School has been taking a lot of my time; though not enough since it always seems like I'm behind in my school work. I guess that's the pessimist in me. That pesky pessimist also tells me that nobody's reading my blog anymore, as if anybody ever did. I should stop listening to that guy.
Everyday I try to study a lot (mostly reading, some math homework). Reading is one of those things you think is easy until you really try to do it well. Especially when you're trying to read hundreds of pages of epistemology which involves so many ins and outs that the mind is lost unless you take some notes to filter out the important points. This is why it's important to start reading something long before you need to have it "read"--i.e. have the information understood to some significant degree. Reading is much more enjoyable when you can do it at a reserved pace, instead of wildly trying to push through it. So...that's what I'm doing most of my time, reading, then every once in a while I have to do some math homework for my last math class. So far I haven't gone crazy with it. I was really afraid of that, given the shit that made me suffer in Budapest.
I have a mind to publish some thoughts about my ability to have relationships with females--i.e. my lack thereof. But someone reading it might consider it to be mere ravings having no value. Instead I might put up a "poem" that I wrote some months ago, which doesn't necessarily have any explicit relation to the topic I have a mind to discuss. So here are some "ravings" of doubtful but not non-existent value. It has no title, but it has an epithet...
Happy are those ages when the starry sky is the map of all possible paths—-ages whose paths are illuminated by the light of the stars.
-—Georg Lukács (“Integrated Civilizations”)
the feeling of sandy beach hands
is for those worn from work
in a world whose essence is static
not those who sit forlornly and doubt
the existence of any goodness
or peace of mind, but they cannot help
it or even find some remedy to
heal the blisters of the rocky currents
of the universe which tosses about
in all directions to no end or goal
or observable point for all is nothing
for all is seeming relative for all is
no thing whatsoever to be had or
upon which to sit or cling or attempt
to find some secret solace for we
are all naked to the light and dark that
continually sparks in and out, flickering
and bringing to light our grotesque
gargoyle bodies perched upon the
superfluous gargantuan globules
and not much more than a suffocated
gargling comes from each throat
as they drink up the poison of the
lie in which they all partake and so
are kept from that comfort which might
bring some gentle warmth of hands
some simple conversation of days
and work between friends of
simple things of simple virtues
and traditions binding us within a
realm intelligible to humans--of
those things the Enlightened taught
us to deny and reject for some freedom,
for the absence created by the dumping
of so much tradition and history like
so much accumulated dung dried fast
to the roof of the world where gods
once strode and kept us in awe and
in place of those golden palaces in some
distant realm, in place of the Good of
Plato is erected the god Reason to
which daily sacrifice is made of our
minds and the denial of our nature
