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The Infinite Soul
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Did you ever wonder if Infinity's really infinite? Or is that just something they tell you as a child? Children will believe such things. I still do. ^_^
Whatever anyone tells you, it's worth it. Why? Because the world is full of beauty, and I'll love it forever.
|
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
... I'm not burning my bridges yet, but I'm sure as hell getting out the matches.
. . .
... In case anyone thinks to come back here when wondering why my livejournal disappeared, I'm putting up an explanation.
I'm dealing with something right now, it's not a good situation, and it's a rather painful choice. Until I find out what I need to know and make my decision, the livejournal will be offline.
And if you do read this, don't email or call me up asking what's going on. Just leave me alone, please? Thanks.
I'll figure it out and I'll do what needs to be done. Simple as that.
. . .
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Okey, here we go. ^_^ Change your bookmarks, everybody! *flies off*
http://www.livejournal.com/users/stardustenigma
. . .
I'm thinking I might move to livejournal. B'cause people keep telling me I should. And then I could get comments! And have the little bouncing-kitty icons! I might just do that. Right now, because I'm hyper! Yay hyper!
Current mood: Bouncy
. . .
I just got back from my physical therapist appointment. It was weird, because I was in excrutiating pain, and yet I was very very ticklish. So I'm laying there, tortured, and fighting giggles. Weirdest thing I'd ever felt, pain and tickles in the same spot at the same time. My therapist and I kept laughing. She's like "You know, I can't DO this if you're laughing...", and I'm like "*giggles* I know! I know! I'm trying! *giggles more*"
That was the funnest torture ever!
. . .
"We're doomed to die! Whoo-hoo!" --Anna doing Nara-impressions.
. . .
RAR!
. . .
So. Yeah. Slept through my first class. I should go get breakfast now. Or lunch. Either way.
. . .
Monday, February 02, 2004
Grumble. Grammar class today was pesky, because not only did we have a test, there was this really cute guy sitting next to me... Today I was sitting there mentally hitting myself. "I will not flirt with the cute guy who looks like Christopher Robin." *mental whack* "I will not flirt with the cute guy who looks like Christopher Robin." *mental whack* "I will not..." Yeah. His name's "Christopher." He's like Christopher Robin all grown up and turned way hot. He's got this curly honey-colored hair and these blue eyes, and he's the sweetest guy ever. Yeah. So I've got a mild crush. I just really hope he doesn't reciprocate. I would ruin his sweet, innocent nature. Kinky psychotic bitch that I am.
Becky: Poor kid. He's doomed. Now he's got a stalker.
I am not a stalker! *bricks Becky* G'way.
. . .
Sunday, February 01, 2004
You know, there's this thing...
I guess when you settle into a life, whatever life, and you get used to your routines, and maybe you like it, maybe you don't, but it's your life. It's the way things are. You get used to knowing that when you wake up in the morning, you're still going to be living in a land called America, which claims to be more (or sometimes less) than its people know it to be, but they don't think about it. You know you're going to get up when your alarm goes off, and go into work, or school, or whatever it is you do with your days. Routine. It's easy. It's comfortable. Stable. You can make changes if you want, move your residence, dye your hair, make different kinds of friends, but it's still your life, and you're in control.
But you know what worries me?
It can't stay like that. You might like to think it will, but you know things happen, people die, bombs drop, plagues ravage... Maybe you feel safe, because you live in America, but even in your own life you know there are things you can't control. Car crash. Fatal illness. Rape... Things happen in everyone's life, that completely change the direction of a life, sometimes completely end it. They're the things you can't control, and you know they're going to happen, you know they happen in everyone's life, but you don't know how, you don't know when, and maybe you tell yourself that it's okay, it's not gonna happen to me...
(Sanity requires a certain amount of denial.)
And it happens to more than just people. It happens to cities, to governments, to planets. Clock's ticking to a deadline you can't even guess at. No government can last forever. States are nothing but change, upheaval, renewal... America's here now. Who's to say it'll be here tomorrow? And whether that tomorrow is a day away or centuries away, it's going to come to an end. Nothing lasts forever.
It's not that I fear that kind of change. It's that I dread it. There's a difference. When I think about things I fear, they're things that make my heart beat in panic, and I can feel my lips whisper a prayer--("Goddess, protect me...")--but dread? That's different. Dread is when my heart tenses, the sort of things I know are coming, and I can't stop, I know I'll have to face them when they get here. Tests, moving day, dentists appointments... those are the sort of things one dreads.
