I know I penned a post about nostalgia, and the toxicity of wishing to relive the past...Buuut I'm going back on that just this once.
Wouldn't it be nice if instead of some Chinese whisper style form of argument that seems to be the norm now between groups of friends/colleagues/family members/everyone, we just lived like any general community prior to 1800.... Back then it was a case of: Problem-Anger-Argument-Optional fight-Resolve. All out in the open, everybody has their say and there is closure. The best thing about this avenue was that come the morning of the day following the argument, everybody was as happy as could be with every body else, because there were no hidden feelings to provoke malice. It was Honest.
Or maybe even pistols at dawn? It didn't always end in the death of the loser, and there was a clear winner. There are indeed examples of contemporary disputes settled through means that with very little confusion result in a clear cut winner (and without the involvement of lawyers). Rock, Paper, Scissors any one? Drawing the short straw? An arm-wrestle? Now they might seem primitive and childish but in my humble opinion they'd sort a hell of a lot more problems out than this social espionage that is so prevalent.
It is frustrating because I know that I myself am particularly guilty of this pussy-footing around sore subjects, cowering away from confrontation and allowing resentment to build without any attempt at resolve. We as a society have become so scared and horrified by confrontation that the person who dares to rebuke a rude pedestrian or an inconsiderate commuter is now seen as the rude one, the crazy one, the un-necessary trouble makers.
When it comes down to it, it seems we are all just too sensitive to deal with any affront to our general sitting on the fence approach to life.
This is a call for honesty, at the risk of being cut to shreds by a hundred devestating opinions on my personal character. But then I'm not scared.....Yeah right.
Peace.
Ps. The only reason I wrote this was to use the phrase 'Pussy-footing'. Pussy-footing.
Showing posts with label kim. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kim. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
Monday, 10 June 2013
The lost art.
Bring it back,
that light hearted greeting on a dark morning.
We need it back,
that unnecessary smile in the midst of a crowd.
Where did they go?
The words now held back from a future friend, lover or enemy.
How will we know?
When silence dominates every bus and train,
every park bench and post office queue.
The art is lost,
and the fear grips all. The conversationalist is made redundant.
We avert our eyes,
and forget that we have forgotten:
The art of conversation.
Peace.
Ps. I know the syntax is rubbish, but I thought why the hell shouldn't I try and write a poem.
that light hearted greeting on a dark morning.
We need it back,
that unnecessary smile in the midst of a crowd.
Where did they go?
The words now held back from a future friend, lover or enemy.
How will we know?
When silence dominates every bus and train,
every park bench and post office queue.
The art is lost,
and the fear grips all. The conversationalist is made redundant.
We avert our eyes,
and forget that we have forgotten:
The art of conversation.
Peace.
Ps. I know the syntax is rubbish, but I thought why the hell shouldn't I try and write a poem.
Wednesday, 29 May 2013
When you're in bed, you're dead.
My friend gave me a book recently.
The whole book is incredible, but the one thing that sticks in my mind still is the aphorism 'When you're in bed, you're dead'. I spend an inordinate amount of time in my bed, and it irks me. Maybe it's Manchester's beautiful weather....or maybe I'm a lazy ass student, or maybe studying Nietzsche's crisis of nihilism has left me with naught but bed and facebook and cigarettes to cling to. Whichever reason it is, if any, the book aforementioned has jolted me from this apathetic pit of screen glare.
The book is titled 'Tuesdays with Morrie' and I would recommend it to every single person whether you're in bed and not quite dead or an active machine of social frenzy. It is the true story of a man called Morrie, a former lecturer struck with the disease called ALS (Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or motor neurone disease) and how he spends his last months on earth up until the moment of his death and beyond. The disease is a horrific one, slowly causing the loss of all movement and bodily function, until you have to be carried like a child, fed like a child and use the toilet like a child. One might think that in the face of all this, there could be no joy, but Morrie found it.
I know it sounds pretty grim, but I cannot express the feelings of joy and hope and so on and so forth, that filled me by the time I had turned the last page. Morrie didn't fear dying, because he was satisfied; Satisfied with the friends he had made, the people he had loved and the experiences that he had experienced. He refused to be in bed, because to him that was surrender and death.
