To Journey, Or To Already Have Travelled?

What is it about human nature that stirs us in the ways it does? Millions die each day from poverty inflicted upon them by Western civilisation. But no sooner than a (admittedly terrible) act of nature swoops down they empty their pockets in the direction of the afflicted. What is it that makes man question whether God exists before questioning whether he exists himself? Why do people talk of anarchy, revolution and the evils in the West... yet we remain seeped in the familiarity of Capitalism and Pseudo-Democracy? What is it that makes us seek love so fervently and yet end up embittered or bored when we reach it. What do we love in life? The journey or the finish line? You set out on the journey of life, with aspirations and dreams. You want the average life with the average wife (or indeed husband) and yet at the same time you aspire to be greater, to be above your peers. Freud would have a field day with most of you reading this. But whether he would be right or not is another matter. You see, a short attention span is almost inherent. We love the thrill of the chase - working our way through an industry's many occupations, dating a potential girl/boyfriend and feeling the high of dopamine working its way through your system, even going shopping. It's all in the build-up, the preceding moments. Once the event occurs, and afterwards, what is there? The feeling of achievement, perhaps. But at the same time the feeling of loss. Not only has the objectives disappeared, but so has the goal. It is done. Over. Certainly, another line in the book of your life. But now all you are faced with is an otherwise empty page. What now? Retraining and new goals? Divorce and new directions? In most people's cases - yes. You leave the company. You get bored and leave your girlfriend. You use a product once and then dispense with it. What am I trying to say with this article? I'm almost asking myself the question as I write it. I am tiptoeing around the inevitable end, for it must have one, but I do not wish to finish it. I can feel the hormones gushing through me as my creativity sparks and sends my writing off in different directions. But I know that when I conclude my article I will press publish and it will sit, happy and content in its own compartment of cyberspace but otherwise unnoticed. Few will read it. Fewer will take its contents on board. Is that a reflection on my skill of writing, or simply a mark of their attention span themselves? Why have I written this? I suppose it is partly to ask the questions I have. I suppose it is also partly to (hopefully) stir someone's mind. Perhaps I am just passing time, waiting for the next challenge. Last year I entered NaNoWriMo. I love fiction-writing, and it was a great challenge. But it was such a great goal, and achievement that now I feel that writing at any other time is not worth it. So I sit here, typing away, waiting for November. Perhaps it is sad. Or perhaps, like a friend told me the other day, perhaps I think about these things too much. Either way, the end is here now. Another goal achieved. Will you dwell upon what you have done? Aristotle always thought that to reach the end of the journey was best. Or will you, like the rest of humanity before us, move onto the next goal, the next love, the next page. And then what? I suppose what I want you to ask yourself is: When are you going to stop? Either way, I'm off to conquer Zululand now. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Dear Blog

Today, I am puzzled. Why does my left shoe squeak? It isn't a friendly, non-commital squeak. It's on a mission. People stop and stare, like I'm some minority group that doesn't belong in the places I visit. Which I suppose is true, in a bizzare way... Today, I am also annoyed. My left shoe is squeaking. Every fricking time I put my left foot down it squeals like I'm stepping on some small cat or other. Combined with the unpleasant brown stuff I stepped in earlier, and the two real cats in the house think a new alpha male has moved in. Today's Religious Fact Brought to you by GOD St. Paul never met Jesus. Really. No sh*t.