I dread change, because I know it's coming. I know that one day, something's going to happen, something no one expects, and life as we know it, life in our safe, sterile, commercial little world is going to SHATTER. No one knows what comes after.
It bothers me, sometimes. I can feel it, down in my belly, resting just above my diaphram, the dread that something's going to happen...
Maybe I'm just being foolish, or morbid, or too philosophical, but...
I still know it's going to happen.
The only question is when?
. . .
"... I thought you were working on your five-page paper."
"I am. I'm taking a break."
"When's it due?"
"March."
"... "
... I guess I really do sometimes plan ahead to an absurd degree.
. . .
That's a nice image... "At the sight of beauty, the wings of the soul begin to grow." --Plato.
. . .
Saturday, January 31, 2004
pizza! ^_^ Now I feel even better.
. . .
Mm. So.
My writing workshop was very honest and realistic... and thus depressing. It smashed a few of my dreams of getting magically published and being successful right away.
Then I walked home in the blowing snow, and was tired, cold, and depressed.
But I just bit into the most wonderful chocolate bar ever. *happy moan* Gods, this is good. It's this company called "Chocolove," and they use all these natural ingredients and support environmentalism and stuff. Dark chocolate with crystallized ginger... I hate dark chocolate if it's not done well, but if it's done well... mmm. *bliss*
. . .
Thursday, January 29, 2004
... yeah, I originally got "angelic wings", but I'm like 'what the fuck? Innocent? Benevolent?' Like hell... But this is true. Especially the barefoot mischief.
You are blessed with FAERY wings. Beauty,
laughter, life, magic...that's what you are all
about. You are refreshingly innocent and happy
with your life of purity and play. Life's a
game and it's a good one. In your eyes there's
no way to lose! You can be very mischeivous and
have been known to cause trouble, but it's all
in the name of fun and not meant to really harm
anyone. You like to play tricks on people who
aren't quite as bright or clever as you - which
is almost everyone. Nature is the setting you
prefer to be in - Always. Barefoot and wild you
can't be tamed. You're probably a restless
spirit who loves to travel, and quite a
dreamer. Your creativity is astounding and your
art (of whatever media - from writing to
painting to drama) is like something from
another world - ethereal and often very
fantasy-oriented. You can either be a social
butterfly or a loner with their head in the
clouds - but rarely inbetween. You stubbornly
refuse to accept responsibility or to give in
to the wishes of others - unless you feel like
it. You have a strong passion for music and
can't imagine life without it. You'll grow up
someday, but you'll always be a child at heart.
You are adventurous and love to take risks, and
feel a deep connection with the weather,
plants, and animals. You prefer sunshine to
thunder or snow, the warmth of summer to
autumn's chill, and quiet forests to suburban
backyards. Magic through and through, you are
far more powerful than you seem, and are
capable of being extremely passionate. Though
you can be childish, naive, stubborn, and
self-absorbed, one thing is certain - life with
you will never be boring!
*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla
. . .
I'm the lai, with no sort
Of grave, solemn thought,
And I
Will never be caught
By miseries sought,
Nor sigh;
Where battles are fought
Or arguments brought,
I fly. |
What Poetry Form Are You?
|
. . .
We got let out of class way early today. I'm happy about that. (Yay~!)
And I had really good hungarian goulash for lunch. @_@ I was just thinking about how I'd like some more, which is really really weird, for dining hall food.
Except for that iced gingerbread. That was really good iced gingerbread...
*obviously hungry*
. . .
Monday, January 26, 2004
Charlie and Johnny are cute together. Cute /friends/. Not romantic. The idea of them together romantically weirds me out. They're like brothers, the way they bicker and know each other's quirks, and Charlie's always taking care of Johnny.
Johnny: *taking care of the potted plants in his room*
Charlie: *wanders in, carrying a tray with a bowl of mochi and a mug of hot chocolate* *twitch* Why aren't you in bed?
Johnny: I have work to do!
Charlie: You couldn't even sit UP on your own yesterday. You were on orders to spend today in bed.
Johnny: ... I'm feeling much better.