But I take it to mean not just being in bed literally, but making your life into one big apathetic bed, in which you wallow, you stagnate and refuse to change or grow or learn, in which comfort and routine is paramount regardless of the cost both spiritually and mentally. Morrie refused this offer of comfort and material lust and he was happy when he died, he had said goodbye to all the people he wished, he had said all he needed to say, taught all of the lessons he could. He was happy.
But anyway yeah, just read it. If I haven't convinced you, then just know I cried, a lot.
"So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning." - Morrie Schwartz
Also thank you Paul,
Peace.
The whole book is incredible, but the one thing that sticks in my mind still is the aphorism 'When you're in bed, you're dead'. I spend an inordinate amount of time in my bed, and it irks me. Maybe it's Manchester's beautiful weather....or maybe I'm a lazy ass student, or maybe studying Nietzsche's crisis of nihilism has left me with naught but bed and facebook and cigarettes to cling to. Whichever reason it is, if any, the book aforementioned has jolted me from this apathetic pit of screen glare.
The book is titled 'Tuesdays with Morrie' and I would recommend it to every single person whether you're in bed and not quite dead or an active machine of social frenzy. It is the true story of a man called Morrie, a former lecturer struck with the disease called ALS (Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or motor neurone disease) and how he spends his last months on earth up until the moment of his death and beyond. The disease is a horrific one, slowly causing the loss of all movement and bodily function, until you have to be carried like a child, fed like a child and use the toilet like a child. One might think that in the face of all this, there could be no joy, but Morrie found it.
I know it sounds pretty grim, but I cannot express the feelings of joy and hope and so on and so forth, that filled me by the time I had turned the last page. Morrie didn't fear dying, because he was satisfied; Satisfied with the friends he had made, the people he had loved and the experiences that he had experienced. He refused to be in bed, because to him that was surrender and death.
But I take it to mean not just being in bed literally, but making your life into one big apathetic bed, in which you wallow, you stagnate and refuse to change or grow or learn, in which comfort and routine is paramount regardless of the cost both spiritually and mentally. Morrie refused this offer of comfort and material lust and he was happy when he died, he had said goodbye to all the people he wished, he had said all he needed to say, taught all of the lessons he could. He was happy.
But anyway yeah, just read it. If I haven't convinced you, then just know I cried, a lot.
"So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning." - Morrie Schwartz
Also thank you Paul,
Peace.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Chin up.
So I keep hearing people whining.
It's not that I think people shouldn't complain at all, don't get me wrong, but it seems to me that a large proportion of the complaints I hear are from particularly middle class adolescents in similar walks of life as myself.
Again, please don't think I'm talking about the #firstworldproblem complaints that can so often be heard in the queue at Starbucks in reference to a mild blistering caused by some Louis Vuitton loafers (okay maybe SB's is a little lowbrow for Louis vuittons..but you get my point.) or other such life threatening situations. The complaints I speak of are about our government and country and petrol and so on and so forth and so tedious. It seems that we live in a nation where the average happiness rating of 7.6/10 does not hold true to the murmurings of those afflicted by the illness of being under 25 and living as a student.
I understand that such things are (or should be) important issues for all but is there really a need to do naught but complain of said issues ad infinitum? Discuss them yes! Argue about them with passion yes! But when one complains, there is no movement either forward nor back, there is only an all consuming sadness.
People talk of society 'being fucked' (not in the sense of a verb, because that would be strange), of being in a state of fucked up-ness; I am inclined to agree to an extent, what with unemployment being sky high, with the rich getting richer and the poor staying...well, poor,and a plethora of other distressing examples. However I am also inclined to go to the rooftops and scream to these whining specimens:
"We all make up society. We are all fucked. It is up to us to un-fuck ourselves before we try to unclog the drain that is our country. When that is done, then we can fry these bigger fish, then we can make progress."
I know that this post is rash and leaves a lot to be answered for, but if everyone took their complaints and turned them to positivity and pro-activity....well then I'd both have nothing to write about and I'd be happier for it.
"Complaining not only ruins everybody else's day, it ruins the complainer's day, too. The more we complain, the more unhappy we get."
Peace.
*PS. I have not overlooked the irony of a blog post that complains about people complaining*
It's not that I think people shouldn't complain at all, don't get me wrong, but it seems to me that a large proportion of the complaints I hear are from particularly middle class adolescents in similar walks of life as myself.
