Thursday, September 27, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The Boy and a Common Sense
My mind is enveloped by the shadows.
They lurk and try to sway me out of the way.
Off the way that's righteous, sober and rational.
I indulge myself in those shadows;
not for long can a man endure
the cold light of logic.
This light can lead us through life's labyrinth safely,
but
what is staying alive good for, if we're to spend our lives in
boredom, certainty, without fear, without worry.
There once was a kid that couldn't feel pain.
He was going home from school and he tripped.
He picked himself up and continued.
He felt like something is wrong with his leg,
but
he could walk, so he rationally did so; following the light.
He died of internal bleeding before he arrived home.
They lurk and try to sway me out of the way.
Off the way that's righteous, sober and rational.
I indulge myself in those shadows;
not for long can a man endure
the cold light of logic.
This light can lead us through life's labyrinth safely,
but
what is staying alive good for, if we're to spend our lives in
boredom, certainty, without fear, without worry.
There once was a kid that couldn't feel pain.
He was going home from school and he tripped.
He picked himself up and continued.
He felt like something is wrong with his leg,
but
he could walk, so he rationally did so; following the light.
He died of internal bleeding before he arrived home.
Confidence is a currency
that allows us to buy the most luxurious of goods;
doubt.
And if you're broke on that currency, we call it insecure.
And that happens at the times, where you spent all of your currency on the luxurious stuff and don't have anything left; when you have plenty of silver plates, but no food to put on them.
that allows us to buy the most luxurious of goods;
doubt.
And if you're broke on that currency, we call it insecure.
And that happens at the times, where you spent all of your currency on the luxurious stuff and don't have anything left; when you have plenty of silver plates, but no food to put on them.
Hate thyself to love thyself.
A very religious person can say that the god is dead.
A very romantic person can say that romance is dead.
A person with strong moral values can say that the society is rotten.
Why would they say so?
To make the world better.
Will their skepticism make it better?
Yes.
This is something beyond most people's understanding.
And that's beautiful, isn't it?
Because that religious person would have to be deeply disillusioned to say so.
Because that romantic person would have to be hurt by truth to say so.
Sometimes, in order to be happy, we need to take that dark and gloomy knowledge of ours as a fact. We know it's not a fact - not really - but facts are cold and therefore unable to burn us.
Also, facts can be changed easily; unlike knowledge.
Pain and desperation are the greatest motivators if you can handle them.
(and I'm not advocating Nietzsche here)
A very romantic person can say that romance is dead.
A person with strong moral values can say that the society is rotten.
Why would they say so?
To make the world better.
Will their skepticism make it better?
Yes.
This is something beyond most people's understanding.
And that's beautiful, isn't it?
Because that religious person would have to be deeply disillusioned to say so.
Because that romantic person would have to be hurt by truth to say so.
Sometimes, in order to be happy, we need to take that dark and gloomy knowledge of ours as a fact. We know it's not a fact - not really - but facts are cold and therefore unable to burn us.
Also, facts can be changed easily; unlike knowledge.
Pain and desperation are the greatest motivators if you can handle them.
(and I'm not advocating Nietzsche here)
Monday, September 24, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Incompatible
Only sometimes do I wish that we were more similar to each other.
Our incompatibility hurts us.
And for we all are constantly licking our wounds, we do not see that all have survived.
Sure, we all have our cuts and scratches.
Break my body, hold my bones.
We need to expose ourselves,
and only wait and hope that world will not hate us for that.
Otherwise we'd just be a society where everyone is wearing their imaginary trench coats and you never know, who's wearing a bomb underneath it and who's not wearing nothing there to be ready for some raping action.
Buddha said that you can make only two mistakes on your path to truth; not going all the way and not starting at all.
That path is curvy and we're all blind to it.
The only thing that keeps us on that path is the electric fence along it.
That is, we're kept on it trough punishment.
But if we all hold each other's hand, the electricity will be divided between us. If we stand alone, the shock will kill us off separately.
And that's why I want everyone to to continue that path. I don't want you to stop walking.
And if you're not on it yet, I want to make you go on it.
Our incompatibility hurts us.
And for we all are constantly licking our wounds, we do not see that all have survived.
