Monday, December 12, 2005
this is not a philosophical entry for the project...and so is the next two enrties after this
EDIT: mind this not...i fixed the problem already...and its not with teh compies...-__-;...
EDIT: DECEMBER 14, 2005
TO MY INTPHIL TEACHER...Well, i hope it is not too late. Hopefully you are reading this...anyway...if you are, right now (whatever time of day it is) i just want to say that it is possible that my first and second "philosophical" entries would not be shown on the main page...depending on the computer...One has to access it through links in the previous entries section, just incase. I just realized that those entries do not appear when i checked this site just because i felt like doing so. I just do not want those two entries to go to waste...they should be glanced at, at least...it would be unfair to those entries...and the sad thing is, twas this entry and that random post (that has nothing to do with the philosophical blogging project) that was accomodated in the main page...
sigh.
well, i did try. maybe i should send you an email and tell you...or maybe not. You may have already gone off and graded this without having seen the first and second entry. not that i like those entries in particular. its just that they are a part of the whole. its sad if they don't get the chance to be seen. i'd feel bad for them. i'm just weird like that. its like how i'd feel bad for some books in the library. neglected, they are. would it not feel so terrible to be a closed book? a book that was never read and left to gather dust? a book wanting to share what it has to offer...but...oh i don't know. i should cut this. i'm not even sure if you'd see this. one could only hope.
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it is 8:31am, according to the computer clock. here in my father's office. The extended deadline for the blog has passed, i think. I am not sure if i recall well, but i think the deadline is at 8. or was it 7? ah...whatever...it doesnt matter.
I am not sure if I should be frustrated right now. Regret has not actually kicked in yet. I am actually wondering whether i should feel regret because I did not add more to this blog...so I could have, at the last minute, added more so i could get the grade that any student would want...
why did I not add any more entries? Its not like I couldnt have...I had the 'power' to do so...I had the time...and I actually have a lot I could say...but why?
...maybe i just don't want to be imprisoned anymore...be controlled...deadlines...chances...I am fearing that my subconscious would only type down entries so that there would be great chance for THE grade...
ewan.
this freedom that I have, this freedom do I want?
I just want to type. freely type. I guess I did not want to write something that would be for grading purposes. Its...restricting. I think I have some sort of issues about these things. I fear my own subconscious, my freedom.
blabber. blabber. blabber.
Philosophical, not Philosophical...who are we to judge...to box things...what i have written may be philosophical for one, and but a foolish attempt to sound philosophical to another. but who cares.
free
dom
...-___-...Le sigh.
sigh.
and Le sigh. oncemore.
merffffff.
i still have a dissolved class. MUST ENROLL. oh...and a test later...and...and...well, two reflection papers to finish...and a portfolio to put together.
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |8:36:00 AM|
Monday, November 28, 2005
freedom and randomidity part2
little prince personality test :
http://quizilla.com/users/noillusions/quizzes/Saint%20Exuperyrandom!
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |3:00:00 PM|
Now I am Free, Methinks...so what to do with this journal now?
By now my teacher would have been finished going through my blog. Today is the 28th of November, Monday. If things went as scheduled, she would have already gone through my entries and started grading me...she said she'd do it alphabetically...and since I am class number 3, my moment would have been over. So now I am free. *insertsighofreliefhere* Now what to do with this journal? I have about...6 online journals...one in tabulas (never really used that. just one 'hello world!' type of entry there)...one in LJ (used to update that from time to time)...another in LJ (the first one i made...made that into a (for a lack of a better term) dumping ground for some literary pieces i like)...one in philosophy.nu (unused)...this one in blogspot...and then theres the journal in dA (thats not really a blogging place...but it is an online gallery that has an online journal feature...so there)
now I'm free to post what I want. Perhaps i'll post here some stuff that went through my head before...compile it here...philosophical musings?
