Fake poet does
what fake poet always does:
Faking around,
Making things up.
Fake poet pretends
that
fake poet feels
fake poet pretends
fake poet evokes
fake poet pretends
he understands
but what fake poet does
is what he always does
Faking around
Faking to understand.
Fake poet doesn't feel
But that, he can conceal
Fake poet can't design
But sure as hell he can rhyme
Fake poet dunnt say nothing concrete
But oh hell, does he know how to repeat.
And so
Fake poet does
what fake poet always does
Pretending to understand
And avoiding the ampersand...
(the end... (I ran outta rhymes))
Two tales from the beach
This weekend (extended, thanks to Memorial day!), I biked over 60 mile over two days! That's like, a hundred kilometres, people! It was very exciting, and I'm proud and yadda yadda yadda, but more importantly, I biked to the beach. All by myself. And it was amazing.
There were two notable stupid things.
First, there was a really well-dressed and attractive wedding party right outside, posing in front of the sculptures. They spent quite a bit of time there too. Two unshaven random dudes were just figuring out what was happening as I got there. I overheard them talk a bit, about how good everyone looked, and if anyone was single and so forth. I went to dip into the water and came back a couple of minutes later, and they each had a super - cute dog each. Like, are there stores that rent out cute animals to desperate dudes, because that seems like a very valid business idea. In any case, couple of minutes later, they're both like (they actually literally say this) "yeah, I don't think we're going anywhere man, we're not gunna get anything", and they leave. So their entire plan hinged around hanging around a wedding party with cute dogs on them. I must be naive, because as cute as dogs are, I really can't see anyway this would go anywhere anyone might want it to go. And again, it must be me.
And later I'm at this mexican restaurant getting fish tacos, and the guy after me starts chatting up the server, who's actually pretty nice. I'm like, huuh, this conversation is going for faar longer and into much greater detail than any I've ever had with a server, and they keep talking. And then his daughter (?) comes up running asking for something or other... I think she wanted fries(?) She is followed by her mother, who doesn't look happy at all. Later, they sit in the same table, and eat together. The man and the woman were very cold at each other. I'm... very confused. If I ever wrote a textbook, for all the 'questions', I'd put in things that confuse me, and expect the students to give me a wide variety of answers so I could figure out what the hell was happening, and what the effing hell all the parties were thinking exactly and seriously are they married or divorced or divorcing or what the hell is happening, people?
In any situation, I'm like super buff biker (bicycler, same difference) dude now guys! Be afraid of me.
There were two notable stupid things.
First, there was a really well-dressed and attractive wedding party right outside, posing in front of the sculptures. They spent quite a bit of time there too. Two unshaven random dudes were just figuring out what was happening as I got there. I overheard them talk a bit, about how good everyone looked, and if anyone was single and so forth. I went to dip into the water and came back a couple of minutes later, and they each had a super - cute dog each. Like, are there stores that rent out cute animals to desperate dudes, because that seems like a very valid business idea. In any case, couple of minutes later, they're both like (they actually literally say this) "yeah, I don't think we're going anywhere man, we're not gunna get anything", and they leave. So their entire plan hinged around hanging around a wedding party with cute dogs on them. I must be naive, because as cute as dogs are, I really can't see anyway this would go anywhere anyone might want it to go. And again, it must be me.
And later I'm at this mexican restaurant getting fish tacos, and the guy after me starts chatting up the server, who's actually pretty nice. I'm like, huuh, this conversation is going for faar longer and into much greater detail than any I've ever had with a server, and they keep talking. And then his daughter (?) comes up running asking for something or other... I think she wanted fries(?) She is followed by her mother, who doesn't look happy at all. Later, they sit in the same table, and eat together. The man and the woman were very cold at each other. I'm... very confused. If I ever wrote a textbook, for all the 'questions', I'd put in things that confuse me, and expect the students to give me a wide variety of answers so I could figure out what the hell was happening, and what the effing hell all the parties were thinking exactly and seriously are they married or divorced or divorcing or what the hell is happening, people?
In any situation, I'm like super buff biker (bicycler, same difference) dude now guys! Be afraid of me.