Sure, we all have our cuts and scratches.
Break my body, hold my bones.
We need to expose ourselves,
and only wait and hope that world will not hate us for that.
Otherwise we'd just be a society where everyone is wearing their imaginary trench coats and you never know, who's wearing a bomb underneath it and who's not wearing nothing there to be ready for some raping action.
Buddha said that you can make only two mistakes on your path to truth; not going all the way and not starting at all.
That path is curvy and we're all blind to it.
The only thing that keeps us on that path is the electric fence along it.
That is, we're kept on it trough punishment.
But if we all hold each other's hand, the electricity will be divided between us. If we stand alone, the shock will kill us off separately.
And that's why I want everyone to to continue that path. I don't want you to stop walking.
And if you're not on it yet, I want to make you go on it.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
What language do I think in?
A question I have asked myself a lot recently.
Honestly, I cannot find the answer.
Czech and English I guess.
Maybe it depends on what am I thinking about.
If it fits better the Czech or English personality.
Anyway, I've been writing a lot in Czech last couple days,
that's my explanation why there's so few things posted here.
I have 15 new poems in my laptop.
I want my school magazine to publish some of them.
And once that is decided, I will post link to the rest here.
According to the statistics, there's about 30 % chance that you, as my dear viewer, do speak Czech. Yay!
Meanwhile please enjoy the two poems below. They're originally for my creative writing class, but I sort of like them.
Honestly, I cannot find the answer.
Czech and English I guess.
Maybe it depends on what am I thinking about.
If it fits better the Czech or English personality.
Anyway, I've been writing a lot in Czech last couple days,
that's my explanation why there's so few things posted here.
I have 15 new poems in my laptop.
I want my school magazine to publish some of them.
And once that is decided, I will post link to the rest here.
According to the statistics, there's about 30 % chance that you, as my dear viewer, do speak Czech. Yay!
Meanwhile please enjoy the two poems below. They're originally for my creative writing class, but I sort of like them.
60 watts
I keep this dirty old room lit.
My 60 watts are outnumbered.
There is no end to particles of dust.
I am turned on.
So is his guitar amp.
Hey amp, check me out, I’m hot!
My 60 watts are outnumbered.
There is no end to particles of dust.
I am turned on.
So is his guitar amp.
Hey amp, check me out, I’m hot!
Wait, he can’t hear me.
What if I try morse?
What if I try morse?
Blink, flash.
Hey, Mr. Guitar player, you’re in the way!
Is my ampie blinking back?
Yes, oh yes!
Is my ampie blinking back?
Yes, oh yes!
Stop it! Don’t turn him off.
Why are you holding your guitar like that?
Hey, you’ll hit the ceiling!
Or…
Why are you holding your guitar like that?
Hey, you’ll hit the ceiling!
Or…
Blink, crash.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Some of them will stay forever.
When I look back at the pictures that I have taken over the course of last couple days, I realize that I was quite busy.
Somehow, I don't feel like it, though.
It's one thing to go to a barbecue festival and see some really nice cars there, but what does that give you, really?
It's a different kind of memories that stay with you. It's usually those that leave a scar on your soul. The "He-nearly-cut-my-hand-off-but-thanks-to-my-fast-reflexes-he-just-gave-me-this-scar" kind of scar. The one you're proud of having, because it somehow defines you. Marks your progress in finding yourself even.
On a similar note:
There's two kinds of atheism.
The "I don't need a god because I think that I am better than you"
and the "I don't need a god because I think the world around me is better than you think it is".
Somehow, I don't feel like it, though.
It's one thing to go to a barbecue festival and see some really nice cars there, but what does that give you, really?
It's a different kind of memories that stay with you. It's usually those that leave a scar on your soul. The "He-nearly-cut-my-hand-off-but-thanks-to-my-fast-reflexes-he-just-gave-me-this-scar" kind of scar. The one you're proud of having, because it somehow defines you. Marks your progress in finding yourself even.
On a similar note:
There's two kinds of atheism.
The "I don't need a god because I think that I am better than you"
and the "I don't need a god because I think the world around me is better than you think it is".
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The worlds at mind's reach.
