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7:19 p.m. - 2001-08-02
uncharted
No, I'm not, but I suppose I am what you make me out to be. Think of a question for that answer. If I wrote a survey, would my friends want to take it, even though the idea's been overplayed? If I posted it would anyone notice? I suspect sometimes I'm writing into a void and nobody notices but me. My purple background is shut by the cyber-curtains; the stagehand won't draw them if the theatre isn't occupied. I used to want to become a writer. There is always someone better, there is always an aspiration; and inversely, there is always someone to laugh at. Do you kill yourself 43,200 times each day and have each breath serve as a revival, instead of simple survival? A surname is a last name and to rename is to reidentify. My surname ties me to a hundred generations that share my bloodlines, the vast majority of whom owned slaves. Is this an argument for the nurture in the nature/nurture debate, since I couldn't live with myself if I owned slaves, or is it an argument for the nature, since if I had lived in that time I probably would have? Had I lived in a world where whatshisname the scientist's ideas had become reality, my children would be born with purple hair. I don't pretend to be an intellectual. Look at me, I'm stupid. I got a D in geometry and I didn't try and raise it. I got sick of proving that a right angle was a right angle when I could just take out a protractor. That class was where my anxiety blossomed like an enormous gray sunflower. It's the same principle as trying to rise above the simplicity of the human life; the timeline of birth, life, and death, when all you really want is to enjoy the small moments. My life is less than one zillionth of what exists. My life and all of the ideas I have ever and will ever have are less than one zillionth of what exists. My life, all my ideas, and every experience I ever have or will have experienced is less than one zillionth of what exists. This pondering is considered pretentious, but all it is is the admittance that one's own life is less than a speck in the grand scheme of things, yet everything, always, more than everything to the tiny scheme of the tiny speck of the tiny percentage of reality. It's subsubsubsubsubsubdivided, and everything here is my entire being, yet less than a speck of the universe's entire being. Size principle: atoms in comparison to the sun. Which were the three straight sectors we learnt in math class; the ray, the line, and the something else I can't remember, and to straight atheists our lives are that thing we can't remember... oh, segments. To Christians and the like, we're rays. To most world religions, we're the line. And what am I? Somehow I get a picture of a circle; but all that is really, is a line that can be seen all the way around. Begin and begin and begin.

 

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