The computer was a magnificent invention; the telephone, was not. The latter killed off letters, a far more useful and refined means of communication. Letters required one to reflect on what one was about to communicate to the recipient; the telephone, by making communication instantaneous, also made it thoughtless, and ultimately trivialized relationships completely. As bad an invention as it was, it evolved into an even worse one: the cell phone. Let it be proclaimed here and now that whatever qualities this device may possess are nothing compared to the terrible harm it has caused. We must now establish a new definition for the human being who wastes hours of his day with his face buried in that device, not only wasting time but continuously damaging his brain functions. In the future, there is no doubt that this narcotic will be displayed alongside lobotomy instruments in museums.
Category: Notes
Perhaps the Greatest Benefit Civilization…
Perhaps the greatest benefit civilization has offered man is the ability to plan in a far more comprehensive and precise manner, making it possible not only to guard against adversity but also to project himself into the future with some degree of certainty, calculating the circumstances he will face depending on his actions. To project, to prevent: these verbs have become ingrained in his psyche, taking up much of the space once occupied by others of immediate consequence. One can already see where all this leads. The man of today lives, to a much greater extent, in the future; and lives less in the present, whether due to lesser need or lesser inclination. And here, evidently, lies a problem, which makes it extremely difficult to grasp the meaning of what the Indian sages have been repeating for centuries.
Although It Has Been Said Time and Time Again…
Although it has been said time and time again, it is necessary to repeat this truth, knowing that it will continue to be ignored by most: intuition comes first and is independent of its verbal expression. It must be said repeatedly because there are always examples of those who know, but cannot explain what they know; and not knowing how to explain it, or failing to explain it satisfactorily, does not mean they do not know. In truth, the problem often lies less in the explanation than in the listener. But it makes no difference: only perceives this he who, at least once in his life, has had a sudden understanding of something, an instant and reliable understanding that allowed him to judge and decide correctly, but whose foundations eluded rationalization. Those who have never experienced it, or have not noticed experiencing it, would do well to be aware of this possibility, so that they do not err by mistaking the ability to explain for knowledge.
A Good Point at Which a Writer Can Truly…
A good point at which a writer can truly consider himself a professional in the literary arts is when he begins to take pleasure in the study of language, that is, when he begins to enjoy delving into daunting grammar books, highly complex linguistic studies, and the like. It is when, in this realm that is inscrutable to most, he finally feels at home. And it is when he realizes he is capable of truly polishing a text, paying close attention to details, aware of the immense power of words, of the fact that, sometimes, a single word is enough to change everything in a speech or a narrative. Every difficult skill, mastered with great effort, usually bestows this reward: the difficulty begins to delight. But there are skills whose difficulty has a clear limit; in the letters, there seems to be none.