Lights flicker, forming a bokeh picture in front of my eyes.
It's as if the book in my hands emitted a faint shine, but logic tells me that cannot be.
The night is veiling my mind with a pitch black cloth and I fight back like a fly trapped inside a spider's web.
And a fresh supply of air flows towards my nostrils
and crickets' song reminds me of the dark woods that surround the house.
Every once in a while my eyes wander off of the white letter-stained page to glance through the window.
My brief stare down is terminated by the sight of the ol' borin' concrete.
If only at least a squirrel scuttled towards the other side of the yard.
But it doesn't.
And if it did, I probably wouldn't notice. Its silent pawsteps are far from my hearing; I can barely listen to my thoughts.
There's only one voice not drowned in the crickets' outcry.
The heavy and deep voice of Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
Its Lords of Words and Peasants of Letters are asking me for attention from their crib in the hardcover that is buried within my lap.
I heed the call and disappear within the mind of the entity that is considered to be a god and a creator in the Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
It's as if the book in my hands emitted a faint shine, but logic tells me that cannot be.
The night is veiling my mind with a pitch black cloth and I fight back like a fly trapped inside a spider's web.
And a fresh supply of air flows towards my nostrils
and crickets' song reminds me of the dark woods that surround the house.
Every once in a while my eyes wander off of the white letter-stained page to glance through the window.
My brief stare down is terminated by the sight of the ol' borin' concrete.
If only at least a squirrel scuttled towards the other side of the yard.
But it doesn't.
And if it did, I probably wouldn't notice. Its silent pawsteps are far from my hearing; I can barely listen to my thoughts.
There's only one voice not drowned in the crickets' outcry.
The heavy and deep voice of Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
Its Lords of Words and Peasants of Letters are asking me for attention from their crib in the hardcover that is buried within my lap.
I heed the call and disappear within the mind of the entity that is considered to be a god and a creator in the Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
When Beauty walks the Hallway of World she sees mirrors everywhere.
I'm a mirror, you're a mirror.
But we're shattered.
All the mirrors are nothing but empty frames.
And all the shattered pieces lay on the ground.
No one can ever say which part belongs into which mirror,
but we know one thing: you could not make a single mirror out of them.
The mirrors must be just about right size so Beauty could see herself in them in her wholeness, but more mirrors mean... more Beauty.
Our worlds are like planets. Everyone lives in their own little world. But all of them have gravitation. And we are the centers of the gravitational fields, centers of our worlds. And when two of our world collide, they both attract each other. But how rarely does this happen! There must be something special for the worlds to collide in the first place.
I'm a mirror, you're a mirror.
But we're shattered.
All the mirrors are nothing but empty frames.
And all the shattered pieces lay on the ground.
No one can ever say which part belongs into which mirror,
but we know one thing: you could not make a single mirror out of them.
The mirrors must be just about right size so Beauty could see herself in them in her wholeness, but more mirrors mean... more Beauty.
Our worlds are like planets. Everyone lives in their own little world. But all of them have gravitation. And we are the centers of the gravitational fields, centers of our worlds. And when two of our world collide, they both attract each other. But how rarely does this happen! There must be something special for the worlds to collide in the first place.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
To the moon
Just as literature is the ideal medium to share wisdom, movies ideal to quench your thirst for astonishing aesthetics, just like that are videogames the ideal medium to tell stories.
You see, telling stories is all about involvement.
Not too much involvement is needed - often games are based too much on their gameplay. But then there's:
To the Moon
I just finished it this weekend.
Honestly, best videogame I've played in last 5 years.
This 16-bit indie beauty takes us to the mind of old Johnny Wiles.
You see, Johnny is dying. And he has regrets.
Now, this is where the two bright scientists from Sigmund Corp. step in. They can alter memories, create a desire in the past that would lead to a different course of actions. It is only in your head, but that's all you got in the end, right?
And what is that desire that Johnny wished to fulfill but never really did?
To go to the moon.
Why?
Not even he knows! That's up to our two white-coats to find out.
I don't remember if I cried the first time I finished Dreamfall. But I sure did shed some tears for Johnny.
You don't need to be a gamer to play this.
Having a heart is enough.
Gameplay is minimal. Optimized, if you will.
