gruodžio 19, 2011 § Parašykite komentarą
iMedia Connection on the future of Facebook
Facebook will eventually become part of what philosopher Martin Heidegger would call the background of everydayness — something that simply “is.“ And some people will really like it, and it will provide them with the kind of social interaction they are incapable of getting from the three-dimensional world around them. And some people will turn it off, never to bask in its glow again.
Isn’t that future already here?
Taken from Enowing.
gruodžio 13, 2011 § Parašykite komentarą
Milan Kundera on friendship
In our time people have learned to subordinate friendship to what’s called “convictions.“ And even with a prideful tone of moral correctness. It does take great maturity to understand that the opinion we are arguing for is merely the hypothesis we favor, necessarily imperfect, probably transitory, which only very limited minds can declare to be a certainty or a truth. Unlike the puerile loyalty to a conviction, loyalty to a friend is a virtue — perhaps the only virtue, the last remaining one.
I look at a photograph of the poet René Char alongside Heidegger. The one celebrated as a French résistant to the German occupation, the other denigrated for sympathizing with early Nazism at one point in his life. The photo dates from the postwar years. The two are pictured from the rear; with caps on their heads, one figure tall, the other short, they are taking a walk in the outdoors.
– Milan Kundera. Encounter (2009). Pp. 113-114.
Found at and taken from Enowning.
spalio 27, 2011 § Parašykite komentarą
She must be a variety.
Change so that nothing will change.
It’s easy, impossible, tough going, worth a shot.
Her eyes are, as required, deep, blue, gray,
dark merry, full of pointless tears.
She sleeps with him as if she’s first in line or the only one on earth.
She’ll bear him four children, no children, one.
Naive, but gives the best advice.
Weak, but takes on anything.
A screw loose and though as nails.
Curls up with Jasper or Ladies’Home Journal.
Can’t figure out this bolt and builds a bridge.
Young, young as ever, still looking young.
Holds in her hand a baby sparrow with a broken wing,
her own money for some trip far away,
a meat cleaver, a compress, a glass of vodka.
Where’s she running, isn’t she exhausted.
Not a bit, a little, to death, it doesn’t matter.
She must love him, or she’s just plain stubborn.
For better, for worse, for heaven’s sake.
rugpjūčio 4, 2011 § Parašykite komentarą
Look, brothers&sisters, time goes on forever; everything that can happen is going to happen, and then it’s going to happen again. Are you okay with that? Can you stomach the thought of living your life again and again, with no regrets? Not just stomach it; does that thought make you happy? If it doesn’t, then you’ve got some work to do. Here are some good places to start: Dance more often. Laugh at EVERYTHING. And above all else, Thyne own will be done, not anyone else’s. Anyone who tells you it’s not fair or it’s not right or that you should do anything you don’t want to is lying to you, and I promise you they’re miserable and mediocre. Be done with that. It’s not that you only get one life – if only it were that simple. You get more lives than you can imagine, but only one. fucking. chance. to define them for eternity.
Stop wasting it.
Go and live, now and forever!
vasario 15, 2011 § Parašykite komentarą
wrap the day wasted by suns
lapkričio 9, 2010 § Parašykite komentarą
Oh naïve little me Asking what things you have seen And you're vulnerable in your head You'll scream and you'll wail till you're dead Creatures veiled by night Following things that aren't right And they're tired and they need to be led But you'll scream and wail till you're dead But give me to a rambling man let it always be known that I was who I am Beaten, battered, and cold My children will live just to grow old But if I sit here and weep I'll be blown over by the slightest of breeze And the weak need to be led And the tender are carried to their bed And its a pale and cold affair And I'll be damned if I'll be found there But give me to a rambling man Let it always be known that I was who I am It's funning that the first chords that you come to Are the minor notes that come to serenade you And it's hard to accept yourself as someone, you don't desire As someone you don't want to be Oh give me to a rambling man Let it always be known that I was who I am Oh give me to a rambling man Let it always be known that I was who I am