Dear you
Dear You,
I wanted to begin this with 'dear kid'. Would that have been too condescending, too patronizing? I thought so. But it would make my point very succinctly. Or perhaps, points I didn't intend to make. Why use such brutish, blunt weapon, when there are more nuanced conversations to be had.
We are young, and stupid. We are so so stupid, all of us. We crave love, attention, and just to be loved. Really, that's what we all want. As the thunderclouds clap loudly outside, with the rain thumping on the roof, and lightening blinding us once in a while, we want to be comfortably inside, on the couch, nuzzled against each other, watching tv and reading book while the cute dog on our feet (is he trying to bite his tail aggain? goddamit you stupid dog!) whimpers and tries to hide from the thunder under our feet. The books are not going to be read today, and the tevee is not going to be watched. How come the blanket is so warm, or is it our warmth, and why do we feel so drowsy, so ready to just sleep there -- oh shit, it's only eight, how the hell is this happening-- and why won't we stop playing with roots of each others hairs and how does it feel so good. Is it not what we all want?
We are young, and stupid. It is not a good idea to go head-first into making mistakes, and make them over and over again. We must learn. We must plan. We must plan the shit out of our love-at-first-sights, and the one-off encounters, that will make our hearts fond forever. We must miss people.
How do we know what love is, what caring is, if we haven't felt the pain? How can we find comfort in the warm living room if we have not been out in the storm -- wet, tired, hungry, sad, so full of general surrender, and ready to give up and really, give up on everything. It is pain, it is the chaos amongst us, that allows us to judge what order is. For us to find the comfort of order, we must go through the disorientation of chaos. To value the good stuff, we must first know what shit is.
We are vulnerable when we lower our defenses. When we are naked, we have nothing to hide. While that does give us a certain freedom-- nothing to hide anymore! -- it makes us too... defenseless. This is not a game, and is not meant to be played as such, but really, we have no more cards left. We are left at the kindness and mercy of the other -- often we find our comfort and trust may have been overzealous on our part.
So we become afraid of being hurt. Afraid of lowering our defenses, and putting ourselves in position of vulnerability. We raise our guard. We become cynics. Soldiers. Who will not let in even a chink in our armor. No one shall take advantage of us, ever again!
Two things happen. First, we become cold, dead, perhaps, and have trouble regaining our humanity. The metal of the armor seeps into our hearts, and it takes active effort to keep it away.
Second, when we do lower our guard, we go alll the way in. We are so enamored by the feeling of opening up again, having a real heart, that we go all way in. Not only are we naked, but we lose our skin, our heart pounding, exposed, open to the air, because we want it so bad -- after years of being imprisoned by the metal, we are ready to love, and be loved, and give it all, and no games to play again, really, because we have had it all!
And so! Perhaps we fall in love, spend the rest of our lives together, and things are all happily ever after. Or perhaps, we make mistakes again, slightly different ones, and go back to square one. But this time it's different. We blame ourselves. It was I, we say, who was stupid, it was idiotic, it was foolish, goddamit, how could we have.
It is not only okay to want to love and be loved, it is expected. We all want to love and be loved. No mistakes were made, except when we blamed ourselves needlessly. We must live, and we must love. Again and again and again, if we must.
Life is long. Like, really pretty quite long. We are young. You are young. Things will happen, and things will keep on happening. For you, it's going to be forever. There still so much to happen and do. The story's not even begun. You're barely through the first page of Prologue. Soldier on!
Here's a secret: you will love your next lover. Really really love them. And then it will be over, almost certainly. And then you will love someone else. REALLY love. And that too will be over. And it will all be painful, and buckets of tears will be shed. And then. Things will be back to normal again. And it's all fine, and regular. And you'll learn to love again. Spring will be back.
A friend of mine, she told me a story yesterday. A friend of hers had just broken up. She cried so much, so goddamn much, on the phone, her tears short-circuited the IPhone, and it broke. Yeah: she cried so much, she drowned her phone in her tears. Literally. And she was still fine.