You won't want to solve riddles and puzzles anyway.
You'll just always rush to see the next memory.
And the journey will take you all the way from Johnny's years as an old man to his childhood.
Truly beautiful,
priceless,
human.
Also, did I mention the soundtrack?
Just go get it. It's just 10 bucks.
You see, telling stories is all about involvement.
Not too much involvement is needed - often games are based too much on their gameplay. But then there's:
To the Moon
I just finished it this weekend.
Honestly, best videogame I've played in last 5 years.
This 16-bit indie beauty takes us to the mind of old Johnny Wiles.
You see, Johnny is dying. And he has regrets.
Now, this is where the two bright scientists from Sigmund Corp. step in. They can alter memories, create a desire in the past that would lead to a different course of actions. It is only in your head, but that's all you got in the end, right?
And what is that desire that Johnny wished to fulfill but never really did?
To go to the moon.
Why?
Not even he knows! That's up to our two white-coats to find out.
I don't remember if I cried the first time I finished Dreamfall. But I sure did shed some tears for Johnny.
You don't need to be a gamer to play this.
Having a heart is enough.
Gameplay is minimal. Optimized, if you will.
You won't want to solve riddles and puzzles anyway.
You'll just always rush to see the next memory.
And the journey will take you all the way from Johnny's years as an old man to his childhood.
Truly beautiful,
priceless,
human.
Also, did I mention the soundtrack?
Just go get it. It's just 10 bucks.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Do not
confuse individualism with being a cynic. Individualism does not equal “caring
only about yourself”. It merely means not defining a framework in which the
others operate. Caring about others is still pretty much desirable. The means
are different – caring is not shaping others according to you. Though the Biblemight say it actually is.
Well, that’s one thing that bible is wrong in. The second thing is Genesis 1:28.
Well, that’s one thing that bible is wrong in. The second thing is Genesis 1:28.
I left my peers for strangersss.
And what did strangersss do?
Put me in a cellar and went to a fair.
Lips remain dry,
thirsty, untouched.
And the heart, heart is cooling down,
till it reaches cellar's room temperature.
And when it does, oh boy, when it does
I'll be coming back.
Back, to the land of warm hearts and cold snow.
And what did strangersss do?
Put me in a cellar and went to a fair.
Lips remain dry,
thirsty, untouched.
And the heart, heart is cooling down,
till it reaches cellar's room temperature.
And when it does, oh boy, when it does
I'll be coming back.
Back, to the land of warm hearts and cold snow.
If your limbs stick out of the frame they'll be cut off.
There is one reason why strong discipline is essentially a bad idea; it's just as bad idea as selling only one size of shoes for everybody.
Discipline is bonding.
If our perception of others' actions would be a window, discipline would be there to say: "This part of the window is too dirty and you shouldn't look through it."
It would only let you see one part of everyone. The same part of everyone.
And this part equals the whole in only one case; the discipline maker's.
Because, really; isn't it rather silly that one man in D.C. tells all the men from Minnesota to Texas, from California to Florida what to do?
Justice is individual.
Discipline is bonding.
If our perception of others' actions would be a window, discipline would be there to say: "This part of the window is too dirty and you shouldn't look through it."
It would only let you see one part of everyone. The same part of everyone.
And this part equals the whole in only one case; the discipline maker's.
Because, really; isn't it rather silly that one man in D.C. tells all the men from Minnesota to Texas, from California to Florida what to do?
Justice is individual.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Lao Tse, fouder of Taoism, when he was old, he wanted to leave the state he lived in to finish his life in solitude. When he was crossing the border a guard asked him to write his ideals in a book before he leaves.
This book became one of the most important books ever.
Who should we be more grateful to, who helped the world philosophy more:
Lao Tse or the guard?
This book became one of the most important books ever.
Who should we be more grateful to, who helped the world philosophy more:
Lao Tse or the guard?
Thursday, September 6, 2012
I wish to become a Boddhisattva
I am in Hong Kong.
It's just about midnight.
Jet lag is keeping me awake.
I can see a river below when I look out through a window.
It reflects the skyscrapers on the opposite site.
Phillips logo is slowly changing its color from blue to white.
