midnight's wanderings
The night, the soothing night, comes with it the silvery moon, throwing its light on my pillow, peeping into my room, gently, treading softly.
One should write down thoughts as they occur because otherwise, they are lost. You may not forget the idea but it's the details, the layout of the story, the argument and the content or just the free flow of one thing after another that your sleep might take away with it, or maybe it's just the weariness of the days that make you lose track.
Last night, I read an article online. It was an anaylsis of human nature and behavior and the motives that guide us, applying theories from various fields, examining various things in that context, politics in the aftermath of the cold war, game theory, prisoner's dilemma, the struggle for power, in politics, in society, in the family, everywhere, ideals and ideas of what's normal, a growing trend to have a label, a justification, a name for low phases, a disorder to explain what's not perfectly happening in one's life, a false sense of freedom, liberation and control with an ever increasing dependence on numbers as targets to prove a particular society as efficient, progressive, successful and free. Behind the illusion of choice that's become the buzz word of this century is an interpretation, a belief and also a strategy to remove the complexities that is us, our life and what surrounds us and turn human beings into oversimplified machines that have their actions coded in their genes, oversimplified human beings who can fit mathematic models and make the equations work for all of us, oversimplified human beings who have been told by the powerholders, society, media, questionnaires, their doctors, drug companies, the free market that the very normal human feelings of grief, loneliness, feeling down at particular stages in one's life are abnormal, and that drugs can provide the magic formula for them to feel great about themselves, to take charge of their lives, to fit in with the rest of society. The veil that covers the symptoms hardly lifted to explore why and what is leading to these attacks, to this stress, the root of feeling and being labelled abnormal and afflicted with a mental disorder. Of course, the goal was to have an objective view of people, to make everyone alike, so that they would be easy to manage, to affect, to control.
It was a complex bunch of ideas but very very thought provoking. I imagine standing on the roof of a building and looking down on a busy street. Everyone's walking fast, they are in a rush but from where I see most people don't bump into each other, there is an order. An apparent order. I throw myself on the street and lie down flat. There is chaos. There is chaos within, there are collisions within. The collisions are because of where they are right now and where they think they ought to be. They are in a rush because they have check boxes to tick for things to do before they hit a certain age. The collisions are because they photocopied the sheet with the check boxes and forgot to check if those boxes indicated their goals.
So much to write, some work, some do not, but write nevertheless. Maybe in that new space in a faraway land with gold studded in the sky where I'll have to rebuild myself, maybe there with some distance from these soft moments, maybe with some yearning for coffee and cold cloudy days, maybe in the ambiance of music, maybe there, the words and worlds will tumble out of the lists that only get written down in notebooks now.
I respect the imaginary worlds of writers. Respect and love them, for they make imagination real. They make cities, streets, people real.
One should write down thoughts as they occur because otherwise, they are lost. You may not forget the idea but it's the details, the layout of the story, the argument and the content or just the free flow of one thing after another that your sleep might take away with it, or maybe it's just the weariness of the days that make you lose track.
Last night, I read an article online. It was an anaylsis of human nature and behavior and the motives that guide us, applying theories from various fields, examining various things in that context, politics in the aftermath of the cold war, game theory, prisoner's dilemma, the struggle for power, in politics, in society, in the family, everywhere, ideals and ideas of what's normal, a growing trend to have a label, a justification, a name for low phases, a disorder to explain what's not perfectly happening in one's life, a false sense of freedom, liberation and control with an ever increasing dependence on numbers as targets to prove a particular society as efficient, progressive, successful and free. Behind the illusion of choice that's become the buzz word of this century is an interpretation, a belief and also a strategy to remove the complexities that is us, our life and what surrounds us and turn human beings into oversimplified machines that have their actions coded in their genes, oversimplified human beings who can fit mathematic models and make the equations work for all of us, oversimplified human beings who have been told by the powerholders, society, media, questionnaires, their doctors, drug companies, the free market that the very normal human feelings of grief, loneliness, feeling down at particular stages in one's life are abnormal, and that drugs can provide the magic formula for them to feel great about themselves, to take charge of their lives, to fit in with the rest of society. The veil that covers the symptoms hardly lifted to explore why and what is leading to these attacks, to this stress, the root of feeling and being labelled abnormal and afflicted with a mental disorder. Of course, the goal was to have an objective view of people, to make everyone alike, so that they would be easy to manage, to affect, to control.
It was a complex bunch of ideas but very very thought provoking. I imagine standing on the roof of a building and looking down on a busy street. Everyone's walking fast, they are in a rush but from where I see most people don't bump into each other, there is an order. An apparent order. I throw myself on the street and lie down flat. There is chaos. There is chaos within, there are collisions within. The collisions are because of where they are right now and where they think they ought to be. They are in a rush because they have check boxes to tick for things to do before they hit a certain age. The collisions are because they photocopied the sheet with the check boxes and forgot to check if those boxes indicated their goals.
So much to write, some work, some do not, but write nevertheless. Maybe in that new space in a faraway land with gold studded in the sky where I'll have to rebuild myself, maybe there with some distance from these soft moments, maybe with some yearning for coffee and cold cloudy days, maybe in the ambiance of music, maybe there, the words and worlds will tumble out of the lists that only get written down in notebooks now.
I respect the imaginary worlds of writers. Respect and love them, for they make imagination real. They make cities, streets, people real.
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