I write this because I'm jealous. So goddamn jealous. Jealous of you, jealous of all your future loves, and jealous of the great things you will do. Back in the day, the epitome of my achievement was advanced poop-related jokes. Really! They're all here in this blog (mostly), and it's all true. I also worry. I have known other writers. Amazing people. Who I don't know anymore, because they got lost and started to live, to write. It was awful. We must live, and live as we wish. Writing will come as we live: without having to force ourselves into situations that would germinate stories.
As always, I know my worries are unfounded. I have been indoctrinated to worry more, get things done less. You know how things are.
In other news, I biked 60 miles over the weekend. That's like, almost a 100 kilometres! It's crazy, right?! Bleh.
In any situation, life is, as it is, is cool, and we worry, and worrying is fine and cool, but deep underneath understand that you are awesome, and loved or not, lover or not, ghosts or not, the sky will be blue, waiting for you just to see it in its real color. I mean, unless you're color blind, but you get the gist.
Really, it'll be a fun life, whether we meet some loser or not (!)
byee,
-S
I wanted to begin this with 'dear kid'. Would that have been too condescending, too patronizing? I thought so. But it would make my point very succinctly. Or perhaps, points I didn't intend to make. Why use such brutish, blunt weapon, when there are more nuanced conversations to be had.
We are young, and stupid. We are so so stupid, all of us. We crave love, attention, and just to be loved. Really, that's what we all want. As the thunderclouds clap loudly outside, with the rain thumping on the roof, and lightening blinding us once in a while, we want to be comfortably inside, on the couch, nuzzled against each other, watching tv and reading book while the cute dog on our feet (is he trying to bite his tail aggain? goddamit you stupid dog!) whimpers and tries to hide from the thunder under our feet. The books are not going to be read today, and the tevee is not going to be watched. How come the blanket is so warm, or is it our warmth, and why do we feel so drowsy, so ready to just sleep there -- oh shit, it's only eight, how the hell is this happening-- and why won't we stop playing with roots of each others hairs and how does it feel so good. Is it not what we all want?
We are young, and stupid. It is not a good idea to go head-first into making mistakes, and make them over and over again. We must learn. We must plan. We must plan the shit out of our love-at-first-sights, and the one-off encounters, that will make our hearts fond forever. We must miss people.
How do we know what love is, what caring is, if we haven't felt the pain? How can we find comfort in the warm living room if we have not been out in the storm -- wet, tired, hungry, sad, so full of general surrender, and ready to give up and really, give up on everything. It is pain, it is the chaos amongst us, that allows us to judge what order is. For us to find the comfort of order, we must go through the disorientation of chaos. To value the good stuff, we must first know what shit is.
We are vulnerable when we lower our defenses. When we are naked, we have nothing to hide. While that does give us a certain freedom-- nothing to hide anymore! -- it makes us too... defenseless. This is not a game, and is not meant to be played as such, but really, we have no more cards left. We are left at the kindness and mercy of the other -- often we find our comfort and trust may have been overzealous on our part.
So we become afraid of being hurt. Afraid of lowering our defenses, and putting ourselves in position of vulnerability. We raise our guard. We become cynics. Soldiers. Who will not let in even a chink in our armor. No one shall take advantage of us, ever again!
Two things happen. First, we become cold, dead, perhaps, and have trouble regaining our humanity. The metal of the armor seeps into our hearts, and it takes active effort to keep it away.
Second, when we do lower our guard, we go alll the way in. We are so enamored by the feeling of opening up again, having a real heart, that we go all way in. Not only are we naked, but we lose our skin, our heart pounding, exposed, open to the air, because we want it so bad -- after years of being imprisoned by the metal, we are ready to love, and be loved, and give it all, and no games to play again, really, because we have had it all!
And so! Perhaps we fall in love, spend the rest of our lives together, and things are all happily ever after. Or perhaps, we make mistakes again, slightly different ones, and go back to square one. But this time it's different. We blame ourselves. It was I, we say, who was stupid, it was idiotic, it was foolish, goddamit, how could we have.
It is not only okay to want to love and be loved, it is expected. We all want to love and be loved. No mistakes were made, except when we blamed ourselves needlessly. We must live, and we must love. Again and again and again, if we must.
Life is long. Like, really pretty quite long. We are young. You are young. Things will happen, and things will keep on happening. For you, it's going to be forever. There still so much to happen and do. The story's not even begun. You're barely through the first page of Prologue. Soldier on!