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randomidity from Nov.6 2004
you can never say nothing happened.things happen all the time. every moment that passes is gone and cannot be repeated once more. every single moment is different. every moment. through the course of this thing that we refer to as life, moments occur. they pass by. tis such a sad thing that most of these moments that are for a period in time a part of one's memory will be lost. someday forgotten. if not forgotten, then...not recalled. not remembered. memories burried in the deepest recesses of the mind. emotion. humanity. thoughts.how sad it is that one cannot record every single thing. every moment. good. bad. your memories. data formed through experience. experience that has made one's persona. you. the self? [picture on the left from explodingdog.com]...here i came to type down what had happened during the past weeks...i've been putting off my duty (to myself) to update this journal...to record at least a bit of what happens to me. especially important things. in fear that i may forget them. here i came to type down what happened, and here i end up typing random thoughts. i felt inexplicable sadness. i dunno why. maybe i do know why. but how come?...well...i'll go think about that some other time...thinking...thinking too much might just paralyze me oncemore without my being aware of it. or if ever i do snap out of it, i may end up lagging behind as the world continues to turn....^___^...ya!...erm...so!...ack...the weirdness of me...>_>...bleh...will say things that make sense soon...^_^;... ---------------------------------------------------
oh yet another one...my...my...i'm so...dramatically angsty...-__-...from august 21, 2004
never have i ever claimed that i am a good person. never. i'm just living my life as i am. i'm just being my self. i dont go off pretending to be something i am 
not. i try to be as honest as i can. if i can just show how i really am to people, i would. if i can just show them how i really am! i dont really care...if they dont like what they see, well...thats their problem...my sister cant really scare me off with her "if your 'friends' could only see how you really are and wait till they find out" threat...coz its not like i hide how i truly am...sure...i have different sides...but they are a part of me...not something i put on for show.how sad it is...dear sister acts as if she knows everything there is about me...how my mind works and such...such a pity...i dont really care anymore...let them think what they want...its no use explaining myself to them...its not like they would understand even if they listen.i'll just let them believe that they are correct...you cant really change a person's view when they are too grounded on their opinion.i dont want to explain anymore...i dont want to be biased...i dont want it to seem like i am the poor, helpless protagonist...and they...or rather, she, the evil antagonist...i do not think that is so...if i be given the power to let people see things as they truly are, i would use them...whether i come out the heroine of the play, or the villain...it wouldnt matter...the truth as they say, sets you free...if i were to see things as they really are, and my judgement...not clouded by bias for my self, then i think i'd be happy. If it really turns out that i am at fault, i would accept that...and perhaps change my ways...i just hope the others would be the same too.
it just saddens me that they are in the illusion that they know how it is...if only that were true...-----------------------------------------------------
and another from august 14,2004...
its been awhile...how long has it been exactly? hmm...i guess its not that long afterall...for others, that is...
haha...silly, isnt it? yeah...it is...at least for me it is...its not like it matters...
i wait...telling myself that it wont be there...i make a bet with myself...it wont be there...wont...be there...
betting with myself...another silly thing...^_^...
if it appears, the part of me i chose to side with, would lose. oh well. tough luck. darn.if it doesnt appear, that side wins. HA! i WIN! i knew it! i knew it all along. i'm so great.
i wait...its not like i was asked to...i'm not required...i am bored! thats what its all about! i just need entertainment. that is all. of course! what did you think? HA! such an evil plotting being i am. such a user. ahhh~ yes. its coz of my selfish self. my self. and because it is for my self, i can erradicate the theory of it being that.
i'm just a confused adolescent. what would i know? of course it CANT be that thing! i dont deny the dact thatthe possibility of that thought entering the head of the confused, hormone-driven teen is quite high. ahhh...but i am aware of that. i am aware that at this age, i know not much about what is what. How would i know if what i think i feel is really what i feel?
its all because i am not exposed. naive. i know not much about the world. since that is /or at least my mind tell me that THAT is what i believe/ a fact, its certain that what i may confuse for something is not that at all. i dont know anything yet. thats why.
i would later find out that i am correct about it. that it is not what the usual adolescent would think. i would not fall into thinking the way the adolescent would think of such feelings that are controlled by hormones. i am aware of the meddling powers of hormones...that is why i tell myself to be critical...so i wont make a mistake. so i wont fall.
fairytales...chivalry! damsel in distress! happily ever after! joy and happiness till the end of time...
i am, the damsel, and ye the knight who would save me...the knight would sweep me off my feet, take me away, and together we will conquer the world<---crap...hmm...perhaps except for the conquer the world part...i am such an actress...as much as i would want to be the good! kind! nice (and all the other positive adjectives out there) damsel tormented by the evils but never gives up...and would some day be saved by the charming knight, i think that wont work in reality.
As much as i would want to be seen as a nice person, i dont think i am. I think...in those times that people find kindness in me, i'm faking it without knowledge. See how horrible?!? its all for the sake of fooling people! into thinking that i am nice!...funny thing is...as i expose myself, expose how evil and plotting i am...the more they think i'm nice! they dont know me...thats why they think i'm nice...if only that were true...if i were, i'd agree when people say i'm nice...since i'm not, i tell the truth. i say what i think.
ironic. i am evil but i do not enjoy lying. I am not a good person...so that would make me the opposite, which means...i am a bad person. I would only perhaps be kind if i were compared with some other persons...but on my own, i would not epitomize the word 'kind'.
fairytales are fairy tales. it would be nice if it were real...but then...fairy tales are called fairy tales because they are not real. if it were real, then it would be called 'real tales' then...right? its logic. Okay! fine...perhaps i'm just disillusioned...nice things like that of fairy tales happen to some people...there are hardships but together they would get through it all~...i dont see such things for me though...it would be nice...but...i want to be realistic rather than be caught up in imagination all the time...
oh! crap! what have i been typing!?...ych...product of ze evil hormones!
*note: i am back to my senses...-_-;...i was thinking of erasing this all but then again, it aint practical...i wasted my time away on this instead of doing productive things like...AHHH!!! the essay!!! oooh~...ateneo applics last day on the 18th...^_^;...crap...hmm...i guess i'll stick to the original plan of being honest in my essay...instead of buttering it up...sugar coating...yeah...coz i dont want to make up stuff...though i am very much capable, mind you...its just my choice...^_^;...hmm
1 Told me something
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |2:23:00 PM|
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Oh god, God...reality...love
Even if there is no God, there may be a need to create him.