Charlie: Liar. *holds up a hand with three fingers* How many fingers am I holding up?
Johnny: *looks at his hand for a moment* Are you counting the thumb as a finger?
Charlie: I"m not holding my thumb up!
Johnny: Er... *squints* Two?
Charlie: ... *sets down the tray on the table* In bed. NOW.
Johnny: Eep. *dusts off his hands and sits down on the bed, removing his shoes and shirt obediently*
Charlie: *mutters to himself and drops a sleeping pill into the hot chocolate when Johnny isn't looking* *tucks him in and sets the tray on his lap* Now, you eat this, and then get some sleep. I'll check in on you, and if you're not sleeping, you're in trouble. Understand?
Johnny: *salutes* Yes, mom.
Charlie: *glare*
. . .
The world is out to get me today...
. . .
Sunday, January 25, 2004
| I am the Siren A man is often secretly oppressed by the role he has to play - by always having to be responsible, in control, and rational. The Siren is the ultimate male fantasy figure because she offers a total release form the limitations of his life. In her presence, which is always heightened and sexually charged, the male feels transported to a realm of pure pleasure. In a world where women are often too timid to project such an image, learn to take control of the male libido by embodying his fantasy. Symbol: Water. The song of the Siren is liquid and enticing, and the Siren herself is fluid and ungraspable. Like the sea, the Siren lures you with the promise of infinite adventure and pleasure. Forgetting past and future, men follow her far out to sea, where they drown. |
What Type of Seducer are You?
created by  polite_society
. . .
Saturday, January 24, 2004
LOVER. You're a lover, not a fighter. You're
romantic, and sexy... possibly even sometimes
kinky. But sex fiend... Never. You're too
romantic for that.
Are you a sex fiend?
brought to you by Quizilla
. . .
Powerful. You're a scary son of a bitch. Chances
are, you'd rule over all other vampires in your
vicinity, and probably some humans as well.
You're hard to kill, because you keep your
weaknesses and strengths secret. Bathing in
blood is a regular past-time. You're ruthless
and indestructable.
What SORT of Vampire would you be?
brought to you by Quizilla
Rar! Fear me!
. . .
I feel so bored and alone... I've called every single friend on my phone list that lives either on or near campus, even the ones I haven't talked to in months, and everyone's either busy or not answering...
And I just ran out of people to call.
*sitting around staring at the phone in her lap* Now what?
. . .
Thursday, January 22, 2004
I think sanity involves a large amount of denial towards reality.
. . .
So, see, I'm working on this mathematical hypothesis involving base-twelve mathematics, and... yeah. I'm going to mostly type it up over at Simon's LJ, because, well, yeah. Simon has a live journal, even though he's a fictional character. Bite me.
www.livejournal.com/users/entropy_star/
. . .
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Eep! The game I'm playing just ate my squirrel! o.o
The poor squirrel! She's stuck in a game glitch... *sob*
. . .
Saturday, January 17, 2004
The best way to control people is to convince them that they are free.
That's one thing that's always bugged me about Americans. There's this one really annoying song, in which one of the main lyrics is "I'm glad I live in America, where at least I know I'm free", and I've just gotta ask--"Do you? Why?" What do they think makes America so much freer than the rest of the world? Why do they think America's special? Oh! I know! It's because we practically live in a police state! And everyone's paranoid, because the government told them to be that way! And, c'mon, name me one "freedom" that Americans have that other developed countries don't.
Freedom of speech? Give me a break. /Censored/ that if ... /censored/ and I just think that /censored/...
Freedom of religion? Yeah, maybe that was important back in 1774, but today? All the forward-thinking countries have it, and that's at least half the world.
Yeah. Um.
/rant.
. . .
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
"My problem isn't that I'm absent-minded. It's that people keep erasing my mental chalkboard!"
Nara, on making "mental notes."
. . .
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Neverwheres
(Clocks in Winter)
Once upon a time,
Where the hot winds blow
On the snowing sands
Of Neverwheres.
Three men in a boat
Crossed the Desert on foot
With the boat on their backs:
Three men and a dog.
Where the stream runs dry
Under the summer sky;
Where time only stops
In the Winter.
But the sun beams down
On the moonlit town,
And the rain only falls
On the Neverwhere.
And the tree branch broke,
When the baby fell,
And the clouds they cried
For the Silence.
