Thursday, May 26, 2011

Nonsense: The Currency of the Blog.

The attempt at communication is a mysterious thing. I'm barely able to formulate a cohesive and consistent strain of thought, let alone convey it to another with confidence in what is said. Sure, we can chit chat here and there, we've learned to do that well enough, but communicating abstract thought in a genuine and coherent manner is so very difficult! I suppose I say this because I'm generally confused. The undertaking of any given thought process/intellectual inquiry ends up in something quite curious (for me at least). I always end up reflecting upon that which I'm reflecting upon (meta-reflection? ha) and conclude that I'm not sure at all why I've chosen this subject. What does it truly mean in relation to myself? If we engage in any given line of thought (simply for the fun of solving a puzzle) then new puzzles will always arise.

Take philosophy, for example. We identify certain sets of philosophical problems which we label "interesting" and attempt to offer a solution for the given problem. Yet, problems are never truly isolated... the question of vagueness, for example, is not isolated from questions of language, context and the metaphysical. The assessment of the metaphysical is not independent of an inquiry into the nature of our experience, and so on ad infinitum.

So why do we ask? Do we truly think that we'll find answers to isolated questions and the infinite string of questions which springs from these?

Why do we ask?

I worry that many philosophical undertakings have lost sight of the goal... or have been searching absent a goal all of the while. What is the philosophy of philosophy? What is this elusive existential commitment which we as self-aware beings unwittingly give into?

These sorts of questions are often labeled frivolous. Spiritual, perhaps (which often carries with it an implication of pseudo-intellectual nonsense).

I am ranting. I always am. I find myself so entirely dissatisfied with the current nature of *things*. This cannot be the only perspective that we are capable of cultivating. I am tired of playing an infinite game of cat and mouse.

I cannot name it and perhaps I shall never be able to, though I suppose I have no choice but to try.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Complexity in the seemingly simple.

There exists a fine line between understanding and a misconstrued, fantastical theory that leads one to further entrapment.

To begin a journey which (ideally) leads one toward understanding is the most difficult step that one can take in life. The entry point may be arbitrary and oftentimes one is forced to walk simply through the course of living. We stop to evaluate and consider the route, where shall we travel next? We fail to realize that in this very moment of consideration, we've walked a thousand paces... and we step and step again. One day we'll see, that as a result of those unguided moments of consideration, we've woven a hazy web behind us.

What then?
What now?

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The Past Repeats, Repeats, Repeats

School begins and extracurricular writing diminishes. Due to my taking a Russian literature class, I've been thinking quite a bit about literature's impact upon national perspective. Of course, we live in the internet age and as such, modes of communication are not comprised of compartmentalized forums. Original expressionism has become almost null and void, for each and every person who feels artistically inclined attempts to shock and revolutionize. Yet is this modernistic approach to expressionism truly original, truly a product of inspiration? Or is it simply another means to be heard, to be seen in the midst of the sensationalistic blaring lights which crowd and overwhelm us?

Is there such a thing as a modern work of art that speaks both to the people and times which it represents in a manner which forces one to stop and reevaluate the possibly worthless and utterly complacent existence they've been leading? Apparently my writing has become just as flowered and empty as those I so condemn. Perhaps it's because I don't talk to anyone much these days, outside of the occasional (and limited) class discussion which becomes so entirely stunted almost immediately after it's begun. It's an abused outlet that too many use to show off their newly acquired wit or argumentative stance, an intellectual tailcoat bought at the highest price that one flaunts for all to see. Am I really as weird as so many tell me I am and if so, how can one become more in tune with their surrounding society? I, like so many others, push people away due to my over argumentative nature and tendency to feel as if I'm right. This, mixed with an overwhelming suspicion concerning the honesty of others - for in all truth it seems a very minute portion of humanity is deserving of trust - spells a recipe for disaster.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Float on Down the Infinite Regress

Who is this reflected face staring back at me and what is this elusive thing she so desperately wants to see? The center breaks down when I attempt to perceive that I call 'me'.

Friday, January 7, 2011

A Confessional.

One who is so frequently solitary cannot hope to capture the hopes and fears of a reckless society. There are many who associate and in such association find comfort. I wander and wonder and slowly the pain creeps in, the remedy for which seems nothing but another dose of solitude. Such is a life of desperately seeking others who seem to revel in the speculative and at times dark comforts of the self. It's been so long since I've formed anything near what can be called a friendship. I too often fade, too often stray into the background from whence I came and never truly make anything with such confinement. Still, spending hours aimlessly staring while hoping to capture those minute fleeting thoughts feels natural in comparison to those constructed pleasantries. It comes far too easily, noticing every nuance within that man or woman's smile. A hidden malice or their feigning courage to cover an infinite gap within the soul. We are all so maddeningly severe yet perhaps in the dark of night we find ourselves within a similar, collective thought. Despite all pulls and potential niceties, despite the comforting solace one might find in another, I find myself pulling away after so many days. Still, there is no lack of love for my fellows, though at times a bitter taste fills for those living under an ignorantly plastered guise, though I am no less. If you find another who seems to yearn for such a quiet life, then by all means ask them to please stay. Yet like sweet words whispered which carry little meaning beyond the moment, so many do not choose such a life and do only within fable. It seems I shall stay forever in my lonely bower.
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This work by Kimberly Dill is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at bleudaimonia.blogspot.com.