I don't know who it was that said that, but i think I read that quote before...or something like that at least.
because people need something, someone to believe in. The human mind cannot seem to be able to continue on peacefully without some belief in something. we just need to believe. somehow.
...i wonder...
did God ever want to be god? Did God have a choice? ...to have such power? that is, supposing that God does exist.
God has to exist. Does he? ...I guess the mind cannot comprehend it, generally cannot accept that...if he does not...and since it cannot truly be proven whether there is a god or not, one can only keep believing.
Faith.
just a random musing.
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i read about an interesting thought months ago. and it goes around the lines to follow...
Does anyone ever pray for satan? The one sinner who needs it most? Can satan ever be forgiven?
...guess not...since it will ruin the so-called balance...satan was doomed to be prince of hell...fallen angel, lucifer...the brightest of the archangels...the morning star who went to rebelled against god...
this is all talk from a christian sense...theme...that is...
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oh confusion.you cannot love something that does not exist in your reality.
how can you love something that does not exist in your reality.
its stupid. its silly. its not real. an illusion.
whatever feelings you think you have are nothing.
how can you love something you cannot see. how would you know it exists.
you can never be sure of what you know. so why believe.
fool. you're a fool for thinking that perhaps it is possible.
to believe in something you cannot see. to hope for its existence.
to believe that you love without seeing. to believe, not to doubt
that your feelings are true.
nonsense. nonsense. nonsense. i dont make sense. i cannot make sense of myself.
tis but insanity.
...you cannot love something that does not exist in your reality.
...or can you?
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |10:48:00 PM|
Saturday, November 26, 2005
At times I find myself walking towards the chapel in the university. I enter. I sit. I stare. my fingers clasped together in form of praying hands. I do not always pray when i go there. I just sit. there on one of those monoblock chairs at the very end of the room. and i talk in my head. like any normal person, i talk in my head. I do not always pray anymore, not on my own at least. I don't exactly recall when it all started, but its been going on for a long time. I'm not really sure what exactly is up with me. No, I'm no atheist. I believe. I'm still contending in my head what to refer to what I believe, but I know I believe. in something. someone, something. the big "G" or whatever. God, Goddess. pick whatever you want.
I sit there. In the chapel, and I pray. I say thank you. I don't even know if what I do is really pray.
I am not religious, I think. I hold the term 'religious' with such high regard. It would be great if I were one though. I think that would be nice. To truly believe...to be firm...to have great faith. I have nothing against the catholic church. Every religion has its upsides and downsides. Theres hope for it. I was lucky to have had a good, open, catholic education. I do not want to concern myself with the fights about religion. It won't do much good. I think any religion would be fine...whatever religion makes you into a better person then, go on ahead. I think God would be even happy for you...
When I go to the chapel, I sit. I talk in my head. To myself, I think...or maybe to god. to God. I have my own relationship with God, or at least, thats what I would want to believe. I have things to fix. In myself. Maybe. I don't know. I'm a confused child. ^_^;
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |8:57:00 PM|
Thursday, November 24, 2005
painter
Here is a rather sad story about a painter...written by a friend of mine. It may be a bit long for some, but i find it really pricked me somehow when i first read it...thats why I'm placing a copy here. Please read it if you have time...
painter
Aug-30-2005 10:54:40 pm
the following is the last entry of a painter in his diary, which he was holding when his body was found drifting aimlessly in a river.
i am a painter. i paint things. when i was young, i drew, sketched, etched, painted, copied, and whatever other artistic things you can think of. so when i grew up, i realized i wanted to be a painter. a painter that everyone loved. a painter with no enemies. no hatreds. just all love. free love with everybody. free. like the song from depeche mode, "let's make it clear, that this is free love, no hidden catch, no strings attached, this is free love". yep, i'm a song junkie too. i'm no writer. my specialty is painting, so i rely on the song writers to express my feelings while i paint. that way, i can also paint what i feel. [picture to the left from japanesecentral.com]
i paint for people. for my friends. foes(if ever i had any). family. anyone. and it was always free. why should i charge? i was given this talent. i didn't pay for it, so why should i charge people for borrowing or using my talent? that's just unfair, right? so now, people who might get a hold of this diary might be wondering, "how the hell does he live? how the hell does he satisfy his daily needs?