Here's a secret: you will love your next lover. Really really love them. And then it will be over, almost certainly. And then you will love someone else. REALLY love. And that too will be over. And it will all be painful, and buckets of tears will be shed. And then. Things will be back to normal again. And it's all fine, and regular. And you'll learn to love again. Spring will be back.
A friend of mine, she told me a story yesterday. A friend of hers had just broken up. She cried so much, so goddamn much, on the phone, her tears short-circuited the IPhone, and it broke. Yeah: she cried so much, she drowned her phone in her tears. Literally. And she was still fine.
I write this because I'm jealous. So goddamn jealous. Jealous of you, jealous of all your future loves, and jealous of the great things you will do. Back in the day, the epitome of my achievement was advanced poop-related jokes. Really! They're all here in this blog (mostly), and it's all true. I also worry. I have known other writers. Amazing people. Who I don't know anymore, because they got lost and started to live, to write. It was awful. We must live, and live as we wish. Writing will come as we live: without having to force ourselves into situations that would germinate stories.
As always, I know my worries are unfounded. I have been indoctrinated to worry more, get things done less. You know how things are.
In other news, I biked 60 miles over the weekend. That's like, almost a 100 kilometres! It's crazy, right?! Bleh.
In any situation, life is, as it is, is cool, and we worry, and worrying is fine and cool, but deep underneath understand that you are awesome, and loved or not, lover or not, ghosts or not, the sky will be blue, waiting for you just to see it in its real color. I mean, unless you're color blind, but you get the gist.
Really, it'll be a fun life, whether we meet some loser or not (!)
byee,
-S
Background characters
Sure, we're all background characters in other people's stories, and our lives are not notable enough to even make us a mid-level villain/supporting characters. If we are lucky, we'll make it as one of those in the horde that charges headstrong into the enemy lines. Or one that shouts more than fights, as displayed by the ground soldiers in the old Mahabharat.
But that's all understood. It's also understood that at least in our own stories, we are the central characters.
That's a mistake. Some of us (present company included) are not even main characters in our own stories -- we are characters who just happened to have a point of view in someone else's chapter, in our own stories. Imagine Harry Potter series, where Harry Potter is just a character : "Oh yeah, met Harry Potter today, got lunch. He seemed stressed out about the tournament, but I told him everything would be ok." or "Hermione's cute, I wonder if she's going out with the redhead', etcetera.
So what?
The Gods, and of course there are Gods, are, in the grand schemes of things, just and unimportant and insignificant than us. For they must follow a coherent set of rules and laws that govern their existence (or creation, or Tribhuvan) full of all eternities and universes, and so they too are inconsequential to those unbinding rules as we are to theirs. Their stories may be more fascinating, more magical, but in the end, they don't matter. Their stories, and the significance of their existence, are as pointless as ours.
Let that sink in. We are on the same level as them.
Yeah.
But that's all understood. It's also understood that at least in our own stories, we are the central characters.
That's a mistake. Some of us (present company included) are not even main characters in our own stories -- we are characters who just happened to have a point of view in someone else's chapter, in our own stories. Imagine Harry Potter series, where Harry Potter is just a character : "Oh yeah, met Harry Potter today, got lunch. He seemed stressed out about the tournament, but I told him everything would be ok." or "Hermione's cute, I wonder if she's going out with the redhead', etcetera.
So what?
The Gods, and of course there are Gods, are, in the grand schemes of things, just and unimportant and insignificant than us. For they must follow a coherent set of rules and laws that govern their existence (or creation, or Tribhuvan) full of all eternities and universes, and so they too are inconsequential to those unbinding rules as we are to theirs. Their stories may be more fascinating, more magical, but in the end, they don't matter. Their stories, and the significance of their existence, are as pointless as ours.
Let that sink in. We are on the same level as them.
Yeah.