And the Old Man spoke
Of a forgotten joke,
And an old tin town
On the edge of sea.
Where the rain once fell,
And it falls no more,
There was once a piece
Of the Neverwhere.
So the tree grows tall,
By the muddy lake,
And the Angel's ghost,
On the shore;
Where she drowned one day
In the muddy bay,
While the blowing grass
Grew on.
So the dust drives down
In the summer snow,
And the Lake lies dry
In the Neverwhere.
Once upon a time,
And the boat on the Lake.
Three men and a dog
With the Angel's ghost.
And there never was a day
When the land touched the sky,
Except when the birds
Fly in circles.
So the men built a graveyard
In the bright burning sky
And set up a clock on the Moon
Of Neverwheres.
And the clocks will run backwards in Winter.
. . .
Damn Greeks.
*sulk*
. . .
Saturday, January 10, 2004
I think I'm starting to get the hang of this photoshop stuff...
. . .
Friday, January 09, 2004
I got an email back from my writing contest saying that they got my entry and I'm entered in the contest! ^_^
^_^ It's this really cool and really important contest, and all sorts of famous fantasy writers are in it.
It was started and is run by L. Ron Hubbard. Who also started the church of Scientology, I'm told. @_@ The guy has way too much free time.
Ooh, and I've got the cutest little petpet. ^_^ Her name is Angeldust. She's a feepit.
. . .
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Squee! This is so cute! ^_^
My Neopet: http://www.neopets.com/~Sapphire_Curse
. . .
Saturday, January 03, 2004
*sob* I don't get it! It hates me!
*is having massive troubles trying to comprehend Adobe Photoshop, the help files, or any of the tutorials, which incorrectly assume that she's /not/ a complete idiot*
*wails in agony*
. . .
Thursday, January 01, 2004
I'm going to make a grand attempt at making the shards of Ilium into a novel! So hah!
. . .
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
See, most the time I don't want to be taken seriously. It's too much pressure. Most the time I'd rather just tease and laugh and not have anyone think anything of it. And it's better for other people, to not take me seriously, because otherwise they'd fear I was insane and have me institutionalized. That way I can be more honest, because if I know they're not going to take it seriously, I don't have to worry that they'll misunderstand--or even that they'll care.
But the problem is that then they won't take me seriously, even when I try. Then it's just another joke, and y'know, she's just being Nara again... and it's okay if what she's saying doesn't make sense, because she's just being silly anyways... so what does it matter whether or not one stops to listen, to find out, and to understand?
(Nara's a very silly person...)
And then, maybe it's good that no one takes me too seriously. That way they won't find out my secrets (but sometimes, certain people, I want them to find out), they won't be scared away by my oddisms (since it would be too much to ask for them to understand), and they won't ever bother to ask why I do it (it's all a facade), or who I really am.
And that makes me safe.
(... Right?)
. . .
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Armpit sex!
... that's so wrong. And yet so oddly funny.
*giggles uncontrollably*
Almost as funny as a ferret orgy!
It's like elbow sex (Rocky Horror reference), only worse. Much worse. *giggles*
. . .
I'm horny, dangit. *sulk*
*looks around for someone to torture*
. . .
It has been discovered that I "have a thing for sex in water."
*blink* Huh. Inneresting. ^_^;;
. . .
Saturday, December 27, 2003
Bwahaha! *plots* My new RPG is starting to get players! Whee~!
But I still need more. You! You there! Yes, you!
http://forums.delphiforums.com/dreamcafe/messages/?msg=32.1
. . .
Friday, December 26, 2003
"It would be like trying to explain the way it feels when you wake up from a dream, and you know that in the dream, you knew the answer to it all, and it was right there in your hands, and you could’ve fixed all the problems in the world, and made everything right—but then you wake up. Or the feeling you get when you hear about the most beautiful painting by one of the most talented painters in history—and how it was accidentally destroyed in a fire that burned down his house, and him with it, and there’s no record of what it onced looked like, except for a brief description of a woman, and a star, and a swan. It was like the feeling you get when one day you realize that you’ve grown up, and there really isn’t any such thing as magic. Or like going to the funeral of a saint. There’s a bit of an ache, and a profound awe, the most perfect sort of pain, gently excrutiating, and you just can’t look away. It was that kind of feeling." -- Color
. . .