"now now, people. let's not be hasty. i said i painted for people for free. yep. and most of the time, they're happy with what [i] paint for them. and when a person is happy, he or she will most likely be generous. so there, people give me stuff, like food, love, hugs, whatever i should need for the day. i don't ask for things, they FREELY give it. of course, i wouldn't refuse such generosity, some people might be offended. so when someone asks me what i WANT in return, i tell them i don't want anything. but if someone asks if i NEED anything, i tell them what i need at that moment. a hug? some food? some sweet words? a smile? easy things to do. that way, everyone would be happy 
and we're not even talking about money here.
money is the root of all evil. everything should be free.
but then, what about the selfish people? those that take and take? oh i have no qualms about them. we people aren't perfect, and sure enough there'll be people more selfish than we are. or they just can't stand of thinking about giving anything away. if they're giving something away, it must be something they don't need anymore or they'll get something equally as good in return. well, i've seen some selfish people, and all i can say is, i still paint for them. why? because i'm not as selfish as them and maybe i can CHANGE them. change them to be like me. but i doubt that. but i still HOPE.
why am i writing this anyway? because in a couple of days, or minutes or hours, i may have used up all my paint. and without paint, my life is over. all i know is how to paint. ever since i learned about painting, i knew painting was for me alone and i will always be for painting. but why? why did i run out? was it my fault? did i paint to much? did i give away to much? i don't have any paint left. even for myself. oh how i wish i could paint what i feel right now and be happy again. but like i said, my paint left me. no one would actually give me paint for free.
so maybe i'll just dwell on my painting memories, as far back as i can remember. i have drank a 
whole bunch of aspirins and whatnot and i am leaning over this bridge. does anyone know of this place? this is the bridge between despair and delirium. but right now, it's my bridge of life and death. i may live through this suicide, but i may not. it all depends on me. so i'll forget about what's happening in my body and focus on my memories. [picture to the left from office.microsoft.com]
where should i start? ah! the start. yes the start. what am i talking about? the start of everything happy. the start of me painting in color(because i always painted in black and white before)
my first colored painting was an abstract. it was full of my emotions. yes it was abstract. full of shades of red. yellow. green. white. no dark colors here. a patch of blue for the sky and some for the sea, but that's about it. you see, my first painting was of a turtle. a turtle so fine, so perfect, so happy, swimming in a huge sea of colors and emotion. i'm actually analyzing my own painting. still, when i first saw that painting of mine, i knew. i knew my succeeding paintings will be in color. of happy colors.
and sure enough, i was happily painting for other people in color. i painted smiles for them. i painted a bright future for them. i painted life. i painted a caterpillar slowly weaving its cocoon, then i painted its cocoon, so tender yet it protected the caterpillar. the cocoon looked like my first 
painting.
then i painted the caterpillar emerging from it's cocoon. now it was a butterfly. it didn't leave its cocoon though. the shell was still tightly wrapped around its tiny body. people asked why, but all i said was that the cocoon was important for the caterpillar. the shell was its protection from outside forces from the wind, from predators, from the rain. [photo on the right from www.photoartbyzes.com/butterfly.htm]
but people argued that the shell only made the caterpillar/butterfly heavier. and soon enough, he'll be too weak to fly. he'll get tired of carrying around that heavy shell. but i didn't argue with them. they were the type of people who put their parents in nursing homes the moment the[ir]parents grew too old to care for themselves. they were the type of people who didn't say thank you.
i painted and painted for other people. for the sad ones, i gave them more smiles. bigger smiles. brighter colors. but i didn't realize that i was running out. i earned some hugs. even kisses. food. shelter. happiness. but my paint supply was running out.
soon, i was using some dark colors instead to save my bright ones for special people. i used the blues, the blacks, the purples. the grays. i used them all and suddenly, people weren't happy anymore. i tried painting my first painting using those colors, but they just didn't look right.
so i turned back to my bright colors. and everything was alright again. i have never felt happier. but recently, my paint ran out. every bright color ran out. i don't even have whites anymore. all that's left are the dark ones, blue, black, gray, purple, brown. but i still kept painting for people. only this time, i painted bleak landscapes. empty voids. bruises. but what could i do? no one gave me new paints. even if i asked for paints, no one would give them to me that easily. it's just like asking for a million dollars. and to top it all off, the people weren't satisfied with my drawings anymore, so no one asked in return. [picture to the left from office.microsoft.com]
oh. i forgot to tell you. there's this one color that i couldn't run out of, no matter how much i used it: RED. it signified many meanings and it satisfied some people. but not all people like red. i used red to paint love. death. happiness. sadness. red can be positive or negative, it just depends on how you see it. i see it as love and happiness, but people see it as death and sadness, because paired with the dark colors, red looks a lot like blood. but blood signifies life too, right?
so there ends my story. a weird story of a painter. waiting for death to come to him. because his paint...just ran out.i saved the last of my paint for this moment. one final time between the bridge of despair and delirium.
i saved my first happy paints. some green, yellow, orange, red, whites. and here, i draw my last painting. i can't paint my first drawing anymore. i used too many bright colors there. so i improvised.
i painted a turtle, using the remaining green i had. and added some happy colors, yellow, white and orange. the turtle has a heart around it, my heart. i'd love that turtle no matter what, even in death. it made me happy. it gave meaning to my life. and now, like all other people who are to[o] weak to handle things, i kill myself. but i'm not yet dead. i'm not yet done. i will be happy one final time as i paint this last painting. i MAY survive this and maybe someone would be willing to give me some paint, or i may not and that'll be the last of me. but still, i will try to be happy. for myself. for the people i knew. for the people i loved. and most especially for my turtle. my first painting.
