. Of being seen as less, as not knowledgeable. People who have not tapped into the privilege of capitalism are often better linked to wisdom of other nature. If they are not, all the more reason for one to approach them. Mother Theresa died long ago. This is not about her speech or the light she shed that wanders on in this dimension we call earthly living. It is about being a lot more humble and acknowledging getting a degree, a mortgage and a business is not the most-esteemed purpose one could have for a lifetime. On the contrary, it is those living out of the grid in some painful and mandatory way who can show you new insights into ways of conceiving this Universe. Or even just acknowledging that people with all means at their hands to walk into a university building day after another might still choose differently. And knowing that choice is one more reason to think of someone as even more of an interesting subject when expectations dictate so differently.
I do not know how right it is to constantly be preaching. I, at least, do not intend it that way. The question is, when does one just say what is going on within you and when is one acting in arrogant ways of thinking? How does what you say or write bear any real meaning whatsoever? At least contemplating that notion is fruitful exercise enough. For the rest, I think going out for a walk is perhaps better worth it as of here.
Thanks for sharing today. Hope to have something better coming around for next time.
A thought as random as that is what slides through my mind like film through an old projector as I mow the lawn. I have been battling grass in the deepest diversion of my internal gives and takes about life itself. Today, under 90 degree weather that felt like probably only 80, I realize the green was not as high as the stress I allowed to invade my mind over the course of a week. I appropriated the physical exhaustion of knowing I had a chore pending that no one has inflicted upon me. I create these expectations of people around me, as if anyone else cared about what I did to spend my time in the most useful manner in this time and place in which I find my self being.
Please take language play, spelling inclusive, as a given. It is funny how the greatest of writers have aimed at keeping their language play somewhat hidden. As if coding their genius were a task for the knowledgeable. That is what I most regret about Beckett.
Sir, if you and I had a word together, how much would I not question you? As I do those I admire. Maybe not. Maybe, I have a feeling, your stare would have been enough to identify what I already take as your enormous genius; the power of silence. Its grandeur. The sanctity it represents.
Going into representation is like stepping into deep, dark waters. Of those, for now, I decide to move forward.
 |
| Just randomly, I realized today this little one really is a source of inspiration. Just being is enough. |
I was driving a van of probably 8 to 12 passengers the other day, feeling guilty about knowing it was just me sitting in it when I should be driving for another 11. As usual, I found myself talking to someone who was not physically present. Do you do that? Drive as you talk. Or the other way around, really. Do you talk as you drive? I know most are ashamed of singing like the most normal and enchanting hobby one could have for which car radios MUST have been made.
Never corresponded conversations, is what I told myself. I keep having life-long discussions with people who are somehow not present in my life. It is ever rarely my dad. It is more like that line I did not utter to someone who I think could have used hearing it. That conversation I now know will never take place, as face-to-face interactions usually go in any other imaginable way possible than what you could ever foresee or expect.
Is linking your thought with your other cognitive abilities such a self-deprecating connection?
The vitality of silence in yoga is astounding. I have for some reason deviated from my kundalini practice into a more physical approach in hot yoga. Still, as I hear an Indian man speak of his experience in the slums of Mumbai, I cannot help but be grateful for any form of movement that takes my mind away from its self importance. How are these related? Precisely in how he claims his surroundings in his upbringing as the culprit for his ability to connect to his mindset as a way of pushing him forward.
It might seem like my writing is all over the place. It must be. Especially as it generates during my most introspective times of relaxation. In spite of that reality, it rarely ever is. There is something about what one of my professors categorized as circular writing that is truly inspiring. If it all comes full circle, is that not a true manifestation of a natural law? If not a proof of mere humanity, then at least a proof of sorts of the natural rules of conception.
