I Am Spartacus

"I am not trying to pull a FinalSin" he says, a courteous nod towards these very pages, "[but] here is a thought I've stolen from the great scholar, Joe Roth." It is a subtle hint to my articles and thoughts that makes me smile and read on, watching him open himself up, throw away the facade of the omniscient editor-in-chief and expose the bare truth of a writer, eager to develop both himself and his audience. I smile. I nod. I begin an email telling him how right he is and then... Well then the point of his article hits me. Cher (of all people) said this - "I can trust my friends. These people force me to examine myself, encourage me to grow." And as my eyes drift across those lines where he admits how 'hypocritical' he may have seemed, or how hollow he may sound to someone who reads only him alone, that is the moment when he fulfils his duty as a friend. Consciously. Subconsciously. I examine myself and I find the same fault. And thus, in an ironic twist, to the article I am now writing. I am, as you may be aware by now, going to 'pull a Mufkin'. I don't have much to say, really. Phoenix Publishings is about to have its second set of articles put up - this time from an even wider range than before, across a broader topic band. What I write here, however pleased I might be with it, is the thinnest slice from the journalism cake that makes up Phoenix Publishings. The long words, the extravagant metaphors, the use of words like 'extravagant' - they are nothing more than my contribution, my feelings, my part in the bigger picture. And so, as the army-like mob that is the general public bears down on the meagre group of writers that creates Phoenix Publishings, I feel there is nothing else to do but to stand up with Mufkin too. Yes, I want to entertain you. Yes, I want to make you think. Yes, I can't do it on my own. I am Spartacus.

We Interrupt Your Usual Surfing...

Today's Word Of The Day is: Apex Use it, safe in the knowledge neither you or the people you are addressing know what it means. I signed the book of condolences today that was left for people who wanted to express feelings of sorrow for the family of an aquaintance who had just died. I found it interesting, and yet somewhat depressing, and yet slightly comforting, that we still follow rituals and the motions of grievance. I did not know this man. Nor did many. But we go through the motions because it lends everyone a reassuring blanket of comfort, where we can let out a little sigh and nurture our frailties. Plus, its an excuse to wax philosophical in front of your friends. 'Life is but a passing dream'... what the hell was I thinking!? Here's to tomorrow! FinalSin

We Must Rebuild

In the past hour I have watched pictures of the destruction of a continent, learned of a man's sudden and shocking death, and written a list about the multitude of imminent, really important things I've to do - write an article for the Phoenix Publishings blog, complete an English essay, have a passport photo taken. The three events are more than food for thought. They're force-feeding from the buffet table of Fate. There are two ways, it seems, of doing things in life - and I believe this applies everywhere - either you give in or you do not. From the simple things like getting up in the morning to achieving world peace, people and their actions are forever divided from one another into two groups - those who took risks and refused to stop working and those who succumbed to failure. I am not trying to criticise those who despair, those who stop, those who cannot go on. Because it can seem logical. But today, they do not seem logical. Today, the last day of January in a new year, they do not make sense. Today, as they say, fortune favours the brave. Today giving in is simply not an option. I look at society, at situations like Iraq and south-east Asia, and sometimes I laugh. I take the holier-than-thou approach, step back and think how futile it all is. We throw money at Indonesia and the surrounding area, constantly working in the knowledge that it will happen again. We stand out ground in Iraq, shooting anything that gives us a funny look, but we know that two insurgents step forward for every one killed. People see the goal and clutch at it, chasing the Sun over the ever-distant horizon. What is the point? The chances of succeeding, of putting a nation back on its feet, of securing world peace, of curing cancer, they are all hypothetical, and astronomically small anyway. Would it not be far easier to accept out helplessness and just cease bothering? But fortune favours the brave, I remind myself. It is too easy, too obvious to giveup. We must keep pushing for that goal because, futile or not, it is in our nature to try, to build, to progress. However far away the goals may seem, they are still there and we will never know how close we were, or how possiblt it really was, unless we try. Clutching at possibilities, chasing the end of the rainbow, that is why we are here. If you sit back and accept the futile weight of probability, it is only your life that becomes futile. We must rebuild, move on, develop simply because it is the only way we can ever construct a meaning out of life. But what do we build? And who might decide that? Who makes the decisions that impact your future? That's what we want to know, isn't it? Yes it is. But all the advice I can give here it to seek the answers yourself. Because the only person that can answer those questions is you.

My Brother (I)

My brother just called me upstairs. He said, "I wondered if, maybe, if I was a bunny I would think 'Why can't I speak'." Then he turned to me, Sartre burning in his eyes. "Wouldn't that be weird? I wouldn't be able to be me." Turns out my teacher was right - even an eight year-old can grasp existentialism.