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
I think that, as children, everyone knows that they're special. You know that there's no one just like you, and that of all the people in the world, there's something special about you, that makes you more important than the rest of them, and no one could ever take your place. And you know that if magic happened, like it does in the books and in the movies, it'd happen to you, and you're just waiting for it to come true.
And to some extent, it's true, that we're all unique, but as we grow up, we find out that there are over six billion people in the world. And every single one of your unique traits? There's someone out there who can do it, too. Maybe even better than you could. There's nothing that makes you special anymore. There's nothing that makes you stand out. And you can go on and live your life and enjoy it, but you're not special anymore. You know that you're just another person. And whether or not you believe in magic, you haven't been invited on a dragon-hunting quest yet... and you know that you probably never will. You can still tell stories, and claim to believe in magic, but deep down you know that you've grown up, and that it's never going to be real again...
I wonder which is better--to live in this world that we have, and love it, or to be eternally hoping and believing in the magical possibility that might never come?
Better or worse... I guess I already made my choice.
. . .
Monday, December 15, 2003
I had this brilliant idea-thing that may or may not end up as a sitcom, at the very least...
See, take a cute lesbian couple and a cute gay couple, and cross-marry them heterosexually for the sake of their families... and of course they'd have to get along really well... And they could kinda switch off husbands or wives with each other, although they'd always be homosexual, it could be the greatest odd married foursome ever.
Like... "have you met my husband? this is james." "... you had a different husband last time I saw you." "Oh. Did I? That must've been Edgar. My other husband." "..."
I just have to find the perfect gay guy to marry me, and the perfect guy for him. *nodnod*
... and then there's that minor detail that I'm way too hyper for my own good right now. I got cherry jello! ^_^ WHEE~!
. . .
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Sometimes I get so sick of words. They never express things properly, because you never know if the person you're talking to knows what you mean, or if they're just interpreting it the best way they can. Words are so inadequate. Especially when they're important...
... maybe that's why I always confuse things so much.
. . .
(This is a piece for that novel-thing I may or may not ever finish. The mists of insanity. Yeah.
Warning: Features Vermillion, who's a psychotic murdering sadist bastard. Not exactly the happiest piece ever, but the description of Moon is very nice, up to the point where they start talking.)
~vermillion moon~
White hair slid across the black marble floor, fanning strands across the dark galaxies of the stone. Tiny glints of light filled the marble slabs, black and silver mirrors in white marble veins. The hair was pure, soft white, long and straight, forming patterns on the ground, like a blanket of snow melting on the bitter city streets.
A hand lay outstretched in the strands, fingers curled, palm up. It was a peculiarly graceful hand, smooth and perfectly manicured, but rough and broken on a few of the nail-tips, as if the owner had been chewing on them--old habits are the hardest to break.
Follow the hand up the arm to the body--lithe, slender, evidently male, with skin so pale the sun might never have kissed its surface. The lack of color matched his hair. His chest stirred with breathing.
The line of the neck--obscured by the stray locks, like pieces of fine white thread falling across his shoulders--and the face--sharp, Roman features, cheeks pale, lips stained with a paintbrush of rose petals. His eyes were open, laced by fields of subtle white lashes, and the color between the lashes was the color of the moon on the horizon--two oval drops of blood in a field of snow...
He might have been handsome, but his hair was too graceful, his eyes were too large, and his body too soft and slender. He might have been attractive, but his skin was too pale, his eyes were too red, and his back was laced with scars. He was beautiful in the worst possible way.
"You know what I've always thought, little brother?" Someone asks, someone nearly identical to the man on the floor, but taller, darker, with hair the color of his brother's eyes, and eyes a mysterious reddish-brown. A goblet of red wine hovers in his hand, held carelessly between two fingers.
"Don't call me that," Moon whispers, closing those eyes--roses of passion are that color.
"I think pain is a form of beauty."
"Yes," Moon whispers. "But you're mad."
"I suppose I can't argue with that." Smiling cruelly, Vermillion lifts the wine to his lips and takes a sip. "I may be mad, but in a world of fools, a madman can be a king."
"That's no excuse."
"Mm." Crossing to the window, Vermillion looked out, twirling the glass between his fingers, watching the fluid spin. "You know what my favorite color is?"
"Vermillion," Moon breathes.