I find it very psychedelic.
I close my laptop and hide it underneath the bed. Internet is too slow here to be of any use.
I try to fall asleep.
Impossible.
I go around the room, looking for a distraction.
I open the table's drawer.
There's a bible and one more book;
Teachings of Buddha.
I take it.
I smell the old pages.
I start reading.
And I read.
I read.
My eyes are closing.
But I still read.
And read.
And then I fall asleep.
xxx
It's morning.
I try to shake off the tiredness.
I am holding Teachings of Buddha in my hand.
I wish I could take this book with me.
I hesitantly put it back into the drawer.
I take my backpack and my suitcase.
And I wander away, bidding this cozy hotel room my last goodbye.
That was a memory of mine from this summer.
One of the many great memories.
I can still see it, bright and vivid.
I thought my chances of finding the book ever again are miserable; Teachings of Buddha are not a standardized religious text like Qu'ran or Bible. It's just fragments of Buddhist ideas that someone took the effort to put together.
But today I found it on Amazon.
Unlimited access to information is just as enriching as dangerous.
And it's very dangerous.
It's just about midnight.
Jet lag is keeping me awake.
I can see a river below when I look out through a window.
It reflects the skyscrapers on the opposite site.
Phillips logo is slowly changing its color from blue to white.
I find it very psychedelic.
I close my laptop and hide it underneath the bed. Internet is too slow here to be of any use.
I try to fall asleep.
Impossible.
I go around the room, looking for a distraction.
I open the table's drawer.
There's a bible and one more book;
Teachings of Buddha.
I take it.
I smell the old pages.
I start reading.
And I read.
I read.
My eyes are closing.
But I still read.
And read.
And then I fall asleep.
xxx
It's morning.
I try to shake off the tiredness.
I am holding Teachings of Buddha in my hand.
I wish I could take this book with me.
I hesitantly put it back into the drawer.
I take my backpack and my suitcase.
And I wander away, bidding this cozy hotel room my last goodbye.
That was a memory of mine from this summer.
One of the many great memories.
I can still see it, bright and vivid.
I thought my chances of finding the book ever again are miserable; Teachings of Buddha are not a standardized religious text like Qu'ran or Bible. It's just fragments of Buddhist ideas that someone took the effort to put together.
But today I found it on Amazon.
Unlimited access to information is just as enriching as dangerous.
And it's very dangerous.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
The Truth Contest
http://www.truthcontest.com/
Truth indeed may be simple when discovered.
But sometimes, it's impossible to discover it at all.
So let me stop your search for the collective truth right here:
Is there a collective summarizing truth that can be reached by humans, or is the truth in fact shattered into endless amount of fragments, that we cannot hope to recover?
Finding truth is not exactly trying to find the missing pieces to a puzzle.
We don't know if there are any pieces to fill the missing spots. We don't even know whether there are any missing spots. And maybe the part of the puzzle we put together so far does not belong; maybe we're joining several puzzles together believing that we have just one puzzle.
Interesting website, though.
That's what I wanted to say in this post, anyway.
Guess I let myself go again.
My alarm clock and I, we hate each other profoundly.
Truth indeed may be simple when discovered.
But sometimes, it's impossible to discover it at all.
So let me stop your search for the collective truth right here:
Is there a collective summarizing truth that can be reached by humans, or is the truth in fact shattered into endless amount of fragments, that we cannot hope to recover?
Finding truth is not exactly trying to find the missing pieces to a puzzle.
We don't know if there are any pieces to fill the missing spots. We don't even know whether there are any missing spots. And maybe the part of the puzzle we put together so far does not belong; maybe we're joining several puzzles together believing that we have just one puzzle.
Interesting website, though.
That's what I wanted to say in this post, anyway.
Guess I let myself go again.
My alarm clock and I, we hate each other profoundly.
Higher standards, higher expectations
Sometimes we're just assholes, all of us.
At least deep inside we are.
We'd go crazy if we weren't.
At least deep inside we are.
We'd go crazy if we weren't.
Now go and check out
everydayblues.net
everydayblues.net
It's great.
It's salty.
It's credit crunch cereal.
I get sidetracked quite easily.
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