and as i use up my last yellow, white and orange. i still can't understand why my reds never seem to dwindle. even my dark colors are almost empty. and using my last blue, purple and black, i draw the sea.
a turtle with a heart around it, to protect
it from the dark, empty void of the ocean. my final masterpiece. i'm so happy for my turtle. finally free from my paints. she won't be tired of my painting her anymore. maybe she'll come back, asking me to paint her again. or maybe she won't. time can only tell. but for now, i shall await what happens. i will be happy for her. that's what she would have wanted if she was REAL.
sadly, i don't get anything in return. i didn't sell my first painting. and obviously i won't sell this last. so if anyone comes along and plans to buy that last masterpiece, please, anyone who's reading this should say that last painting is not for sale. not now. not yet. but who am i to say that when i'm dead? still that's my final request. a bit of selfishness from the selfish people rubbedoff on me.
i will be happy. i will wait, not for death anymore. i will wait for the paints to return to me. i have finally understood. i just need to wait. i shouldn't be impatient. soon, my paints will be back and i can paint turtles and smiles and happiness again. soon, i will be smiling and putting all of this behind. i may be burning this diary, but i will still keep my first and last paintings.
my head is hurting. i just vomited something. some things. my body is rejecting the poison. guess i'll live through this. but my head is spinning. i feel dizzy..like blacking out. i feel so...
the painter was brought to the hospital and doctors aren't sure whether he'll live or not. as of now, he's in a coma, a peaceful sleep. he smiles while he sleeps. doctors say his chances are 50-50. and it's just a matter of time.poor painter. i wish the best for him. no one knew his name because all he had was a waterproof bag with his two paintings and the wet diary in his hand. let's all pray for this unknown painter so he can continue to paint for us! Was it worth it? to give and to give and to give, painter? What do you get for that which you give? this that you freely give...
If you knew of what was to happen, poor painter...would you still have painted for free? freely paint, share it all...use up your paint, even for selfish people...
I do not know if I would want to be like this painter.
This risk. to take. to paint for others. knowing that you could run out. knowing that you are not assured of any in return.
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |5:16:00 AM|
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Randomidity # 3
[
dreams. photo taken from http://geneblack.com/pages/dreams.html]"For all i know tis just a figment of my imagination.
Perhaps life is a dream. and it is in our dreams that we truly are."
I remember typing the lines above months ago, for a new blog account i had acquired through an invite. When 2nd term began and it was made known that we are to make a blog for our introduction to philosophy class, I was thinking of using that account.
the address is
http://www.philosophy.nu/reikokuna ...and it is still empty. I decided to do the whole philosophical blogging in blogspot. I guess i'll just save that for some other purpose in the future.
I've done much contimplation on matters such as that above, during moments when I would just be lost in thought, looking at no particular direction...thinking...while walking, or sitting, or standing, or lying in bed or just about anywhere, just somewhere...where i am left to think.
For all I know, (and surely I do not know much) to the extent of my consciousness, the reality I hold or assume to be holding...the reality that I assume to contain my very existence may just be a product of my imagination. I am just a fool, believing. Tricked by my own subconscious.
All this before me, these people around me. That guy there, looking at his computer monitor station. It may be that he is just a vision concocted by my mind. That unknown character, the extra, in the movie that is my life. Directed by your's truly's great mind.
[rough sketch drawn in paint of janna the fool]
How arrogant of me. How foolish of me to think that it could be that i am the master of these figments. It could very well be that I am just the idea. These 'i think' statements that I create. It could all be an illusion. These typings, these thinkings. It could be that my 'thinking', these 'experiences' i have is just the creation of someone elses mind. That would be cruel. Making me think that I can think when I may just be a whiteboard showing projected images. The foolish shadow going of to think that it IS, it exists as itself on its own. How complicated. I cannot explain it well...but its like...some fictional character in a movie or a book...say, a scientist for instance. The scientist had formulated theories, so supposedly, these theories are his own. The product of his own mind. The scientist in his fictional reality thinks he is thinking. But sadly those are not his thoughts, his words. If somehow, he comes to life by some weird magical way, i wonder what he'd feel. To realize that what he thought of as his own, himself, his persona, was just something some other person created...its just sad. When the puppet realized it is tied to a string and did not really make his moves.
[and so the puppet looks up, and sees it all. picture above from office.microsoft.com]
What if, what ifs
.
What if reality is the dream, and it is in our dreams that we truly exist. Our minds may have just gotten tired of the instability that is the true reality, the shiftings, the constant blurs, the endless possiblilities...where just about anything and everything happens...the changes in dreams...and so it put together a new reality...the 'physical world' that we face when we wake up...all the years of freely changing, no consitency, no permanent existence. the energies (let's refer it as that for no word can really fit well right now) called souls came to want (by an unexplained reason) something that is somehow palpable...something permanent. just drifting along in space, it wanted to be contained...for it did not know how it is like, perhaps.
oh i don't know...the thought escaped me. some quirky idea such as that was bothering me before...still could not capture it with words.
if only thoughts and ideas can freely be transferred and made known to others, to avoid miscommunication that lead to negative results. many a thing cannot be expressed in words. words cannot contain so much. oh but this is the only possible way as of the moment. oh sigh. sigh. sigh of all sighs. how frustrated am i.
