Sometime in the near I will meet a man who is alive today and for all intents and purposes will not even now of my excistance untill that day we meet on that cool day in the many personalities of the years to come. Ready for the adventure of what six months, six years, sixty days--shit I'd settle for six days.
In the hallway of uncertanty I'd come up against the most devastating defeats and some uncompromising blocks that make me stumble upon the the daily rhythm of days. Nights gone wild in the many blue and wondering ponds of recesses pondered in the late night. The mazes of the mind are most active at night and most devastating of all late, late during the night. The thoughts of the days are heavy on the midnight blue and thoughts of tomorrow come lazily and incessantly, when the mind is weakest to advances of the heart, health, not ready to contemplate or endure the barrage of incompletely thoughts of the lazy night.
So I did went trough my 43things and found this year's goals to have already been accomplished. There were many that just needed to be clicked on and instantly would be completed because really I had completed them a long time ago. Not ready to say yes to the machine the records my thoughts and actions of the heart.
In this day of the Internet we are so ready to quantify what we do. We are ready to hold on the the many things that are quotidian recording and even trying to find people to read the every day minutiae of our lives. Have them comment and read and track our solitary details like out soup eating habits that we are immune to the daily wonders of our every day lives. Perhaps we are, in fact, so enamored with the every day because that is the real world the real world of facts and figures and of sending out the post on time so our payment is not delayed that we rejoice and want other people to rejoice in those trifling details. Those details that are not even significant enough for us to remember the next day and by this I mean that our brain does not even bother to record these details and the Internet is the great storage bin of small and insignificant details. Of course, I'm not one to judge.
The historical mission of your class and that is to say the proletariat (for even if you are upper middle class you are still in the middle and in fact very much a worker and a house slave at that) hour historical mission is to find that we can do things by our own. Our lives are so important, that cold soup wasting away in the dark nooks of the trash bin because so and so did not like it or was too cold or hot or just not right--that is the real things we need to be focusing on. Their will come a time when we understand, just like the capitalist class, that we must conserve not on a individual basis, we need to control production not on a individual basis but on a world basis. In this case I when i say individual I mean great capitalistic firms because in this system the individual firm may be conserving their may be ten firms all wasting the minimum but since their is of course just these then their is ten times all the waste that ever needs to be wasted. In fact their is 90 percent more waist that their needs to be in order to carry out that or this enterprise.
Soup Kitchen
I volunteer at a soup kitchen and this day marks the 12th time I've gone this year and probably marks more than that. Well it's one for people with terminable viruses. They are both my reminder as a gay man to be very careful and a rejoice in my humanity that their are people with such things that still laugh and have fun and eat and love to live as any other human. People are undeterred by anything not this or that that would seem as if it where about the last thing on earth we could ever live with. the last thing that ever can become a quotidian thing like that soup on that other person's blog.
They keep me sharp. They keep me on my toes to remind myself that no matter how young, old, funny or not people that would never strike one as having things like that do. They keep me on alert and at the same time I thank them. I love them.
In the hallway of uncertanty I'd come up against the most devastating defeats and some uncompromising blocks that make me stumble upon the the daily rhythm of days. Nights gone wild in the many blue and wondering ponds of recesses pondered in the late night. The mazes of the mind are most active at night and most devastating of all late, late during the night. The thoughts of the days are heavy on the midnight blue and thoughts of tomorrow come lazily and incessantly, when the mind is weakest to advances of the heart, health, not ready to contemplate or endure the barrage of incompletely thoughts of the lazy night.
So I did went trough my 43things and found this year's goals to have already been accomplished. There were many that just needed to be clicked on and instantly would be completed because really I had completed them a long time ago. Not ready to say yes to the machine the records my thoughts and actions of the heart.
In this day of the Internet we are so ready to quantify what we do. We are ready to hold on the the many things that are quotidian recording and even trying to find people to read the every day minutiae of our lives. Have them comment and read and track our solitary details like out soup eating habits that we are immune to the daily wonders of our every day lives. Perhaps we are, in fact, so enamored with the every day because that is the real world the real world of facts and figures and of sending out the post on time so our payment is not delayed that we rejoice and want other people to rejoice in those trifling details. Those details that are not even significant enough for us to remember the next day and by this I mean that our brain does not even bother to record these details and the Internet is the great storage bin of small and insignificant details. Of course, I'm not one to judge.
The historical mission of your class and that is to say the proletariat (for even if you are upper middle class you are still in the middle and in fact very much a worker and a house slave at that) hour historical mission is to find that we can do things by our own. Our lives are so important, that cold soup wasting away in the dark nooks of the trash bin because so and so did not like it or was too cold or hot or just not right--that is the real things we need to be focusing on. Their will come a time when we understand, just like the capitalist class, that we must conserve not on a individual basis, we need to control production not on a individual basis but on a world basis. In this case I when i say individual I mean great capitalistic firms because in this system the individual firm may be conserving their may be ten firms all wasting the minimum but since their is of course just these then their is ten times all the waste that ever needs to be wasted. In fact their is 90 percent more waist that their needs to be in order to carry out that or this enterprise.
Soup Kitchen
I volunteer at a soup kitchen and this day marks the 12th time I've gone this year and probably marks more than that. Well it's one for people with terminable viruses. They are both my reminder as a gay man to be very careful and a rejoice in my humanity that their are people with such things that still laugh and have fun and eat and love to live as any other human. People are undeterred by anything not this or that that would seem as if it where about the last thing on earth we could ever live with. the last thing that ever can become a quotidian thing like that soup on that other person's blog.
They keep me sharp. They keep me on my toes to remind myself that no matter how young, old, funny or not people that would never strike one as having things like that do. They keep me on alert and at the same time I thank them. I love them.
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