On ifs and efs

You can never cross the same river twice. Some days, the thought of that seems newer than when i first thought long and hard about it. Both the river and you will be different. Paths may cross, but may never be taken together.

After finishing unbearable lightness of being, i've come to see how light everything is, how inconsequential. Maybe it was the timing of watching sex and philosophy that made the book easier to digest. Simpler, to digest, simpler, to understand, and the hardest part of all, to accept.

Always i wish i'd just have one more chance to re-do it, not different, but the chance to feel alive again. What i've never noticed is, i feel alive in different ways at different times. Which begs the question, what does feeling alive mean?

Lightness and weight was the question posed. Which was positive? It seems like a simple question, every child knows lightness is positive, probably through thinking that which is light floats, that which floats is higher, and that which is higher is positive. This complex chain of thought is something most people don't really consider, they go from a-b like a fast car.

The other thing brought up was eternal return. If something only hapens only once, it might as well have never happened at all. There are many ways we can look at this, but the one that makes the most sense is, it will never happen again, not in the same way, and it is part of our construct as creatures of time that we let our maker heal, time heals all, and in time, we find the courage to let go. Of both that second chance we're looking for, and the regret from (i wouldn't say mistakes, because mistakes imply the want to re-do differently) dificult choices.

We live and learn, the books i've read impact me differently everytime, the music i listen to slowly stops tugging at my frayed heart strings. The silent ticking of the clock however, changes everything, waiting for none of us, keeping us in the constant wonder of, "what if".



I havent been writing because as the days go by, i have less and less to say. I'm slowly learning to love and accept my solitary shell, the new reclusive, self preserving me. Like the words in Wish You Were Here, which i sang myself to sleep with many a lonesome night remind me, if you think you can tell, dont forget that you've become a dictionary for cliches, and a mind that thinks what everybody else wants you to.

In closing my eyes, going back to a time i was stronger, i find the heart to walk, from anything. I've relearnt what it means to not hold on, to walk, and dont look back, to pretend that you dont care long enough, so you eventually dont.

I've learnt to forget. A tip for those trying, drinking doesn't help. However, staring at the celing does. And as the memories pummel you each night, slowly their onslaught will come to a creep, the memories wont be as strong, and eventually you wont be sure what you remembered anymore. You wont be able to seperate fact from fiction, maybe because it only happened once, you have no other memory in the future or the past to compare it to. And it turns so sublime it fades into the background. Our memories slowly become the background noise of our lives, like on the radio when we were sure we heard something, but actually turned out to be something else. And you stop trying to fix your memories, to remain the way you put in your conscious, (because the sub-conscious and conscious are equally great and equally opposite and cannot remain on the same plane of thought), and you eventually stop keeping a place to store the memories that could have been.

I wonder how long more before i finally forget my own name, start drooling down my chin, old, withered, ugly, unloved, uncared for, tired, lonely, and come to terms with the idea that my life was just one big memory, and i was sleeping, because my emmories somehow follow dream logic, and now its time to wake up, and live the prophecy of my comatose wanderings.