How i hope to be able to pour out my thoughts freely. How i hope to be able to tell, to decipher my own cryptic mind.
Just how do you know what it is you feel? How can you tell? I find those who say, who know it in them, that they know what they know and know what they feel. I cannot seem to find out my own meanings. Sometimes I'd think that it would be better if i could just have some sort of 'indicator' to indicate, to let me know what i feel or should feel. Like those rice cooker light indicators that let you know when the rice is done or is still boiling. Oh! and those moodrings...if only i have a system that could just easily tell me what is what.
free will. a blessing and a curse. good and bad. sometimes i'd wish to become a puppet and just rely solely on what the puppet master wants to do.
To think for myself, and to feel. I know it is a privelage. I bet many of the dead would want to think and feel again. but sometimes, I just don't want that power. to decide. complicated.
Too bad poems are not easily understood. its hard when your thoughts could only be expressed by ambiguous one liners.
sigh and sigh once more.
i envy those people who can go and blog on specific topics in one entry. I'm such a confused child that i can only do free writing.
Eyes i close, I fall awake.
And open them, I sleep.
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |12:27:00 PM|
Monday, November 21, 2005
tis but insanity.
"I am going to tell you a story," said Zedka.
"A powerful wizard who wanted to destroy an entire kingdom, placed a magic potion in the well from which all the inhabitants drank. Whoever drank that water would go mad.
The following morning, the whole population drank from the well and they all went mad, aprt from the king and his family, who had a well set aside for them alone, which the magician had not managed to poison. The king was worried and tried to control the population by issuing a series of edicts governing security and public health. The policemen and the inspectors, however, had also drunk from the poisoned water, and they thought the king's decisions were absurd and resolved to take no notice of them.
When the inhabitants of the kingdom heard these decrees, they became convinced that the king hgad gone maad and was now giving nonsensical orders. They marched on the castle and called for his abdication.
In despair the king prepared to step down from the throne, but the queen stopped him, saying: 'Let us go and dronk from the communal well. Then we will be the same as them.'
"And that was what they did: The king and the queen drank the water of madness and immediately began talking nonsense. Their subjects repented at once; now that the king was displaying such wisdom, why not allow him to continue ruling the country?
The country continued to live in peace, although its inhabitants behaved very differently from its neighbors. And the king was able to govern until the end of his days."
Veronika laughed.
"You don't seem crazy at all," she said.
"But I am, although I'm going under treatment since my problem is that I lack a particular chemical. While I hope that the chemical gets rid of my chronic depression, I want to continue being crazy, living my life the way I dream it, and not the way other people want it to be. Do you know what exists out there, beyond the walls of Villete?
"People who have drunk from the same well."
"Exactly," said Zedka. "They think they are normal because they all do the same thing. Well, I am going to pretend that I have drunk from the same well as them."
"I already did tha, and thats precisely my problem. I've never been depressed, never felt great joy pr sadness, at least none that lasted. I have the same problem as everyone else."
- excerpt from "Veronika Decides To Die" by Paulo Coelho [image on the left from booksamillion.com]
I've always wanted to put that story in one of my blogs before, but I never really had a good reason for putting it up. I guess somehow I have issues with my own freedom. Feeling restricted on what I type in my OWN blog. Its not exactly fear that I would be misunderstood, rather, its like...I'm taking into consideration the people who would be reading it...hmm...or maybe not...I don't know. I still have to further my study on myself. My own mind. For how can I start trying to understand others when I have not fully understood myself? Psychology. My dear mind, how do you work? What do you keep from me? I can only suspect that you are holding knowledge that I do not know.
I digress...now going back...
What does it mean to be crazy?
That question i just typed up there was asked in the book. And truly it made me think when i read it before. I have asked questions like that. When people tell describe me, or others, using adjectives such as "kind", "crazy" or "evil" or any of those words commonly uttered by people nowadays, do they really know what they mean? Just what do they mean by what they say? Most of the time, I think they don't know what they mean...I myself am guilty of using words carelessly, but I try as much as I could not to do that.
People classified as crazy, mad, or weird are people that are, in society's point of view, different; Talking of nonsense, acting ridiculous, doing things that are not akin to normal standards. People are often times referred to as crazy because they cannot be fully understood by others. Their actions. Their way of thinking. [
picture to the right from http://user.mc.net/~spreston/pictures.html ]If you can't beat them, join them. Majority rules. People are pressured to act like everyone else. To do what is accepted in society. Being 'different' is not a bad thing, I actually think it can be pretty cool. Its better to be weird than just be a part of the mundane crowd.
...It can get lonely though. Sad. And sometimes it is wished that one is just like everyone else, as boring as that may sound.