Lessons learned in Bostons and other general updates on what the hell I am up to
As I was walking outside in the Sun the other day (several weeks ago), something caught my fancy. Perhaps it was the quiet and peacefulness of the little town I am in, the slowness of a small northeastern yankee town -- the kind where a river runs across downtown and people go sportsfishing on the river on bright weekends -- or perhaps it was my desperation to find something happening, something exciting, something different. Either way, I went to the post-office, and bought a hundred pre-stamped post-cards. To make things interesting, I got them empty on both the sides, so I could draw my own photos. I've posted about twenty of them, having hand-drawn and hand-written on all of them. Overall, a good investment, I would say.
And then last weekend I was in Boston. Much good time was had, friends were met, and many many lessons on life were learned. It appears at this point in my life that a lot of the decisions I have made may have been out of naivete or inexperience (or maybe not). Either way, it was good to realize that I really do need an older mentor with me to guide me through an urban life. Friends are nice, and they are supportive, but they often appear to not have the foresight and wisdom of someone who's been through this all and seen everything. Need to work on that now.
My general outlook on life is now being modified. Not in ridiculously different direction, but some of the assumptions that were made are now being questioned. It's all for the good. As we get into bigger troubles, we prepare ourselves for even bigger troubles in the future. And one day, we are ready to deal with eternity. Okay, that was inappropriately morbid thought for stupid realizations (such as: if SHE's petty, I'll be petty ALSO, etcetera).
And then last weekend I was in Boston. Much good time was had, friends were met, and many many lessons on life were learned. It appears at this point in my life that a lot of the decisions I have made may have been out of naivete or inexperience (or maybe not). Either way, it was good to realize that I really do need an older mentor with me to guide me through an urban life. Friends are nice, and they are supportive, but they often appear to not have the foresight and wisdom of someone who's been through this all and seen everything. Need to work on that now.
My general outlook on life is now being modified. Not in ridiculously different direction, but some of the assumptions that were made are now being questioned. It's all for the good. As we get into bigger troubles, we prepare ourselves for even bigger troubles in the future. And one day, we are ready to deal with eternity. Okay, that was inappropriately morbid thought for stupid realizations (such as: if SHE's petty, I'll be petty ALSO, etcetera).
Currently Reading
Chuck Palhanuik (of the Fight Club fame) seems to have ups and downs, but is growing on me. Reading sixth book by him.
Orhan Pamuk: Yaa, I bailed out of My Name Is Red, but Istanbul is surprisingly readable.
Marquez: I am halfway through ...100 years (because the book owner took it away) but I was at my limit because EVERYONE had the same name and I'm too dumb to keep things in track. I'm reading several other shorter works.
Aziz Ansari: He is a funny, funny, funny guy. I always seem to underestimate him, first with his Netflix show, and then with his book.
As a note, Ansari, BJ Novak, and Mindy Kaling seem to be to be built of same comedy elementary particles. Funny, young-(ish?) comics, super-drenched in cosmopolitan lifestyle (although Ansari brings out often how he grew up in the middle of nowhere America). Highly recommended, all of their works, books and tv series.
As I write these words, I'm listening to BJ's Novak's reading of his book (after having read it once). Though it can sometimes seem to drag on forever, on average, it's a really good book.
Rushdie's 1001 Nights seems to forever be my 'drinking at bar' book now: It's not that long, so I don't want to waste it on normal reading.
Orhan Pamuk: Yaa, I bailed out of My Name Is Red, but Istanbul is surprisingly readable.
Marquez: I am halfway through ...100 years (because the book owner took it away) but I was at my limit because EVERYONE had the same name and I'm too dumb to keep things in track. I'm reading several other shorter works.
Aziz Ansari: He is a funny, funny, funny guy. I always seem to underestimate him, first with his Netflix show, and then with his book.
As a note, Ansari, BJ Novak, and Mindy Kaling seem to be to be built of same comedy elementary particles. Funny, young-(ish?) comics, super-drenched in cosmopolitan lifestyle (although Ansari brings out often how he grew up in the middle of nowhere America). Highly recommended, all of their works, books and tv series.
As I write these words, I'm listening to BJ's Novak's reading of his book (after having read it once). Though it can sometimes seem to drag on forever, on average, it's a really good book.
Rushdie's 1001 Nights seems to forever be my 'drinking at bar' book now: It's not that long, so I don't want to waste it on normal reading.
