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Jun. 1st, 2004 02:53 pmColleague: I just want to double, triple and quadruple check something.
Me: Unless it requires any effort.
Colleague: How well you know me.
Me: Unless it requires any effort.
Colleague: How well you know me.
Jun. 1st, 2004
(no subject)
Jun. 1st, 2004 03:05 pmWe are everything we interact with. Anything we touch, describe, perceive and change. It becomes part of us, a sliver of us left in stasis until someone or something else molds and changes it. Each item we have spread out is part of the meme that we are, infecting and passing out tendrils of thought brought into form. Reaching out around us to paint the colours we want and leave the sounds of our passing, etched onto the memories of others even as we become changed from their own passing.
I find silence is oppressive. The only time I like it is if I need a moment to myself, or if I need to sleep. A moment to draw myself away from everything and look inside what I am as opposed to outside what I am. In my mind the shapes I have created and the sounds I have sung hang and sway in the breeze of thoughts that buffet them. They slowly wear away as time gnaws at their edges, the fabric fraying slowly until only the brightest and darkest remain.
Do you remember the last door you opened? Do you remember if you turned the handle, pushed it, twisted it? Was it opened for you or did you open it for someone else.
Do you remember the last playing card you looked at, the suit and value? What it was for and if you or someone else played it.
All the memories are being filed away around us, in and about us as the mountains grind slowly down to the floor and the seabeds rise up, hewn from plastic bags and refuse, and soar up to the clouds.
Sight, sound, taste. Our senses touch and test the world around us as it tests us.
Turn the page, the next book is blank as well, waiting for new ink to touch and scribe it into something wonderful.
I find silence is oppressive. The only time I like it is if I need a moment to myself, or if I need to sleep. A moment to draw myself away from everything and look inside what I am as opposed to outside what I am. In my mind the shapes I have created and the sounds I have sung hang and sway in the breeze of thoughts that buffet them. They slowly wear away as time gnaws at their edges, the fabric fraying slowly until only the brightest and darkest remain.
Do you remember the last door you opened? Do you remember if you turned the handle, pushed it, twisted it? Was it opened for you or did you open it for someone else.
Do you remember the last playing card you looked at, the suit and value? What it was for and if you or someone else played it.
All the memories are being filed away around us, in and about us as the mountains grind slowly down to the floor and the seabeds rise up, hewn from plastic bags and refuse, and soar up to the clouds.
Sight, sound, taste. Our senses touch and test the world around us as it tests us.
Turn the page, the next book is blank as well, waiting for new ink to touch and scribe it into something wonderful.
(no subject)
Jun. 1st, 2004 03:09 pmThis statement does not exist.
In fact I refuse to acknowledge that statement, I hereby disavow all knowledge of it on the basis that it hid behind the bikesheds and since I can't see it, it can't see me. Ergo, it doesn't exist. However in making my previous statement I am in effect acknowledging a statement I have stated does not exist. This brings the existance of the statement into a state of paradox in that it cannot both exist and not exist. Hence I have ordered six dozen cats to sit on the statement while I build a giant box around them and wave dangerous chemicals at them while blindfolded.
If I survive being scratched by drugged, crazed, chlorine infected cats the statement will be said to "probably" exist. I will then call a doctor.
In fact I refuse to acknowledge that statement, I hereby disavow all knowledge of it on the basis that it hid behind the bikesheds and since I can't see it, it can't see me. Ergo, it doesn't exist. However in making my previous statement I am in effect acknowledging a statement I have stated does not exist. This brings the existance of the statement into a state of paradox in that it cannot both exist and not exist. Hence I have ordered six dozen cats to sit on the statement while I build a giant box around them and wave dangerous chemicals at them while blindfolded.
If I survive being scratched by drugged, crazed, chlorine infected cats the statement will be said to "probably" exist. I will then call a doctor.