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 completely meaningless disorganized nonsense delivered right to your readout on demand 2 november 2005 how is it possible to have no time for nonsense? what strange constructions have i erected in my life whereby nonsense is neglected? i remember, there were times when nonsense was job number one. sigh. nanowrimo has begun, and unless procrastination overrides the shred of sensibility that i purport to possess, i shant update this page this month. this is good. many other "more important" things require immediate attention. sigh. 29 july 2005 fightin' the daily battle with gravity 7 july 2005 every bit of it revolves around choices. can you refuse to make any? or do the choices you've already made force you to make more choices? can you rearrange your world so that you make fewer choices? do you want it to stop revolving? isn't that a choice too? 21 june 2005 how the days and weeks and months slip by without finding time to say, or things to time. productivity itself becomes the metric by which all the neglect must be weighed. is it ever really possible to finish anything? isn't the true beauty the creation anyhow? can persistent creation become art itself? why must we chase artifacts? they are but leftovers. remains. in truth they only bring sorrow. loss. melancholy. perhaps it's better that we never stop anything. perhaps being prolific can itself become the ideal. how could we justly measure an artist with but one unfinished work? time reduces the number of rays, concentrating the light upon fewer, and thus brighter, strokes. days of wasted potential lay discarded in the wake, though time is illusory, and the direction unclear. all the dreams float upon turbid waters - difficult to ply, though what is the alternative once cast upon the sea? numbers feel more important than they appear, though importance itself appears to be numeric. 9 april 2005 "...because half the time i don't know what the heck anyone's talking about anyway." 22 march 2005 the rain is constant. it falls in waves and sheets. it ebbs and flows. and inside we huddle, away from the cold and the wet and the unforgiving. our litle power-hungry refuge from the unkind truth at our door. things move slowly and with purpose unfamiliar to a mind that desires simplicity and meaning. the answers remain forever present, though the mind infrequently desires to take their company, and though distance offers a minimal comfort, the greater failure is ignorance. how fast the world turns. how slow the world turns. has it been another year, or just the same year all over again? the wind drives at us with an unchecked fury, though everyone is already asleep. 18 january 2005 oh overrated focus! oh the deception of sleep! oh the misery of the condition that resolves and revolves with such aimless cruelty! the firey pits of suffering around which they dance - the thoughtless rush towards miserable desire - the horrendous vacancies of life and pursuits and achievements. the future. the cost of it all. nothing is more expensive. the dark days slowly ebb. only three weeks 'till spring. friendster * orkut * myspace * livejournal * flickr AIM swaziloo * YIM swaziloo * email swaziloo at swaziloo dot com last year |