Category: Random Thoughts

  • Do I ever learn?

    It’s tiring. I always make mistakes. All the time. I have no intention of pitying myself. It’s a fact. I’m too easily distracted when I’m supposed to take care of important matters. I have a sense of responsibility somewhere but it doesn’t help. It’s irritating because I know when I am wrong and when I made mistakes. I’m just unable to act differently, I’m not learning anything from experiences. It’s an accumulation of the same mistakes over and over again, endless, boring, alienating. Can I become a whole if I’m still letting my pieces being disconnected the one from the other?

  • One Sunday evening

    Thanks to the sort of hallucinatory headache you sometime experience if you’re lucky, after a day of paralysis, in the evening I could space out for half an hour or little more. It was such a blissful moment, one of those moments when you’re consigned perceptions so diluted that every sound is only echo and every vision is only shadow. And gaps left by consonants in human communication are all blurred in a single vocal with many shades in it. All was so quiet and I could wish it lasted forever. In this period of time I reckon I fell asleep. I had a dream. A still living person but long removed from my life appeared on a sort of airy landscape with very few connotations. He was going somewhere, or so it seemed, and he was so terribly serious. When I touched his arm in a sign of greeting he talked to me. What he said I don’t think I want to write about, but it was the kind of thing that generates confused feelings in your conscience. The memories it brought back… But we were never close, so I have no reason to trust the words of a ghostly figure.

  • Suffering from nihilism

    What’s wrong with living in the past? Living in the past doesn’t necessarily mean being completely disconnected from the present time, it just means not accepting anything the present creates around you day after day, preserving something valuable. This thirst for the “here and now”, I really don’t get it. It’s vile. It’s not progressive, it’s just a form of nihilism, the worst species of nihilism, the kind that rejects everything on some basis that’s not product of a rational need, it’s just product of ignorance, because it’s easier to reject than to go back in time and understand what came before, what has brought us where we are now. How can anybody accept present without at least a vague idea of what the past is about? Roots need to be understood and digested before you can cut your ties with them.

  • A Question of Balance

    It’s easier to take a drastic decision than to be sensible enough to know the limits of an action. The lack of measure is an old plague, growing in intensity and spreading more and more. It’s not new, but it’s gotten worse in the last two thousand years or so. And it’s steadily growing.
    The vicious circle of needs is what makes man so miserable. It’s a limitless maelstrom: starting to appraise necessities from the very first day and keeping on increasing the amounts of them, literally from cradle to grave; or reaching a breaking point and rejecting everything, like Thoreau in the forest. But rejection is just another form of unbalance. The measured man – oh, so rare to find! – does not need more and does not need less, either. Justness isn’t a burden to him, it’s the unbreakable flow in the currents of his spirit. Aureae mediocritates are not of this world. They’re otherworldly and singular, almost closer to the realm of non-existence than to that of existence. Nature itself has its dose of superfluities and we’re merely mirroring and magnifying them as we do with a lot of other things that started as natural and ended as human.
    The sense of measure is not something acquirable with perseverance, focus and will. It can hardly be faked. Most of those considered balanced persons are mostly persons tending to the less than to the more, which is probably better than the opposite, but it’s not quite as possessing the sense of golden mean. Taking away the excesses is not as easy as to accumulate, especially when consumerism is what the majority of us knows better and is more comfortable in. But denial is another form of frenzy, though maybe less deadly. We admire so much those plunging themselves with majestic fortitude of spirit into self-inflicted deprivations: we call them saints and adorn their heads with glowing halos or we call them heroes and sculpt their features in stone and neural continuity. What’s so good in pampering yourself with one excess instead of the other? The one who stands in the right middle, not in mediocrity as we moderns intend it but in the classic acception of mediocritas (in mediocritas stat virtus, isn’t that so?): that is the deserving one. But how can minds leaning toward unceasing distraction as ours discern what stands in the middle? We clearly see and feel attracted by extremes and are blind to the rest, to the freedom of the one that limits himself. Sensible limits are not constraints, excesses are. Excesses have the power to enslave through the illusion of self-determination. I can more so I need more, and more and less are actually the same point in a circular spectrum; the freedom resides in the ability to recognize the limits of need and moving about inside those limits, not trying unceasingly to enlarge the circle till we’re not anymore the cogitating center of it, but just a mere speckle in a crowd of burdening exigencies.
    This said, it’s probably useless to mull over the idea of something unattainable. Faking is always a possibility and with a right dedication one can even get close to something resembling the golden mean. But who’s so crazy to dedicate himself to go after a fake, especially when it’s not very likely that the outcome will be rewarding at all?

  • Some more randomness

    I‘m tired. The postman always rings when I just got to sleep in the morning and I am in the middle of some dream.

    It’s always raining. I wonder if we’ll drown.

    All my sport apparel is Adidas. I’m like Fidel Castro. Or Fidel Castro is like me.

    Being 5’4” isn’t fun when all trousers are designed for taller people.

    I haven’t spoken to a living being for almost a week, except for a couple of persons, including the postman. I shouldn’t have told the lady in the supermarket the toilet was along the corridor. I actually didn’t know where the toilet was.

    Losing money sucks, but losing it and then finding it again is OK. If you don’t die of heart attack in the meantime, depending on the lost sum.

    Firefox, iTunes and Photoshop can’t go together if your computer’s possessed by Vista.

    Dogs tend to get overexcited easily. Cats don’t give a damn.

    I want more things than I can handle.

    I wish there was not a pesto lasagna in my oven. Makes me feel guilty just looking at it.

    The desolation of this place is infinite.

    I won’t buy tickets unless I can pay only once for shipping.

    Mothers can be so careless. Especially when they try so hard to be mindful.

    I hate to tag things. Tag this and tag that. I don’t know how to do it. Makes me want to run away and shut myself in a closet. I don’t know why everybody needs to tag anything these days. It’s just awful and foolish.

    It’s harder when you have expectations.

    I shall read more. Nescience will eat my brain unless I start doing something about it. I keep losing the books I start though. I don’t know what to do.

    It’s hard to be a man. A woman even more so. Being a duck is probably funner.

    I don’t want it to be hot. I don’t want it to be cold. I like it to be just fine, but it’s not going to be.

    I’m not going to be here forever. Do it yourself, damn it.

  • I will be twelve forever

    Growing old means, among the other things, to acquire higher sense of responsibility and to be recognized by people around you as a reliable being able to take care of yourself. Wrong! It seems there’s somebody as myself that will never regarded as such by anybody, especially closer relations. Lost a father you immediately have another ready to replace him, and this new father is younger than yourself. Shame.
    Taking a stroll these days has to be considered a dangerous activity which may cause people around you much stress and preoccupation regarding your safety. Who are you – I mean myself – to wake up and decide all by yourself, without consulting anybody, to leisurely walk for five kilometers, camera in hand? In rural districts, with all those reckless cars, no sidewalks, no civilization and all those life-threatening entities running amok? Who do you think  you are? Indeed, who do I think I am? I’ll be old enough for retirement before I know it and I will be still treated as a twelve-year-old unable to take care of herself. It’s not depressing, but it’s rather embarrassing. Maybe it’s not even that. It’s a mixed feeling that includes mortification and sense of guilt for I don’t even know what. It takes away all the pleasure of doing anything, knowing you’re going to make people around you paranoid for a nothing like that, for just walking around and wanting to take photos of cats. I really feel like an idiot, but I sense there’s something unfair in it. I should be free to do something so silly in a place I can call “home”, but according to the state of things, I mean all things considered, my only liberty is to go to the supermarket and kick the nearest rabid housewife for trying to steal beer from my trolley.