Again, please don't think I'm talking about the #firstworldproblem complaints that can so often be heard in the queue at Starbucks in reference to a mild blistering caused by some Louis Vuitton loafers (okay maybe SB's is a little lowbrow for Louis vuittons..but you get my point.) or other such life threatening situations. The complaints I speak of are about our government and country and petrol and so on and so forth and so tedious. It seems that we live in a nation where the average happiness rating of 7.6/10 does not hold true to the murmurings of those afflicted by the illness of being under 25 and living as a student.
I understand that such things are (or should be) important issues for all but is there really a need to do naught but complain of said issues ad infinitum? Discuss them yes! Argue about them with passion yes! But when one complains, there is no movement either forward nor back, there is only an all consuming sadness.
People talk of society 'being fucked' (not in the sense of a verb, because that would be strange), of being in a state of fucked up-ness; I am inclined to agree to an extent, what with unemployment being sky high, with the rich getting richer and the poor staying...well, poor,and a plethora of other distressing examples. However I am also inclined to go to the rooftops and scream to these whining specimens:
"We all make up society. We are all fucked. It is up to us to un-fuck ourselves before we try to unclog the drain that is our country. When that is done, then we can fry these bigger fish, then we can make progress."
I know that this post is rash and leaves a lot to be answered for, but if everyone took their complaints and turned them to positivity and pro-activity....well then I'd both have nothing to write about and I'd be happier for it.
"Complaining not only ruins everybody else's day, it ruins the complainer's day, too. The more we complain, the more unhappy we get."
Peace.
*PS. I have not overlooked the irony of a blog post that complains about people complaining*
Thursday, 9 May 2013
God might be dead, but Philosophy is suffocating.
When I say Philosophy is dying, I don't mean that it is becoming a corpse, but rather that it is being strangled by the current ridiculing it receives from the general populace, it is being drained of life.
If I could recall the times people have asked me whether all I do is "sit in a room and think about stuff, like existence and God" for my course.....well I'd have a bloody good memory. It's not just insulting, it's pure ignorance. I don't ask of a Sports science student 'Do you just like, sit on a football field and drink protein shake and stuff?' because I understand that most if not all subjects studied at degree level involve some form of in depth analysis and at least a smidgen of intelligence to comprehend.
But it's not a case of suggesting that my course is any harder than the one somebody else might study (far from it), rather it feels like philosophy is a novelty now, it has become the really pissed uncle at a family wedding or choosing to ride on the Manchester tour bus even though you know the only sights you'll see are the shit weather and horrible 1970's architecture.
So is Philosophy important now? In my opinion yes, it is. It could be said that without philosophy there would be no mathematics, there would be no evolving moral direction and the sciences would be non-existent. I do not speak of philosophy as the subject in itself but rather the practice of philosophising, the act of questioning and theorising to discover truth and truth alone.
So why has it become this decrepit pink elephant in the room. People vomit such vacuous crap as 'What kind of a job will you get with that degree?' or 'Only old people do philosophy'. Who the fuck are these people that they know nothing of the true value in such subjects as the humanities? They are the people that laughed at the madman in Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra, they are the people who ridiculed Galileo when he suggested that the Earth was not the centre of our solar system.
I know these accusations might sound rather exaggerated but when you think about it, what is so different? The philosopher tries to encourage contemplation and questioning, and these degradations do naught but discourage 'deep' thought that goes beyond the next game of Call of Duty.
So please, I beg of you, next time you encounter somebody who is studying philosophy, don't roll your eyes at them and ask whether the chair still exists when nobody can see it, instead accept their vocation as a life choice and a passion....a serious vocation that should be respected, just like I respect your choice to do events management or sports nutrition, okay?
A man by the second name Alfred Whitehead said that 'All Philosophy is a footnote to Plato' so I'll leave you with a thought from dear old Plato:
"Strange times are these in which we live when old and young are taught falsehoods in school. And the person that dares to tell the truth is called at once a lunatic and fool." (c.427 - 347 BC)
Peace.
If I could recall the times people have asked me whether all I do is "sit in a room and think about stuff, like existence and God" for my course.....well I'd have a bloody good memory. It's not just insulting, it's pure ignorance. I don't ask of a Sports science student 'Do you just like, sit on a football field and drink protein shake and stuff?' because I understand that most if not all subjects studied at degree level involve some form of in depth analysis and at least a smidgen of intelligence to comprehend.
