Two-five is here at last. It’s not as though it dropped in unexpectedly, but two-four was bad enough without adding another year. I expect/want to live till I’m 55 (or did I say 2055 AD?) so I may be close to halfway there already.Floyd: Wow, did you use your fingers to count that? Happy Birthday, doofus.Considering that I’ve only really gone about life for about 11 years and slept one third of that time away, that leaves me with some 7 and change years done and an actual 20 to go. All my versatile number crunching may be obvious arithmetic, but I’m bad at telling this sort of thing.I hate my computer. I want to write for the sake of writing, but as soon as I sit down in front of the keyboard, the words dry up until I find a half decent laxative. I don’t write when I’m emotional, I write simply for the enjoyment. I am probably my own biggest fan, not because I’m narcissistic but because I can go back as an unbiased reader and judge everything I’ve ever written and sometimes hate it, but sometimes love it too. And I love that I can love my own stuff.Floyd: There’s a word for self-lovin’ y’know…The rest of this post: CANCELED in favour of self-loving.“If I could be who you wanted, All the time”Opus – Live Is LifeSheryl Crow – If It Makes You HappyNow frequenting: Wendy Molyneux at
http://fakeinterviewswithrealcelebrities.blogspot.com
It is difficult to get along, to match minds these days. The world grows ever rapidly and as more people populate the planet, it will be increasingly more difficult to get along, to find a matching of minds in those days.
Happiness seems to need to be earned (which is not always a bad thing) so it is probably a lot easier to find comfort in knowing that your conveniently begotten sorrow makes you more alike the rest, than your happiness can.
Since one is alive, one is likely at any given moment, to ask the universally clichéd and redundant question of “Why do I live?” The truth is that the answer holds neither importance nor value; the real question one might want to ask is “Why should I live?”
All things must die and therefore, one must too, at whatever time is deemed proper. But, since one cannot know if said time shall be struck by the clock within a reasonable count of seconds, days or years, one can always assume that the time is near at hand, so as to comfortably take into account all that is required to complete what is deemed to be a satisfactory lifetime.
I’ve never stopped to think either way, because I already know that I don’t know either answer. It is less trouble to ignore the question than to be haunted by the knowledge of your own ignorance.
Not knowing the answer to the first question is no crime. Most would believe (or want to) that some unrevealed purpose has been pre-ordained for them and that they are merely fulfilling their respective prophecies, however insignificant/not they may be.
But not knowing the answer to the second question is abuse of the right to survive. If I don’t know why I love to live, what is the point? Lots to learn as yet.
Floyd: Fuckin’ eloquent as usual, eh? Here’s a tip, MEET NEW WOMEN! Then we’ll see how you find time to keep spouting this morose bullshit.
“Life, is a single skip for joy”
Matt Willis – Crash
Peter Sarstedt – Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?
Two-five is here at last. It’s not as though it dropped in unexpectedly, but two-four was bad enough without adding another year. I expect/want to live till I’m 55 (or did I say 2055 AD?) so I may be close to halfway there already.
