When the bulk of routine drips, day after day, into practical matters, into banal activities that impose themselves on all the others, it is very difficult not to curse existence. The simplest solution: prevent the intellect from manifesting itself, silence the mind, never let it expand. Being late, what to do? seeking pleasure in practical life? getting a wife? children? Perhaps… Otherwise, it is to react against the imperative of necessity and, suffering the consequences of disdain for the convenient, find satisfaction in the voluntary act of revolt. There is nothing to curse… is there?
Tag: philosophy
The Appearance of Monotony Is Mixed With Visible Transformations
The exceptional thing about this world is that the appearance of monotony is mixed with visible and radical transformations. The impossibility of the absolute, while evident, is camouflaged by the false moroseness of time. Perception is always caught in a dilemma: unable to formulate reasonable projections, unable to accurately interpret reality, it still lacks judgment and chooses error. Everything in motion, everything susceptible to sudden and untimely blows: health just a step away from illness, lack from abundance, apathy from agitation. And the future, alien to logic, never ceasing to give way to contingency.
The Ultimate Utopia Is Stability
The ultimate utopia is stability—and a gross error to seek it in a world that is essentially unstable. In a reality of continuous and compulsory movement, even fear loses its justifiable character: the word is adaptation.
Objective: Word Invented by Men
I think of the artistic conceptions of Poe and Tolstoy, and suddenly I start laughing. On one side, the construction of a supreme beauty; on the other, the transmission of a feeling to the reader. Objectives: therein lies the fun. I do not know why, I start thinking about art and comes to my mind the blind universe, the ultimate representation of chance. I think of everything as a whole, and I see nothingness, the empty sky, indifference, the certain extermination, and the improbability of a purpose. “Objective” is a word invented by men who, like men, tend to perish. Stars shine for nothing, an immense galaxy can simply vanish. And I end up reflecting on the very old “useless effort”. Is beauty hidden in the certainty of defeat? Does mercy require the fall? If nothing else interests me, why exactly do I have art as valuable, as the inducer of meaning? It all seems to me, always, to lead to the very same questions…