Absolutely

My Mum always says that there's no such thing as can't. But there is - I found it in the dictionary, just after canopy and slightly before cantaloupe. We don't like Can't. Nor do we like Impossible. We like 'can-do' morale-boosters and a hoo-hah mentality. It's a shame, really. And things like this confuse me. We obsess over death, for instance. We fight to stop it. We want forever, infinity, endless anything. In Physics, there is a search for the Theory Of Everything. That name seems to grand to me. They aren't looking for something to govern everything - the Theory won't explain the best way to spread marmalade on toast or pilot a jet fighter. But it links the foundation of Physics together and forges an idol that we can all worship. That's all we want, really. God. The Theory Of Everything. Something Infinite. Contingency and causality is what our world runs on. Causes which spawn effects which themselves become causes. All we need - all we search for - is that one constant that would prove, secure and ground our shaky societies, philosophies and ways of life. I haven't thought this out fully, and I don't pretend to be a philosopher or a scientist, but I don't believe we have any absolutes. I think it scares us. The fact that there is nothing impossible, the fact that there is nothing that does not have an end. We want something to cling to, something to hammer a guyrope into so that if all else fails in our life, at least we have that as a failsafe. But the simple fact is, I believe, that we don't have anything. There is no absolute. Admittedly, it would be unusual if I was drafted into the English rugby team tomorrow morning. But not out of the question. Is it scary? Of course it isn't. Randomness, perhaps, is the only reason why we're here. Once you accept that anything will happen, you live a little differently. The first rule in the Code of the Samurai is to always keep death in mind at all times. I burst out laughing the first time I read that - how morbid and depressing it all seemed - but their reasoning was perfect. If you always believe you are about to die, you will work harder, love truer, act more virtuous and live more carefully than you have ever done so before. That's the kind of difference that can be made, if you realise that nothing in life is permanent, and all that you have could be whisked from under you in a moment. In the Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, the heroes of the novel are travelling to a planet when it launches two missiles at them. After working with their spaceship's special features, the missiles unexpectedly turn into a pot of flowers and a surprised-looking blue whale. 'That's impossible,' one of the protagonists claims. 'No', he is corrected. 'Just very, very improbable.'

The Keyboard Glares At Me...

...and I glare back. We aren't getting on well at the moment. I'm not getting on well with much right now. Don't you ever get that feeling... the one where you wonder whether anything ever happens in life? Maybe it's just me. But as I said, the keyboard is glaring at me. It sits there, as it does every day, but the wristrest is stiff and unhelpful and the keys move slightly when I try to find them. I'm sure the 'i' used to be lower than that. Behind me, the radio is talking. But instead of talking to me, the people are murmuring between themselves. I feel wrong, I feel like I am snooping on a conversation about Things I Couldn't Possibly Understand. They laugh and joke, talking to a country of Other People. But not me. I am surrounded by CDs, and though at some point I felt compelled enough to buy or ask for half of them, now they amaze me. Did I really ever want Avril Lavigne? In reply she pouts even deeper into her badly-kept hair. The world, it would seem, is as irritated with me as I am with it. A kind of mutual loathing - the wind outside howls fearfully, daring me to try and brave it. Cars rush past, brash and uncaring, as if to impress upon me their power and fierceness. My monitor has shrunk back into the shadow of my computer desk, and the chair behind me is curving more than usual, as if to kick me off. It is not going to be a good day. But it is a Day. And I must seize it. Carpe Diem. The day, however, seems too large, too expansive. I could study, learn, broaden my horizons. Then again - I could do that tomorrow. But would the Day notice if I did? Would it embrace me, kiss me on both cheeks, apologise and promise to be more friendly tomorrow? No. It refuses to stop harassing me, but it would never consider a friendship. Instead, the Day hangs around like a bad smell, reminding me of the past and threatening me with the future. A new blog. A new day. Carpe Diem, as they say.

A Big Shout Out To...

Just a small post to say thanks to all those who help make my life a little easier, and this blog a little livelier. Hello to Ms. Kuja, the mere thought of whom always cheers me up. Hi also to Mufkin , and to Simon, King and Aaron (Three of a kind). A big thanks to Twister at The Energy Radio for providing the music for me to write to, and also to you, for reading this right now. You're a star, you know that don't you? Ah! God! Maria! My personal and very inexpensive therapist, as well as being a source of information and American-based happiness. Thanks, Maria! Have I left you out? Don't worry, it's probably my memory. You'll be on here as soon as I remember! And, of course, my fellow bloggers who aren't in the Phoenix ring. Thankyou all, be you linksharers, entertainers or friends. Fiat Blog Just Another Faceless Knob MoDCAMeRa Anime Kicks