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Human progress is analogous to a constant fight. For every fallen assumption there is a step forward.
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The stream of tears running down my face became an all mighty never stopping flood of liquid pearls, gifts to the existence of such perfect idea, the reason of the perfection which did not need to be shown, the light which needs not to be seen for it to light up things that no one will ever see, those marvelous things whose pure essence remains as long as they are not sought after, casted light upon, precisely written about. The kind of things which remain a secret.
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His name was Doom.
He who saw time and saw the world around him in decay, aging.
He who saw love and saw hearts around him being stabbed, unmercilessly.
He saw the light. The light that creates shadows, shadows that give birth to your beloved darkness. Love it because they are hating your love, because your love is a whole world next to a rotten portion of land called hate. Love their hate.
For now, Doom defines you. Doom defines your mood. And reverse it, and reverse it…
This for me, a proof of my arrogance, my ego. For you a confirmation of it. I shall be humble. Yet doomed to never be.
For all I shall understand is all I know.
Holding my knowledge inside a heart with bleeding hands.
Calling out my name upon myself,
Doom upon myself.
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The wall. The walls.
There is a wall everywhere.
A wall surrounding everything surrounding you. A wall surrounding you.
A proper definition for a wall would be a multi dimensional borderline.
In order to draw you need to create a uni dimensional wall. To draw things you need to draw walls around them. Walls define something in terms of what that thing is not. Something like this:
Definition of A:
A is not equal to B.
There is a wall for every human. Additionally, humans create more walls around them. Whatever the reason, a wall is built up. Depending of the situation, the wall receives labels as safety, privilege, fear, courage, strength. Also, we allow other humans to build walls around us, again for a wide range of reasons.
Eventually, the building up of walls becomes an axiom and thus, the one with just one wall is considered inconsistent, irrational, nonsensical.
Sometimes, two persons, for it to be officially well looked upon, male and female, decide to merge their walls. When this happens, from the outsider point of view, it seems like the two individuals actually fused their walls into one in a process analogous to cell fusion. But if one gets to gain an insight into the two individuals, one can see that they did not actually merged. They just got so physically close that it seems that they are actually one. One might also see that both individuals, even though they keep trying to always get closer to each other maybe to some obsessive extreme, they actively repel each other for failing in attaining a complete and actual fusion.
There is a wall for every one of us. A wall between the abstract and the concrete. A wall between fiction and reality. Between reader and writer. Between you and me.
Accepting this fundamental wall as part of the same axiom that conforms our identity as individuals, does not deny our natural tendencies towards getting closer towards each other. Individuals cannot cross or destroy their or others walls. But ideas can. Ideas travel through walls with no frontier and no limitation than that of the mind of its creator. I am meant to create ideas. Ideas that resemble dim lighted spheres flying from others towards one and from one towards others.
Ideas that are the proof that the paradox of identity is not restrictive, that even limited on ourselves, alone with our own individuality, we can still get close, and appreciate that this wall of us gives birth to the unlimited potential of ideas.
Ideas that are light and life and love.
Post with 132 notes
“What’s being a librarian like?” I asked.
“What’s being a chronist like?”
“I don’t understand.” It was true.
“Neither me. Let’s leave that for a moment. You want to know what is like to be a librarian?”
“Yup.” I nodded.
“Think about a reader who, after gaining certain knowledge regarding the relationship between book, author and reader, decides to help other readers to understand the same.”
I tried to figure out what he meant.
“By your words, should I conclude that being a librarian is like another stage from being a reader?”
“Exactly. Think about a reader who, after a long time reading, finds himself in a crossroad with three paths before him to follow.”
My eyes imagined the landscape as the librarian’s voice described it. Any day, any time, anywhere. I stood there. I stood there. I will stand there. And I saw it.
“Author, reader, librarian.” Those were the three routes spreading out from the crossroad. “After a long time reading books I can become an author myself, my words the light bulbs waiting for other people to turn them on, I can become a librarian, my advice helping people make the right choice, or I can keep being a reader, travelling through the authors’ minds and meeting them for brief conversations.” Any day, any time, anywhere.
Post with 46 notes
The latest creation was named Ai. It should be, not because of the recursive nature of the formal system Ai was based upon, but maybe, because of Ai meaning both AI (Artificial Intelligence), Ai (love) and I (self) was a rather solid isomorphism between form and meaning themselves and it implied the trascendence supposed to be required for a human-like approach to Gödel-like sentences. I (an intelligent entity) am (the ultimate affirmation of the self) Ai (which means I (an intelligent entity) am (the ultimate affirmation of the self) Ai (which means…
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It is a fact.
In the Western societies, we are encouraged to aim for those ideals like fame, success and power.
Especially fame, since it can easily bring the other two along.
Fame is measured in the amount of attention one receives. Surely, back then, attracting attention with such an ambitious aim was beyond the average population’s reach. But internet came, and with it, the social networks and the blogs. I will leave the social networks for now just to focus on the blog.
A blog is thought to be a personal (yet open) space where an individual puts any type of content he wants to share.
The common aim of a blog is sharing information, hence their open nature.
But in our western culture, almost everything gravitates around attracting attention upon ourselves, that is why, sites like Youtube, where an individual can be heard (synonymous with attracting attention) are so successful. The blogsphere is not an exception.
There is blurry line between sharing information and seeking attention from others.
This leads us to the dilemma of the artist.
It is well known that, not only today, but always, artists of any kind have struggled between their love towards what they do and their desire to spread their work (to be known). These two forces are often exclusive respect to each other, meaning by that how easy is to get lost in seeking attention by spreading information that one ends up spreading nothing but the truth of one’s desperate attempts of being known, reckognized, remembered.
It could be said that another aim of most artists is keeping their works away from time, at least for a while. The intention of putting ideas on permanent containers does not seem to have other reason, and also it could be seen that for the love of humanity, you should share the best of you, your beloved work, with everybody, otherwise you are doomed to die in a sort of spiritualist selfishness. Some kind of aberration of the concept of artist.
The dilemma lies here: what is more important, getting your information spread far away or doing what you love?
That dilemma is the dilemma of this blogger.