"life is a comedy to those who think, and a tragedy to those who feel"
I always thought Shakespeare had said that, but a quick reference check tells me it is Horace Walpole.
I'd always considered myself a thinker but I am beginning to realize that I don't laugh a things quite as much as I'd like to, or maybe I used to. The ability to let things slide off your back, I have, but to laugh at it all. Truly see the joke. Without feeling the down of the truth of things...I looked this quote up when a friend told me I should laugh it off more. I'd always been a thinker. I am now possibly equal parts of both.
It must be time to rediscover self.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
purpose.
Does every little thing in your life have its own qualifying purpose? Nothing is done without motive or reason?
Such as blogs. I very much enjoy hitting the "next blog" button and coming across musings from across the world, or possibly my back yard, but that is less and less the case. The photography journals are nice, but does no one have anything to say* anymore? Maybe it's pretentious of me. I have something to say. But I often, if not always, do.
Every blog I come across is either the Smith Family Chronicles, or something of the sort...a business related blog...be it photography, bakery, handbags...or an ancient piece where once someone painted their soul on the walls of the cave, only it is now deserted and dark as a tomb, no longer circulating air.
But then, its possible no one is interested in the trivial things in life...for example, that Blue is dancing around the aquarium to Borodin: Nocturne (from my 5 cd set of Ultimate Classical Chill Out) but me. Now it looks like all the fish are dancing. Swimming is dancing? Would walking and breathing be the dance of life, then? If only I were graceful. If there is one thing I am truly not, it's graceful. Take a picture from the waste down and each week there would be a new pattern of blotchy half-healed or just purpling bruises. It's charming, if you get me. Don't bother if you don't.
I often wonder if everything that seems relevant or of substance in our culture today was based on something so trivial in our previous, intuitive without language and of the mother earth, society. Like...high heels. Yesterday I was making tea in the kitchen and felt the floor with my bare feet was cold and dirty. I began walking on my tip toes with some type of fluidity in order to avoid discomfort. And I wondered, what if that's where it truly stems from? the basic instinctual act of women gracefully avoiding discomfort of their feet from dirty home-bases and such trials so long ago. It could be that we would have chosen this pose naturally when it was necessary and now are unnaturally forced into it for the pleasure of... men, social standing.. .fashion... whatever. All because we did it of our own accord, from the type of natural personalities we posses, and it was never forgotten for us as fluidity and for men -well - an excellent shot of our ass.
Well, that's enough wasting your time.
Such as blogs. I very much enjoy hitting the "next blog" button and coming across musings from across the world, or possibly my back yard, but that is less and less the case. The photography journals are nice, but does no one have anything to say* anymore? Maybe it's pretentious of me. I have something to say. But I often, if not always, do.
Every blog I come across is either the Smith Family Chronicles, or something of the sort...a business related blog...be it photography, bakery, handbags...or an ancient piece where once someone painted their soul on the walls of the cave, only it is now deserted and dark as a tomb, no longer circulating air.
But then, its possible no one is interested in the trivial things in life...for example, that Blue is dancing around the aquarium to Borodin: Nocturne (from my 5 cd set of Ultimate Classical Chill Out) but me. Now it looks like all the fish are dancing. Swimming is dancing? Would walking and breathing be the dance of life, then? If only I were graceful. If there is one thing I am truly not, it's graceful. Take a picture from the waste down and each week there would be a new pattern of blotchy half-healed or just purpling bruises. It's charming, if you get me. Don't bother if you don't.
I often wonder if everything that seems relevant or of substance in our culture today was based on something so trivial in our previous, intuitive without language and of the mother earth, society. Like...high heels. Yesterday I was making tea in the kitchen and felt the floor with my bare feet was cold and dirty. I began walking on my tip toes with some type of fluidity in order to avoid discomfort. And I wondered, what if that's where it truly stems from? the basic instinctual act of women gracefully avoiding discomfort of their feet from dirty home-bases and such trials so long ago. It could be that we would have chosen this pose naturally when it was necessary and now are unnaturally forced into it for the pleasure of... men, social standing.. .fashion... whatever. All because we did it of our own accord, from the type of natural personalities we posses, and it was never forgotten for us as fluidity and for men -well - an excellent shot of our ass.
Well, that's enough wasting your time.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Ode to a Fish
Oh! My wet pet!
I forget who wrote that poem. But it seems appropriate today! I attained my very first pet, after 23 years of life, only yesterday. Can you guess what it might be? If you say dog, honestly...No. I am now the proud parent of a 5 gallon fish tank with four small guppies. Laugh if you want, but I am freeking jazzed. It's just great! I feed them, and look at them, and play them classical music when no one is home so they wont be bored. I put a mirror up to the glass before and they tripped out hard. They don't all have names yet. Pretty much Blue, Sunrise, and the Cobra twins. And I'm happy with that.
Listening to Muse and classical music at the same time truly compliments the taste buds of your ear. It's like a remix, but less synth and vocorder.
Two last things.
What do you think would happen if I tried to hard-boil an egg in the microwave?
& Quote of the Day:
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
I forget who wrote that poem. But it seems appropriate today! I attained my very first pet, after 23 years of life, only yesterday. Can you guess what it might be? If you say dog, honestly...No. I am now the proud parent of a 5 gallon fish tank with four small guppies. Laugh if you want, but I am freeking jazzed. It's just great! I feed them, and look at them, and play them classical music when no one is home so they wont be bored. I put a mirror up to the glass before and they tripped out hard. They don't all have names yet. Pretty much Blue, Sunrise, and the Cobra twins. And I'm happy with that.
Listening to Muse and classical music at the same time truly compliments the taste buds of your ear. It's like a remix, but less synth and vocorder.
Two last things.
What do you think would happen if I tried to hard-boil an egg in the microwave?
& Quote of the Day:
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
- George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950) how sad...
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
the trouble to with supposing.
I suppose I should write something, to give this page some type of expression. Of course, that means I cannot hide behind an expressionless face. If I were hiding, the soft skin between each of these lines would give me away. A dimple is too little of an expression, a smile is too much. Though, if I were hiding, even a soft-skinned dimple would give me away to those who could read my blush and creases so well. I have no need to hide from them, thank goodness. To those who cannot read me so well, any wrinkle would be a line of words. My smile is only a picture to them, I suppose. Ah, unless their eyes be keen. And then, I might only suppose so, while an unexpected reader finds soul. Like a lost melody that drifts through the trees is discovered to have come from a nearby stream.
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