Manhattarant
When you're living in the Upper West Side in Manhattan, drinking Daquiris for your goddamn Sunday brunches (how have Dacquiris even become a brunch thing anyway? when did margaritas go out of way?) with your goddamn yuppy friends (ughh, we're soo over our hipster phase, phew, you will say, because why the fuck not), it becomes difficult to identify where you're from. "NO, but", you will say, "No not, seriously, we make momos like five times in a month, maybe more because everyone from school is always coming over and all they want to do is make momos in Manhattan, because that seems to be the dream, and you're still saying I'm not identifiable enough?"
What do bodegas do? And when did donuts with eggs and nauni in them become a standard breakfast fare (who EVEN says 'breakfast fare' huh?) and how come, how come you're sooo excited for every authentic (you'll argue that the Chinese burger place is authentic, but doesn't McD have the largest number of outlets in China outside the US anyway?) ethnic cuisine, and yet, and yeeeet, the Nepali servers in that restaurant seem so annoying to you? I mean, yeah, they're unprofessional, and annoying, and people would get into fights if this were Nepal (बैनी, मेरो खाना मा ट्वाल्ल परेर नहेर्नु न, अरु केइ काम छैन? Bro, don't just stupidly stare at my face and food when I'm eating, do you have nothing else to do?) but but, it's not like those goddamn Greek and Pakistani and Nigerian servers, are they REALLY that much more professional? And, and what about the fact that most of the servers in Non-Nepali ethnic restaurants are Nepali anyway? What? What about that, huh? So, how come?
Yeah, anyway what are bodegas? Are they like food boutiques or what? Or boutiques? Or liquor stores? Why does no one seem to know?
Manhattanners, am I right? Boaring. Eff you Col. I would have enjoyed living there, if only you'd let me.
What do bodegas do? And when did donuts with eggs and nauni in them become a standard breakfast fare (who EVEN says 'breakfast fare' huh?) and how come, how come you're sooo excited for every authentic (you'll argue that the Chinese burger place is authentic, but doesn't McD have the largest number of outlets in China outside the US anyway?) ethnic cuisine, and yet, and yeeeet, the Nepali servers in that restaurant seem so annoying to you? I mean, yeah, they're unprofessional, and annoying, and people would get into fights if this were Nepal (बैनी, मेरो खाना मा ट्वाल्ल परेर नहेर्नु न, अरु केइ काम छैन? Bro, don't just stupidly stare at my face and food when I'm eating, do you have nothing else to do?) but but, it's not like those goddamn Greek and Pakistani and Nigerian servers, are they REALLY that much more professional? And, and what about the fact that most of the servers in Non-Nepali ethnic restaurants are Nepali anyway? What? What about that, huh? So, how come?
Yeah, anyway what are bodegas? Are they like food boutiques or what? Or boutiques? Or liquor stores? Why does no one seem to know?
Manhattanners, am I right? Boaring. Eff you Col. I would have enjoyed living there, if only you'd let me.
What is love -- An exploration
What is Love?
Philosophers have argued that it is the most basic force driving the universe, that powers us, that keeps the entire creation chugging alone. Others have suggested such Philosophers not be so goddamned serious and love is just something that makes us want to boink others and make babies, which we will come to regret, but hey since everyone else is doing it, we're not thaaat bad off, right? Even other have accused the second type of people as being homophobic, because they argue such definition does not encompass non-child-related love, specially for the homosexuals. To which the philosophers have argued that those rabble-rousers go fck themselves. The truth may lie somewhere in the middle, as always.
In many a poorly-screenshot post on Twitter and other social media, young women have argued in recent years that it is love that leads to happiness. We can safely discard this hypothesis after considering empirical evidence gathered over thousands of years, which has manifested itself in many a sad love song and other works of art that imply that love is the cause of most if not all sorts of pain. While that may be an exaggeration, it is likely the case that they do have enough merit to debunk the 'love as a creator of happiness' hypothesis.
Some cynics have argued that love is merely a chemical phenomenon wherein the chemicals secreted by the loved serves as the 'key' to the right nerve ending-chemicals in the nasal and neural cavities of the lover, which makes one or both parties 'desire' each other, which may or may not lead to a feeling of 'fulfillment'. Critics to such arguments have countered by saying 'you're a goddamn blob of chemical, go away you clueless trolls', which carries merit and makes valid points. Regardless, while the argument does refute a theory, it does not offer any insight into what love might actually be.
