Sunday, November 13, 2005

Randomidity Entry #1- starter, intro, whatever it is...

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The keeper sleeps, the keeper dreams
drifting into reverie.

Shall you stop, to see the tale
And whisper to me dear?

Off i go, to sleep i must.
Shall i see you there?
The dreamer and the keeper,
In there you shall see.
The keeper sleeps, the keeper dreams,
The dreamer is awake.
To what i feel
For what is real
I weave what i believe.

To you, i dream. To they, I keep.
I sleep to see them off.
Eyes I close, I fall awake.
And open them, I sleep.

0957am 11132005 jpba
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I'm never really much of a poet, but I like poetry. It's funny how i ended up typing this awhile back when I was fixing up the layout of this (supposed) philosophical journal. I planned to add just a few more lines to the one that is originally part of the layout design...but anyway...I ended up with typing those words above...

Poems are usually not direct to the point; are hard to interpret. Wordplay makes things ambiguous. It tells so little, yet says so much. Or at least, I would like to think of it that way. Now that I read again what i had just typed, I wonder. What exactly do I mean? The thing with poetry is that it is hard to tell whether the writer really meant something by what was written. It is possible to write nonsense, without making it seem so. Appear philosophical when in all actualities, one is but a fool. Hiding behind pretty words, feigning depth of meaning. Nonsensical Sensicalities, I call them. (*edit) Things that seem to make sense, but actually do not make sense at all. That is what i do when i ramble. Most of what i say are but nonsense. There are, however, times when i write (or rather) type up stuff that actually make sense, no matter how nonsensical they may appear at first (either to I or to the other). That's how I'd want to see it at least. I am not so sure about so many things in this world but i just have to take a stand. Being a middle of the roader is a hard thing to be. The uncertainties, the dangers. Chances are, one would get run over by a vehicle. To stay to go, yes or no, high or low. Goodbye-hello. I cannot exactly interpret the meaning of the words i wrote there. Even if I can, I do not know if i would want to. If i do want to and had managed to make an explanation for it as to why (with the method being I openly "talking" to myself and interpreting what i meant by every single line), I do not know if i'd be willing to disclose such things. Its too troublesome to make an understanding of my subconscious as of now. To be the scientist studying the multi-cellular organism that is itself. Not now, not now. I am not in the mood.

How I confuse me a lot. What I would refer to as my consciousness that is present in me right now, the one that is (as my awareness takes me) influencing the words that i type in this keyboard, is confused somehow. It is telling me that I am confused, though I do not know full well the categorical imperatives for considering something as a confused creature lost in the sense of confusion. My dear mind indicates in my head right now, with a certain voice very similar to my own, that I have a lot I would want to say (type).

I seem to think a lot. I get too deep in my thoughts sometimes that i just stare blankly at something. Attempting to grasp, and explain things to myself. Its an odd hobby, thinking. An odd yet very normal thing. I like thinking. But. there are times when I just feel like I want to stop thinking for and just let myself run wild. Be carefree. Using the mind for my nonsensical sensicalities, my musings, asking questions in my head and answering them, wondering about little matters, is draining. Even more draining than physical work. I should perhaps try something like yoga to empty my mind, arrange the loose wires. Fix and find.

When I first found out about this philosophical journal project, I wanted to begin right away. But then after awhile I got bogged down by the technicalities. I get bothered by the rules. When I became aware, when I became paranoid about the rules, I was paralyzed. I could not write anything without having in mind that there would be one to read this, interpret, and grade me for what I write. It makes me uncomfortable. A side of me would be worried that what I write may not be "philosophical" at all. When this feeling gets in me, its hard to overcome it. I am at battle with myself. I battle with my "Selves". Ah, the they. Actually, the they in the physical is not the tormentor of the self. The self is tormented by its own creation. An image of the they in its head.

Oh the wierdness of me. My head hurts. I do not really write essay type of entries, methinks. ARGH. oh dear janna preciosa, talking to yourself. Hmm...this is my journal. My blog. I think I would be free to type down my thoughts better if I just FREELY type whatever that is in my head. Off to the netherworld with the rules! Thinking about the technicalities gets in the way of my musings. I shall not require myself to type long entries. Requirements restrict me somehow. Long entries, short entries. It matters not I think. The important thing is that I write what I think.

Brevity is, shakespeare says, the soul of wit. That would be my "excuse" for short entries. If i were to make a long one after this...well...what i would say is that...I do not aim to appear witty. I just want to express my thoughts. capture them, enclose them in words i shall try.

(-edit end: 5:01pm 11152005)
[picture 1 copyright to jpbaquino. 2nd and 3rd taken from office.microsoft.com]

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drifting reverie posted this
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