"Yes. The way it flows, the way it drips and pools."
"Blood isn't a color, and it isn't your color, either."
"Yes it is," Vermillion chuckles. "But if I'm mad, and you know what I'm talking about, doesn't that make you mad, too?"
"I don't know. It doesn't matter."
The white hair is mixed with red, turning the most innocent shade of pink in pools of blood.
"Maybe I am mad, but it's beautiful, isn't it?"
Those eyes roll up, open again, watching the ceiling, until a crimson drop hits his cheek and traces down his face like a tear. The eyes close. "What?"
"Blood. Pain. Death."
"You're insane," Moon snarls, rising to a sitting position with a glare--so cruel in those deep, deep eyes--hair stained red at the tips.
"We'd already determined that. What do you think it's like to die, little brother?"
Moon took a breath, closing his eyes dazedly. "Just let me go."
"Not yet," Vermillion laughed. "Not yet. Not until you've answered my question..."
"Are you going to kill me?"
"I haven't decided yet. It would be a pity, to lose you, when you're so beautiful, so fragile, so pale and so dark..."
"I hate you," Moon interrupted.
"You hate most people."
"Most people hate you."
"True," Vermillion said. "But it would be beautiful to watch you die. There are very few people who can die properly. Too many of them beg, gasping and sobbing, or cursing and swearing--and then the very worst are those damnable saints, who forgive you for your trespasses and whisper a prayer with their last breath. I hate those."
"You're going to kill me. That's why you've brought me here."
"I told you, I haven't decided."
"I don't know if it's even possible for me to die..."
"But you can feel pain. So perhaps I don't need to kill you. I could keep you here, in pain, constantly dying but never able to close your eyes and end it, until your soul dripped out of you and your heart just stopped beating--but even then you wouldn't be dead. That's what I mean... you would be beautiful if you died."
A tear traced its way down Moon's cheek. "Why do you still call me your little brother?"
"That was a long time ago."
"Maybe you forget that I was sold into slavery, and you let me go. You're not a brother, and you never were. You're a psychotic sadistic murderer."
Vermillion laughed. "You see? You're beautiful when you're in pain..." Taking a knife from the table, he knelt by Moon's side, tracing a scarlet line across his pale chest, lapping the blood from the blade with his tongue.
"Leave me alone..." Moon begged, and Vermillion laughed again, pressing the blade into Moon's palm, and walking away, leaving him with the weapon and one arm free...
One way or the other. Pain or death...
Either way it's beautiful.
. . .
I think I have a tendency to take things far too seriously...
. . .
Sunday, December 07, 2003
Gyaaah~! Why did they put peppermint oil in a lip balm?
It burns! It burns!
Aieeeeeeee!
*runs around in circles*
. . .
Friday, December 05, 2003
Y'know, they say you can acheive a form of immortality, as long as people remember you. As long as people still know your name, you don't ever really die. You still matter. That's why people set world records--so that they'll be remembered, at least until the next person comes along, stronger, faster, smarter... and then the first one is forgotten, lost forever.
What can you do? To be remembered, you have to make a difference. You have to make people remember you, either out of love or hate... You have to work hard, maybe all of your life, to make a mark and be remembered, but even then, even if you try all your life, sometimes you fail, and sometimes you're only remembered for a few decades, until all your friends and loved ones are gone, and you're only a picture in a book in some attic of a house that's condemned to be destroyed. It's only the lucky ones who make a difference, maybe they win the Nobel prize, or write the most beautiful song, or paint the most beautiful picture... but even then, how long will they be remembered? A few decades, a few centuries, if they're really lucky, before they start fading... Sometimes, very rarely, a person will make enough of a mark to be remembered for thousands of years--Jesus, Socrates, Buddha... But those people are the rare, the gifted, the magical... That's not us.
As you look around, whatever you're best at, there's someone who's better. There's someone who leaves you behind in the dust... and if you can't do something well, why do it at all?
I think I'm just being... which sociological category is this? Fatalism? Or is it Nihilism...? I can't remember the right name. But if you're not going to make a mark, if you can't make a difference, why bother?