A popular song from 1983 by the artist Pat Benatar has suggested that love is a battlefield. However, Benatar also suggests that love is mostly in the domain of the young, an assertion that is known to be patently false, so one must view her suggestion with a heavy dose of skepticism.
At this point, we must abandon trying to understand what love really is (for it is likely to take a piece longer than a blog post to unravel the meaning) and explore what love leads to.
The popular search engine Google offers suggestions on what many other think love leads to.
We can easily dismissed the love-as-war theme just as we dismissed that love is actually a battlefield.
Among the remaining points, there's one that is clearly worth some discussion. The very nihilist interpretation that 'love leads to nothing' is an interesting one.
If love leads to nothing, one must question what else leads to nothing. [...work in progress... this was meant to be sarcastic, haha. Not sure if I conveyed that?]
Philosophers have argued that it is the most basic force driving the universe, that powers us, that keeps the entire creation chugging alone. Others have suggested such Philosophers not be so goddamned serious and love is just something that makes us want to boink others and make babies, which we will come to regret, but hey since everyone else is doing it, we're not thaaat bad off, right? Even other have accused the second type of people as being homophobic, because they argue such definition does not encompass non-child-related love, specially for the homosexuals. To which the philosophers have argued that those rabble-rousers go fck themselves. The truth may lie somewhere in the middle, as always.
In many a poorly-screenshot post on Twitter and other social media, young women have argued in recent years that it is love that leads to happiness. We can safely discard this hypothesis after considering empirical evidence gathered over thousands of years, which has manifested itself in many a sad love song and other works of art that imply that love is the cause of most if not all sorts of pain. While that may be an exaggeration, it is likely the case that they do have enough merit to debunk the 'love as a creator of happiness' hypothesis.
Some cynics have argued that love is merely a chemical phenomenon wherein the chemicals secreted by the loved serves as the 'key' to the right nerve ending-chemicals in the nasal and neural cavities of the lover, which makes one or both parties 'desire' each other, which may or may not lead to a feeling of 'fulfillment'. Critics to such arguments have countered by saying 'you're a goddamn blob of chemical, go away you clueless trolls', which carries merit and makes valid points. Regardless, while the argument does refute a theory, it does not offer any insight into what love might actually be.
A popular song from 1983 by the artist Pat Benatar has suggested that love is a battlefield. However, Benatar also suggests that love is mostly in the domain of the young, an assertion that is known to be patently false, so one must view her suggestion with a heavy dose of skepticism.
At this point, we must abandon trying to understand what love really is (for it is likely to take a piece longer than a blog post to unravel the meaning) and explore what love leads to.
The popular search engine Google offers suggestions on what many other think love leads to.
We can easily dismissed the love-as-war theme just as we dismissed that love is actually a battlefield.
Among the remaining points, there's one that is clearly worth some discussion. The very nihilist interpretation that 'love leads to nothing' is an interesting one.
If love leads to nothing, one must question what else leads to nothing. [...work in progress... this was meant to be sarcastic, haha. Not sure if I conveyed that?]
DC travels done
I was in DC for two weeks, and after what feels like forever (and possibly really was), I relived what 'hanging out with people regularly', and 'having friends' and 'socializing' felt like. And it was good. It was amazing. Oh maaan I loooove having friends, and I would like to have more, please, sir, a few more?
There was no upturning of the town, as has happened a few other times, this time. I stayed with persons who are generally more settled down, and would rather have a slow, mellow evening watching tv and hanging out with friends than upturning things up and about, so that wasn't a huge surprise. What was surprising was how consistent my fan-boiness towards DC has gotten -- see one of the previous posts where I mention DC's women as a proof.
Bars, restaurants were visited, and new friends (hopefully?!?) were made. Cats were cuddled. They're too smelly and hair-fally and needy, those cats, so I don't know how well we're gonna get together -- we have to watch out for that. Friends were met, and plans -- commitments, rather -- of much longer stay in DC was made. Hopefully starting in two/three weeks, I might spend months (MONTHS) in DC with friends, while I do my real job remotely. We shall see. As always.
