Today marks the first day of the rest of the semester in terms of wardrobe choice: Sweats and runners. Remind myself once more why I don't wear these hot pink clouds erryday?
Tuesday, 25 February 2014
Sunday, 23 February 2014
The First That was Published Last
I've never really written without a purpose before. Because all the writing I've ever thought I had to do was just that: something I had to do. Whether for ambiguous grade schemes or to get personal horrors off my mind in the form of a journal entry, I've always had a faceless audience dwelling somewhere in my head.
Butwhat if I were to write merely for the hell of it For the plaesure of getting thoughts out, to express myself the way I do in person. I love talking. It's one of my favourite tihngs. Nothing gets me so high as a good, long, contemplative chat with anyone able to keep up. Needless to say those people are few. Not because there's a lack of intellectually compatible people out there, but because I can't imagine doing that to so many all the time. It's just plain mean.
This alreay is a really crappy post because I can still feel it. It's like I have to make every word count, everything has to be Sherlock brilliant, worth the 7 milliseconds it took to type the words. But it isn't like that when I speak. This pressure simply doesn't exist in th realm of the Fleeting. For isn't that just what verbal speech is? Fleeting ideas only existing in the abstract, only as real as the cognitive extents of the listeners around me. There's no pressure because it makes no sense to pressurize anything said. You can easily manipulate the tide of verbal speech as there's little to no long term memory work taking place. Unlike reading, which provides pictures of words that can't help but lodge themselves into a different part of the Receptive Cabin of the mind, a cubbard altogether separate than the counter top that receives aural words. Afterall, the spoken world isn't something we can quantify. Counters needto be cleared because there's simply too much open space to see everything at once. Cubbards on the other hand are deep, providing opportunity for stacking and layering without the visual clutter an open counter leaves. In other words, it's easy to store.
Butwhat if I were to write merely for the hell of it For the plaesure of getting thoughts out, to express myself the way I do in person. I love talking. It's one of my favourite tihngs. Nothing gets me so high as a good, long, contemplative chat with anyone able to keep up. Needless to say those people are few. Not because there's a lack of intellectually compatible people out there, but because I can't imagine doing that to so many all the time. It's just plain mean.
This alreay is a really crappy post because I can still feel it. It's like I have to make every word count, everything has to be Sherlock brilliant, worth the 7 milliseconds it took to type the words. But it isn't like that when I speak. This pressure simply doesn't exist in th realm of the Fleeting. For isn't that just what verbal speech is? Fleeting ideas only existing in the abstract, only as real as the cognitive extents of the listeners around me. There's no pressure because it makes no sense to pressurize anything said. You can easily manipulate the tide of verbal speech as there's little to no long term memory work taking place. Unlike reading, which provides pictures of words that can't help but lodge themselves into a different part of the Receptive Cabin of the mind, a cubbard altogether separate than the counter top that receives aural words. Afterall, the spoken world isn't something we can quantify. Counters needto be cleared because there's simply too much open space to see everything at once. Cubbards on the other hand are deep, providing opportunity for stacking and layering without the visual clutter an open counter leaves. In other words, it's easy to store.
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