But it's not a case of suggesting that my course is any harder than the one somebody else might study (far from it), rather it feels like philosophy is a novelty now, it has become the really pissed uncle at a family wedding or choosing to ride on the Manchester tour bus even though you know the only sights you'll see are the shit weather and horrible 1970's architecture.
So is Philosophy important now? In my opinion yes, it is. It could be said that without philosophy there would be no mathematics, there would be no evolving moral direction and the sciences would be non-existent. I do not speak of philosophy as the subject in itself but rather the practice of philosophising, the act of questioning and theorising to discover truth and truth alone.
So why has it become this decrepit pink elephant in the room. People vomit such vacuous crap as 'What kind of a job will you get with that degree?' or 'Only old people do philosophy'. Who the fuck are these people that they know nothing of the true value in such subjects as the humanities? They are the people that laughed at the madman in Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra, they are the people who ridiculed Galileo when he suggested that the Earth was not the centre of our solar system.
I know these accusations might sound rather exaggerated but when you think about it, what is so different? The philosopher tries to encourage contemplation and questioning, and these degradations do naught but discourage 'deep' thought that goes beyond the next game of Call of Duty.
So please, I beg of you, next time you encounter somebody who is studying philosophy, don't roll your eyes at them and ask whether the chair still exists when nobody can see it, instead accept their vocation as a life choice and a passion....a serious vocation that should be respected, just like I respect your choice to do events management or sports nutrition, okay?
A man by the second name Alfred Whitehead said that 'All Philosophy is a footnote to Plato' so I'll leave you with a thought from dear old Plato:
"Strange times are these in which we live when old and young are taught falsehoods in school. And the person that dares to tell the truth is called at once a lunatic and fool." (c.427 - 347 BC)
Peace.
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
I never thought I'd say it, but Owen Wilson has enlightened me.
I began to follow a fair number of different blogs and other such things recently and spotted one trend that seems to reverberate through them all in some form or another, this trend is Nostalgia, it oozes. I wouldn't mind if it dripped, or even if it flowed but oozing is just not polite, oozing suggests that something is hard to clean off.
I'm all for nostalgia, in fact I agree that it is a necessary thing to indulge in but aside from getting into some long and pedantic debate over whether nostalgia is just memory with a 'twinge'; I feel that people are obsessed, and far be it from me to judge a stalker, but people tend to forget the whole put the past in the past thing whilst clogging servers with posts about 'how it used to be' and 'the good old days'.
I know it might seem off topic, but I feel like this nostalgia binge that doesn't have a visible end is draining me of any thought for the now and is most definitely robbing me of any vision beyond yesteryear. Why can't people drag themselves away from this exalted past and be excited for tomorrow? I have the explanation in the form of ..... You guessed it, Owen bloody Wilson.
Owen Wilson, in the film 'Midnight in Paris' begins the same as these oozing nostalgia-addicts. He finds it impossible to be content with his 21st century existence and wishes for a taste of these fabled Good Old Days. But as we see, (and I apologise for the spoiler guys but seriously is anyone going to get that angry? It's fucking Owen Wilson...I mean come on he looks like the kiddy catcher before the meth got a hold on him) he does get that taste of the past, in a literal way... AND he loves it! He truly does. But the point is that he realises that it's not just the spoiled, unsatisfied and greedy 21st century dwellers that revel in nostalgia.... He realises that no matter what year in history you choose, there would be something of the past that the people of said year missed.
And so I have written something it seems, but it begrudges me to offer my thanks to the past (except for the kiddy catcher thing, thanks. THANKS FOR A THOUSAND NIGHTMARES) anyway, the moral of this tale in my humble opinion is that we need to turn our eyes and minds frontways..... Nietzsche says we are historical beings, and so we are; but why don't we try and make some history for the future generations to be jealous of, instead of wallowing in a pool of sepia-tone longing.
Peace.
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Procrastination is the devil, but at least I can smile about him.
So today I found this whilst procrastinating.
I don't want to turn into that soap-box-corner preacher that people avert their eyes from so as not to get pulled into some weird 1-2-1 Ralph Fiennes staring contest that only ends in you feeling guilty and deflated for being middle class (let's face it, he has mastered the withering stare)....But hear me out I beg of you.