I am absolutely getting nowhere here. Why is that? Why is it that speaking of what comprises us is bound to become unimportant? Should it not be our focus, rather? Introspection would have been a heck of a class subject as I grew up. Something like the ethics course I still remember and a bit more challenging than the rules of morality I was ironically taught in my religion class. In some parts of the world, like my hometown of San José, Costa Rica, religion is the equivalent to catholicism (and no, word corrector, Catholicism is only capital if your level of respect for it takes you there). How wrong is that? Both things.
Then I realize this conversation might just be another one I will never have with anyone who is reading me. What does that tell you about the writer-reader relationship? If you swap those two into its canonical expected order of a reader-author liaison, it would most probably fit a lot easier into some shelf of the literary theory shelves of the place in which I find myself sitting as I type this. Am I interested? Unfortunately, not really. I walked up the stairs of this Boston Public Library thinking why I keep denying myself the chance of walking into a Harvard classroom to do theater. It is in the back of my mind all the time. How do u reject options like that? And, is it a tangible option, really? Debating the topic would be letting these thoughts gain enormous strength. One of the truths is...I am not sure we need more college graduates.
Could we talk about that for a second? Bear with me. How many years and how many funds go into purchasing a college education? Where I come from, some might answer "none, really." It is considered a privilege to be able to walk into a building and have free access to a classroom where someone will be paid to show you everything they have learned in life (ideally). But let us take the financial transaction out of the equation for a second. How much time, energy, efforts and, overall, LIFE are you expending in getting a college education? 3, 4, 5...6 years, maybe? So one thousand to two thousand days, approximately.
And then take today, for example. A day in which I woke up to a 6:30 a.m. work appointment driving someone to the dentist, came back to a couple of hours of web content work for a person in Europe, continued to a meeting with a retired man at a public library who is helping me with our 501(c)3 to then rush to yoga and come back for dinner and playing cards with family. Well...that takes away a few hours devoted to working on our business, my wife and I's, trying to get it all legally sorted back here in order to do more of what we would like and would enjoy doing for a living. So...about 8 hours of those 2 thousand go a longer way than walking into class with a man who would rather fall asleep than teach his students anything.
Who am I kidding? I am a severe fan of academic living. Why do you think I need to write in order to make greater sense of my own living?
I have no idea how the argument against academia goes. All I know is that now is not the right time for it, which evidently has me out of a classroom into face-to-face meetings with potential partners of all sorts. Would I have been able to attain any of that without a college education? That is clearly highly doubtful. Why? Society expects it. Formal education is one of the pillars this project of society has set to keep its entire operation working. We all know that. Now, how is that relevant in any possible way?
Go out, talk to your gardener; say hi to the security person; listen to the woman at the checkout counter at your supermarket. Engage in dialogue with people in the service industries where you know a college degree is more of a dream or illusion than the reality for the most part. Those people have something I clearly lack; the education of having to work as a means of conceiving life as possible, even. That and something I lack so much I cannot even begin to fathom what it is, let alone verbalize it in any possible way. Of being seen as less, as not knowledgeable. People who have not tapped into the privilege of capitalism are often better linked to wisdom of other nature. If they are not, all the more reason for one to approach them. Mother Theresa died long ago. This is not about her speech or the light she shed that wanders on in this dimension we call earthly living. It is about being a lot more humble and acknowledging getting a degree, a mortgage and a business is not the most-esteemed purpose one could have for a lifetime. On the contrary, it is those living out of the grid in some painful and mandatory way who can show you new insights into ways of conceiving this Universe. Or even just acknowledging that people with all means at their hands to walk into a university building day after another might still choose differently. And knowing that choice is one more reason to think of someone as even more of an interesting subject when expectations dictate so differently.
I do not know how right it is to constantly be preaching. I, at least, do not intend it that way. The question is, when does one just say what is going on within you and when is one acting in arrogant ways of thinking? How does what you say or write bear any real meaning whatsoever? At least contemplating that notion is fruitful exercise enough. For the rest, I think going out for a walk is perhaps better worth it as of here.
Thanks for sharing today. Hope to have something better coming around for next time.
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