Who knows...it may be that 'crazy people' are the ones who are not crazy. I guess its pretty much a matter of perspective.
I've always wondered why the word 'insane' is termed such. When a person is 'sane', one is rational and considered mentally healthy. Why the 'in' in insane? is it not supposed to be good when you are 'in' sane? maybe being insane means that one's sensibility, one's reasonability is too deep. perhaps insanity is what happens when one is too sane, too in sane that people who are merely 'sane' cannot comprehend what you think. Since the 'sanes' are more in number, the insane is considered weird. an outcast of sorts.
I think crazy people are everywhere. They just don't want to show their quirkiness though. Because people can be ruthless to things they do not understand.
In Villete (the mental asylum in the book) there are 'crazy people' who could already have left the place...there are those who do not need treatment at all. Real mental cases mix together with non-mental cases who, i guess can only be considered crazy because they want to stay in a mad house. They choose to stay there longer. In Villete they are free to do, to say whatever they want because they are not boxed or hindered by the standards of society. They are crazy afterall, so they have every right to just act as they please. free from the eyes, the standards of the
other. You can do what you want and other people won't care. They wouldnt mind. You're crazy.
"I'm crazy. I'm allowed to do this. I can hate, I can pound away the piano. Since when have mental patients been known how to play notes in the right order?" She pinded the piano again, once twice, ten, twenty times, and each time she did it, her hatred seemed to diminish, until it vanished completely...now i forgot what i was to say. oh well. this would have to do for now...
I like sharing things I have read and enjoyed. For someone who cannot speak for herself well, lines from a book or just about anywhere act as my voice...gives a view of my character...my thoughts inexplicable.
yet another excerpt...to speak for what i would want to say...oh sigh.sigh.sigh...i should really learn how to talk for myself...if only i am as talented with words...if only i could say what i wish to say...
"...Do you remember the first question I ever asked you?" "Yes, you asked me if I knew what being crazy meant." "Exactly. This time I'm not going to tell you a story, I'll just say that insanity is the inability to communicate your ideas. It's as if you were in a foreign country, able to see and undertsand everything thats going on around you but incapable of explaining what you need to know or of being helped, because you don't understand the language they speak there.""We've all felt that.""And all of us, one way or another, are insane."
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |5:34:00 PM|
Oh dear Lord.
Oh that tis too, too sullied flesh would melt. Thaw and resolve itself into a dew. Or had the everlasting not fix his cannon 'gainst self slaughter.Oh God, god. How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.
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drifting reverie posted this
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Thursday, November 17, 2005
Randomidity Entry #2
Invictus
By William Ernest Henley
OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
=================================
The poem Invictus is probably one of those poems i could refer to as a favorite...if i actually have favorites. Placing things under the category of 'favorite' is one of those tasks that i'd rather not do. too confusing. troublesome.
Upon observation of my character, it does not take me too long to find that I am weak. I'd rather not admit that to myself, really. I could go and trick myself into thinking otherwise, but that would mean I am running away. It would further prove that I am weak, and I do not really want that.
I do not know when it exactly began, but for quite some time, I was training myself to be stoic. That is, somehow, emotionless. Stoicism and Hedonism are amusing concepts (oh but then there are just so many amusing concepts...!) but i found that stoicism appealed to me more. Emotion is fickle, meddles with reason. I want to be reasonable. I do not want my selfishness to get in the way of decision making. And so there I was. Actually, here I am. Trying to limit my reactions. Analyze.
[picture to the right show janna's attempt at stoicism. Carrying the 'stoic' look. Supposedly]
I find that when I analyze, somehow things turn out fine...or so i think...
When I feel anger, I try to rationalize. When I try to find out why I should get angry at someone, somehow i get puzzled. I forget. I cannot come up with a good enough reason and i forget i am angry. When I initially feel hurt, i try to think of the real reason why I am hurt. I rationalize. I end up convinced that i should not feel hurt.
its weird, and it is unhealthy I think. For there were times when I analyze too much and forget that my humanity needs to express hurt, anger, hate, and so on. Analyzing one's emotions can be good, for it prevents rash actions that may lead to regret and other abstract concepts that have words for them but i cannot remember at the moment.
Idea-catching brain mechanism. My idea-catching brain mechanism is at work, methinks. It gets frustrating when it doesn't. Just a random thought.
I think what I feel, as opposed to I feel what I think. I guess more on that some other time, if ever.
The human has a brain to think, but it also has its instinctive, natural reflexes that need no explanation. Endless questionings. Such fun it is.
I remember once, i wanted to take up Philosophy...it is interesting, really. Its like...literature...it is literature, somehow...its an art...it was calling to me...hmm...but then so many other voices were calling to me. I did not take Philosophy as a major because i think my future would be bleak. And there would be a chance i'll go crazy. insane. Likened to my other wants, the path is unstable. Uncertainty is uncomfortable. I've always wanted to be an artist. A painter. The life of a painter can be a sad one. especially for a mediocre one. I'll be a starving artist, I bet. I'll be frustrated.