I find it disturbing, disgusting and depressing how much truth such a simple picture can endow. Although yes, we seem to be heading for the big one; the TRIPLE dip recession, yes it's hard to find jobs and yes there is a big possibility that the realistic retirement age will soon be 600+, these are no real excuses for walking about this wonderful earth with a face that reminds one of Britney Spears when she realised she'd done it again.
This is the moment one instantly feels that an innocent smile at said stranger is perceived as a mocking tribute to their early morning commute after 2 hours sleep, a knowing laughter at their lack of successful sexual conquest or maybe a scornful smirk at the bedroom tax that suddenly looms. Who knows but they what it is that they glean from such a thoughtless kindness as this smile. Please understand that I do not mean to suggest that these problems are not problems, because indeed they are and indeed people affected by such issues have a right to be upset, unhappy and unanimous in their complaint.
I only mean to suggest that a smile is worn easy, and that if I'd known that (large generalisation ahead) the human race were such miserable specimens, I might have saved myself the trouble in that delivery room and jumped straight back in the bloody womb.
Peace
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
The first 'proper' blog post of many I would attempt.
So today I begin my life as devoted blogger, sycophant and tedious bore no doubt. I'm very disappointed in myself. You see I have admired from afar the efforts and achievements of a hundred different bloggers, blogs and what not, like a silent voyeur in the sways of an internet induced slideshow(coma).
Every other day I believed it to be the time to take up my ergonomic keyboard and battle the apathy that has bogged me down, and everyday I found myself staring at a stream of beautiful but meaningless tumblr posts and thinking 'What do we say to blogging? Not today'(Whilst evidently watching Game of Thrones). But today I said today! Finally I have found my feet(fingers) and started walking(typing) the path of the righteous(screen-obsessed).
It is a difficult thing to find a niche on which to focus ones efforts of the cogitations, there is no end to picture related blogs, again with the slideshow antics, no end to the alt-LIT scoundrels who experiment in their apple mac cauldrons with a thousand different fonts below a starry sky or situated upon some empty rail-way; "Your love might hurt but my scarred heart will always pull through xoxox </3" - Now I am all for sentimental feels, capturing the emotions of the world whilst backed by a faded snapshot of Brighton pier (or replace with Margaret Thatcher) but that will not stop me wishing an end upon this earnest clawing for nostalgic praise. Anyway you'll be happy in the knowledge that I'll update my manifesto at some point in the near or distant future.
However I am not a nihilist, which might be obvious through my obvious seeking of approval from the cyber-space community; I may decline from defining what I would wish to make the object of my blogging antics for now. Maybe I'll go into crockery, maybe not. Maybe I'll delve into the centre parcs scene-I've heard there's openings-but then again maybe not.
But for now I am satisfied that I've made it to the end of my first ever 'Proper' blog post without mentioning Kim-yong-unlikely. Damn.
Peace out,
Richard
Every other day I believed it to be the time to take up my ergonomic keyboard and battle the apathy that has bogged me down, and everyday I found myself staring at a stream of beautiful but meaningless tumblr posts and thinking 'What do we say to blogging? Not today'(Whilst evidently watching Game of Thrones). But today I said today! Finally I have found my feet(fingers) and started walking(typing) the path of the righteous(screen-obsessed).
It is a difficult thing to find a niche on which to focus ones efforts of the cogitations, there is no end to picture related blogs, again with the slideshow antics, no end to the alt-LIT scoundrels who experiment in their apple mac cauldrons with a thousand different fonts below a starry sky or situated upon some empty rail-way; "Your love might hurt but my scarred heart will always pull through xoxox </3" - Now I am all for sentimental feels, capturing the emotions of the world whilst backed by a faded snapshot of Brighton pier (or replace with Margaret Thatcher) but that will not stop me wishing an end upon this earnest clawing for nostalgic praise. Anyway you'll be happy in the knowledge that I'll update my manifesto at some point in the near or distant future.
However I am not a nihilist, which might be obvious through my obvious seeking of approval from the cyber-space community; I may decline from defining what I would wish to make the object of my blogging antics for now. Maybe I'll go into crockery, maybe not. Maybe I'll delve into the centre parcs scene-I've heard there's openings-but then again maybe not.
But for now I am satisfied that I've made it to the end of my first ever 'Proper' blog post without mentioning Kim-yong-unlikely. Damn.
Peace out,
Richard
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