The only answer I can give myself for that is that everything one does makes a difference. You never know when you'll choose whether to turn left or right, and prevent some huge disaster, or create some huge opportunity for someone in need, and you'll never even know you did it, because it was just a chain set of reactions that led back to the way you tossed out that magazine without reading it, or smiled at that person you'd never met. I guess I still kind of believe that everything matters, even the tiniest breath or the tear you brush away without being seen. Everything matters, whether or not we realize it, and so we have to keep going and doing the things we do, because that's what makes the world what it is. Every day, every moment we exist, we are making the world.
... that's what matters...
. . .
But the thing is, I haven't yet decided whether or not sexuality is a socially constructed concept. Because my original theory had large holes in it. But there's something about it that I'm not quite ready to give up... If I can just form it into proper thoughts. And there's something I've been trying to figure out, because I'm just not sure how to make it fit, or how it's important, at all. It's been bugging me a bit...
Why are we drawn to Beauty? Why is it important? Why do humans need beauty? Why do they bother? Why are things designed for Beauty, not efficiency? Why does it matter? What is the purpose of Beauty?
I just can't figure it out. Yet. I will. But until then, if anyone has any ideas on the subject, please share...
*ponders, muttering*
. . .
I discovered recently, I've stopped being an idealist. I'm a realist now, I suppose. I think I've been moving away from idealism for a long time. Of course, this is keeping in mind that reality is boring. Delusions are so much more fun. Which is why we figure Miss Jilly-Rose is a figment of my imagination.
. . .
In response to Kylee's question at her blog, "can logic be an alternative to ethics?" Yes. Yes, it can.
Ooh! Look! A rant!
Jilly, don't read this. Consider yourself warned!
Logic can definately be an alternative to ethics. I've been working on this theory lately, about societally constructed concepts, and the key piece to it is Social Morality. My thesis for that is simple--there is no such thing as Right or Wrong. Morality is invented by society to protect society's interests. There's no divine, universal laws that are generally understood, of things that are forbidden to all persons in all situations.
The thing is, what one culture sees as evil, another culture considers it admirable and brave. Take the example of murder, which, in some circumstances, is the ultimate evil and punishable by death. But the same murder in a case labeled "war" by society, is perfectly acceptable and even lauded. There is no activity in human society which would be universally considered to be "wrong." The good or evil of an action is purely subjective to the society who judges it. According to Claude Levi-Strauss (and this entire rant was inspired by his writings on the structures of Kinship and their importance in society, especially the discussion of the objections presented to incest and the inherent evil of that institution--he proves them all baseless. (Note: that's not to say he endorses incest. He doesn't. He doesn't care about incest, he cares about the society that forms it.), societies only expressly forbid the things that they bring about.
So, in that case, ethics don't exist. There is no such thing as right or wrong. And, based along those lines, what I figure is that one has to decide things regardless of ethics, but simply on the basis of gain and loss, for oneself and any others involved. Ethics become a myth. Logic is the ONLY form of "moral" guidance to be trusted.
Okay. I'm done. Anyone who has any questions can ask me and hear me rant more. Anyone who has any objections, feel free to voice them to me--I figure, if I'm trying to develop a social theory, I need people outside of my own viewpoint to tell me whether or not I'm overlooking something important. Or several things.
*bounces off*
. . .
Riddleses. Right. Well, yesterdays, if you're curious, was a ring.
Today's I haven't yet figured out. So any suggestions are welcome! ^_^;;; Or else. *glareglare*
"The more you take me, the more you leave me behind. What am I?"
. . .
Thursday, December 04, 2003
I'm going to start posting up riddleses! ^_^ One every day. Except when I forget. (Reliable, huh?) Because I liked this one. And riddles are shibby! *bounce*
"I am a token of one's love. I have no beginning and no end. What am I?"
. . .
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
*snarls* *throws a book against the wall* Stupid bastards--*snarl* *curls up to sulk* MEN.
. . .
Dammit... I really want to join the Dream Senshi RPG, but I don't have time to find a scanner for the pic I drew--otherwise, my profile is FINISHED--and I don't have time to keep up with all the stuff that's happening and that I'm supposed to read and... dammit...
. . .
The angst! The drama! *gasp* *shock* *faint*
My characters are all being very active. It's rather distracting. ^_^;; But fun and exciting, I suppose... Simon's trying to poison his lover's ex-boyfriend. And he has a dramatic hat. Oh, and Castor's pro'lly gonna get his ass kicked. *nodnod*
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