Upon study of myself, I find that I can get really passionate about certain things...Passionate to the point of irrationality. If I were to get too into something, I know I would do everything...and lose myself in it. My logical side fears it. Sometimes I think it would be better to get into something or do something you are not so strongly into... that way it would not be as frustrating if you were to fail.
To express one's emotions can be dangerous. To express ones thoughts is dangerous. Letting others take a peek at you. Oh paranoia. A lot of things are dangerous. I am bound by fear, by my paranoia. I want the strength to overcome my own self-imposed restrictions. The doubt.
[
i think i'd want one of these. photo taken from http://www.streettees.com/ignorancegrey.html ]I want, but I fear what I want. What it means to have what it is that I want to do. In general, would life be good? Would I be content? Oh contentment. Ignorance is bliss. I sometimes think it would be better if I did not know what I know. I like learning, having interesting thoughts flying around my head. At the same time it is sad, scary, or some other world that I could just not grasp right now in order to make it known...whatever it is that i mean. The more I learn the more I find out how much I do not know. Mixture of feelings. I wonder which would be better or worse...not knowing anything or knowing everything and therefore not having anything to think about anymore...the latter is unlikely, to know everything that is...but that would be really sad, somehow. Upon finding out what is supposedly true, what Truth is, would the person...would the mind be at rest? Is it meant to find what truth is, i wonder. When one finds the truth, what comes next? what of it now? what would man devote its thoughts to.
I want to be strong and overcome all these troubles I create in my mind. Fix the tangled loops of ideas in my head and make sense of my thoughts.
I am the master of my Fate, The captain of my Soul. My head is bloody, but unbowed. I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul. And yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid.
such strong words. I want. I need. How do I know what i, what I need? i, I, me, Me, my, My.
sigh.
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |4:28:00 PM|
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Randomidity Entry #1- starter, intro, whatever it is...
------------------------------------------
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
------------------------------------------
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
@ |9:45:00 AM|
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
This is a test. hello world! i bring thee a test. loren ipsum, shakespeare style
...this is a test. a loren ipsum test. yay! to bait fish withal, if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge! he hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million. laughed at my loses, mocked at my gains, stormed my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, and heated mine enemies. and what is his reason? i am a jew. hath not a jew eyes, hath not jew hands. organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions! fed with the same food, hurt by the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a christian is! if you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickles us, do we not laugh? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge!?
okay...a bit from shylock there...guess this is enough for a test...
oh that tis too too sullied flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew.
to take arms against the sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them.
to die, to sleep, to sleep perchance to dream. Aye! theres the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come. when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life! for who would bare the whips and scorns of time?
and a bit of hamlet.
tis enough, tis enough for this test!
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drifting reverie posted this
@ |12:40:00 PM|
you can never say nothing happened.things happen all the time. every moment that passes is gone and cannot be repeated once more. every single moment is different. every moment. 
not. i try to be as honest as i can. if i can just show how i really am to people, i would. if i can just show them how i really am! i dont really care...if they dont like what they see, well...thats their problem...my sister cant really scare me off with her "if your 'friends' could only see how you really are and wait till they find out" threat...coz its not like i hide how i truly am...sure...i have different sides...but they are a part of me...not something i put on for show.
i am a painter. i paint things. when i was young, i drew, sketched, etched, painted, copied, and whatever other artistic things you can think of. so when i grew up, i realized i wanted to be a painter. a painter that everyone loved. a painter with no enemies. no hatreds. just all love. free love with everybody. free. like the song from depeche mode, "let's make it clear, that this is free love, no hidden catch, no strings attached, this is free love". yep, i'm a song junkie too. i'm no writer. my specialty is painting, so i rely on the song writers to express my feelings while i paint. that way, i can also paint what i feel. [picture to the left from japanesecentral.com]
and we're not even talking about money here.
whole bunch of aspirins and whatnot and i am leaning over this bridge. does anyone know of this place? this is the bridge between despair and delirium. but right now, it's my bridge of life and death. i may live through this suicide, but i may not. it all depends on me. so i'll forget about what's happening in my body and focus on my memories. [picture to the left from office.microsoft.com]
painting.
it from the dark, empty void of the ocean. my final masterpiece. i'm so happy for my turtle. finally free from my paints. she won't be tired of my painting her anymore. maybe she'll come back, asking me to paint her again. or maybe she won't. time can only tell. but for now, i shall await what happens. i will be happy for her. that's what she would have wanted if she was REAL.
[dreams. photo taken from http://geneblack.com/pages/dreams.html]
People classified as crazy, mad, or weird are people that are, in society's point of view, different; Talking of nonsense, acting ridiculous, doing things that are not akin to normal standards. People are often times referred to as crazy because they cannot be fully understood by others. Their actions. Their way of thinking. [picture to the right from http://user.mc.net/~spreston/pictures.html ]
I am the master of my Fate, The captain of my Soul. My head is bloody, but unbowed. I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul. And yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid.
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.
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.
