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comix64today is good.
i think ive figured out a better definition for my strange exercise in conceptualism in thought and the psyche, previously called "indescribable", which is: thought. i am writing about thought. i think philosophy is too strong a word, despite how often i find myself about to type it. philosophy, to me, is more the hypotheticals capable of explaining how coincidental it is that this big explosion happened out of nothing and then some random rocks and stuff started forming and then more and more chemicals came to be and then via completely random event there started to be living things, competing for life, and then eventually they began to contemplate how they are alive. essentially, philosophy is the self looking inward, and then at its mother. thought is everything looking at everything else, a big party of glances.
i did nothing productive today. as per one of the postsin the alt tag i made for posts that are not posts that are the standard format that is what is being read by you now, probably, [it was not in the alt tag, because it was a preface to a normal post, but i'm keeping this run-on sentence here because i like it] that doesn't really matter to me, because one of my philosophies is that as long as you enjoy what you're doing and you don't feel any Xtreme Rgrets, "Xtreme" being, like, cripplingly unable to continue because of it, then you're fine. life is a tree, and as long as i find the leaves beautiful i dont care what branch i'm on.
and, too, i think the convoluted, frustrating, complex kind of thought it is is enjoyable. life is one big coincidence. how come there's no concept that makes your head explode whenever you think about it because it's actually a living creature from another dimension that has self-defense reflexes relating to being thought of or about, based off of the world it lives in in which its inhabitants are tangibly altered by fictions relating to or including them within their contexts? i mean, isnt a world made entirely from chance destined to have some strange random occurrences? like a bizarre both-alive-and-not construct that happens to look like a house? or a film that is so entertaining it kills whatever views it? but, hell, that's already a thing! it's just that nobody notices it. i mean, random objects began to move of their own accord based off of a highly-inefficient fuel thingy that just came about, i guess, and it's called life, and nobody bats an eye. because there's always rational explanations. these dull sciences, gravity, color, reaction; they're all the collective crawling-about of the darkened room and making sense of its quadrilateral boundaries. everything is conceptually sound, and all the strange random occurrences coincidentally abide by the foundational rules of existence. maybe this world we all live in is a work of fiction made up by one singular living sentience that lives in another universe. maybe this isn't true, but there still is a living sentience imagining everything that's happening right now, verbatim, via combined ability of random chance, boredom, and an extremely powerful imagination.
relating to this, i find it pleasant that whenever i consider or discover some of this kind of thinking, however describable it is, i always understand it and then come across another, eventually. the steps of thought cease not yet.
and, maybe all of this conceptual, abstract thought stems from that i spent a lot of my time in leisure. i'm young! i don't work a 9-to-5, i'm not gruel'd by the short-sighted governments, hell, i'm never even questioned by my peers or friends or even strangers. i'm free to consider myself anarchist or marxist or buddhist or atheist or whateverthehell, because i don't have to put it to practice and it's never challenged and i am free from responsibility. and i kind of hate it, for being so antithetical to what i mean sometimes, but i kind of love it, because, what, i'm expected to want to work?
i think ive figured out a better definition for my strange exercise in conceptualism in thought and the psyche, previously called "indescribable", which is: thought. i am writing about thought. i think philosophy is too strong a word, despite how often i find myself about to type it. philosophy, to me, is more the hypotheticals capable of explaining how coincidental it is that this big explosion happened out of nothing and then some random rocks and stuff started forming and then more and more chemicals came to be and then via completely random event there started to be living things, competing for life, and then eventually they began to contemplate how they are alive. essentially, philosophy is the self looking inward, and then at its mother. thought is everything looking at everything else, a big party of glances.
i did nothing productive today. as per one of the posts
and, too, i think the convoluted, frustrating, complex kind of thought it is is enjoyable. life is one big coincidence. how come there's no concept that makes your head explode whenever you think about it because it's actually a living creature from another dimension that has self-defense reflexes relating to being thought of or about, based off of the world it lives in in which its inhabitants are tangibly altered by fictions relating to or including them within their contexts? i mean, isnt a world made entirely from chance destined to have some strange random occurrences? like a bizarre both-alive-and-not construct that happens to look like a house? or a film that is so entertaining it kills whatever views it? but, hell, that's already a thing! it's just that nobody notices it. i mean, random objects began to move of their own accord based off of a highly-inefficient fuel thingy that just came about, i guess, and it's called life, and nobody bats an eye. because there's always rational explanations. these dull sciences, gravity, color, reaction; they're all the collective crawling-about of the darkened room and making sense of its quadrilateral boundaries. everything is conceptually sound, and all the strange random occurrences coincidentally abide by the foundational rules of existence. maybe this world we all live in is a work of fiction made up by one singular living sentience that lives in another universe. maybe this isn't true, but there still is a living sentience imagining everything that's happening right now, verbatim, via combined ability of random chance, boredom, and an extremely powerful imagination.
relating to this, i find it pleasant that whenever i consider or discover some of this kind of thinking, however describable it is, i always understand it and then come across another, eventually. the steps of thought cease not yet.
and, maybe all of this conceptual, abstract thought stems from that i spent a lot of my time in leisure. i'm young! i don't work a 9-to-5, i'm not gruel'd by the short-sighted governments, hell, i'm never even questioned by my peers or friends or even strangers. i'm free to consider myself anarchist or marxist or buddhist or atheist or whateverthehell, because i don't have to put it to practice and it's never challenged and i am free from responsibility. and i kind of hate it, for being so antithetical to what i mean sometimes, but i kind of love it, because, what, i'm expected to want to work?
