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Posts Tagged ‘Philosophy’

Standing, staring, gazing, gasping, grasping: music was flowing. Music was reigning down upon the people, packed together, breathing, sweating. Lights flashed. Eyes were opened, closed, and quickly adjusted to squinting, just to take full effect of the  vibrant colours spread across the room. Combining every inch of dirth bound floor, every freshly made drop of sweat, every note played from the rows of by cheap labor made speakers, there was ecstasy, pure ecstasy, there were revelations.

Revelations. Revelations after revelations, rendering the previous revelations surpassed, behind, and outdone. And with revelations following each other up, one by one, only those lived the most will stand out to the mind they originated from, only those will be lived by, only those will shape the day. With moist, salty, drop like crystals coming from an eye, shaky, uncontrolled movement from a pink, or even just the motion of quickly standing still, they are born, born to be an interlude to the otherwise forgotten ogle at life.

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This post is random. It serves no purpose. Or, well, it does, for me. If typed in a varying, interesting, and smile-on-face-putting way, it will eventually bring great pleasure. It might not bring me pleasure inmediatly, or maybe not even you, that lonely person sifting through the archives of the night, but if looked at in a greater perspective, it does seem to be quite enjoyable. It doesn’t seem useless, it IS useless, unless you, the creature reading this from the collaboration of millions of pixels, ought it to be useful. If one can take the unbearable lightness of existence off for just even the slightest moment, wouldn’t that be worth it?

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Read. Read it again. Read it once more, if you’d like to. If it is troublesomely early, or breathtakingly late, then, once more, read it. If you’re braincells refuse to cooperate for whatever reason they recently have come up with, read it again. Read it again, and feel, know, understand: there is nothing to understand.
The incomplexity of unheard analyses manifests itself in a way so shamefully understandable that it would be pure boosting of the human ego I give shelter to, to explain it. In the light of that inexplicably awesome revelation, I shall continue…

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First off: life is incredibly wonderful. That is the first and most excitingly important thing I should always remember, even in the times and days I would love to throw myself into an erupting volcano.  While it would be excruciatingly painful to deny that a post like this is in essence a way to show drama like a pregnant teenage girl, it still seems fun and fit to post as I’m experiencing a (temporarily) enjoyable state of mind.

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There are certain moments in a person’s life that seem to be determinative, determinative in the sense that they could in fact change one’s personality, as if that one moment, that one event, could change what was first looked upon as a given fact. There are people that believe that certain moments in a person’s life can be determinative, determinative in the sense that they could in fact change what they are at that given time. There are things that are said, and by form or content could be determinative, determinative in the sense that they change that what at that moment is considered the truth, whether that truth is truthfully a truth or not. In the end, even if that truth isn’t thruthfully a truth, if the objects and people present at the time decide that the postulated truth is in fact a truth, then it is, at that giving moment in time, a truth.

Moments in a human’s life exist for the purpose of realizing that they do not have to be determinative, to grasp that life is simply an undetermined and undecided concept, a concept serving only the use of being enjoyed, if it needs a use, that is. Moments in a human’s life are there to become conscious of the fact that nothing is absolute, nothing in fact has a purpose or use, and everything once vanishes into little particles of nothing, and yes I am aware that ofcourse that definition would make this text useless, weren’t it for the fact that I enjoyed it, therefore making it useful to me.

That’s where I’ll end my murmuring over the things I value worth murmuring about.

I murmur
You murmur
But philosophic hands create murmuring…

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