Grad school is shaping up nicely. I don't usually pray, and when I do, it is often in same terms with the immortals. So I have kindly asked them to make sure that they give me the best of terms in this scenario (If I get lucky, things will be very good for me, I tell ya). As always, pray for me also. Remember that time you guys prayed for my undergraduate studies, and it worked? Yeah, yeah? Please pray for me again. I will be very grateful. If you tell me 'oh i prayed for you in real life, you know what I am talking about wink wink', in real life, I'll get you a drink, anytime anywhere. Even if you are not yet of the legal drinking age in the territory of the location. And maybe even a dinner, if it's in a reasonably enough priced place. I promise!
What else, what else. Ooh yeah, so I started writing letters -- postcards I mean-- and sending them to people. I brought a hundred (that's right, 100) postcards that are prestamped (so I don't have to buy and lick stamps haha, I'm so lazy right) and have sent a few already. I have been asking people's addresses left and right, and will continue doing so in the future, and some people are somewhat creeped out, but we shall see. I think it's going to be the future of communications! It sounds like I'm being sarcastic, I know, but really, I think so. Explanations in some future post maybe.
So now that I'm down to my social prison (wherein I don't have 'social'), I'm back to reading and audiobooks. In retrospect, apart from having no friends or anyone to talk to I realized this place is pretty good. I am my own master, have very little commitments, make my own timetable, and do whatever the hell I want to whenever, with no roommate or non essential personalities to question my decisions. Life ain't that bad, in retrospect. That would likely be the #theme of my life, haha.
I should reconnect with old friends, and work harder on making close new friends.
There was no upturning of the town, as has happened a few other times, this time. I stayed with persons who are generally more settled down, and would rather have a slow, mellow evening watching tv and hanging out with friends than upturning things up and about, so that wasn't a huge surprise. What was surprising was how consistent my fan-boiness towards DC has gotten -- see one of the previous posts where I mention DC's women as a proof.
Bars, restaurants were visited, and new friends (hopefully?!?) were made. Cats were cuddled. They're too smelly and hair-fally and needy, those cats, so I don't know how well we're gonna get together -- we have to watch out for that. Friends were met, and plans -- commitments, rather -- of much longer stay in DC was made. Hopefully starting in two/three weeks, I might spend months (MONTHS) in DC with friends, while I do my real job remotely. We shall see. As always.
Grad school is shaping up nicely. I don't usually pray, and when I do, it is often in same terms with the immortals. So I have kindly asked them to make sure that they give me the best of terms in this scenario (If I get lucky, things will be very good for me, I tell ya). As always, pray for me also. Remember that time you guys prayed for my undergraduate studies, and it worked? Yeah, yeah? Please pray for me again. I will be very grateful. If you tell me 'oh i prayed for you in real life, you know what I am talking about wink wink', in real life, I'll get you a drink, anytime anywhere. Even if you are not yet of the legal drinking age in the territory of the location. And maybe even a dinner, if it's in a reasonably enough priced place. I promise!
What else, what else. Ooh yeah, so I started writing letters -- postcards I mean-- and sending them to people. I brought a hundred (that's right, 100) postcards that are prestamped (so I don't have to buy and lick stamps haha, I'm so lazy right) and have sent a few already. I have been asking people's addresses left and right, and will continue doing so in the future, and some people are somewhat creeped out, but we shall see. I think it's going to be the future of communications! It sounds like I'm being sarcastic, I know, but really, I think so. Explanations in some future post maybe.
So now that I'm down to my social prison (wherein I don't have 'social'), I'm back to reading and audiobooks. In retrospect, apart from having no friends or anyone to talk to I realized this place is pretty good. I am my own master, have very little commitments, make my own timetable, and do whatever the hell I want to whenever, with no roommate or non essential personalities to question my decisions. Life ain't that bad, in retrospect. That would likely be the #theme of my life, haha.
I should reconnect with old friends, and work harder on making close new friends.
Thanks to, and no thanks, all the gods
Let us be clear: I have been extremely fortunate. That does not mean the battle is over forever. Consider this an effing middle finger, immortals. :/
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