Thursday, April 30, 2015


If our cells are constantly dying and being re-born, could the 'I' that is thinking I am I right now, be a different 'I' from the one who thought I was I five minutes ago? Is every particle in the universe having a go at being human then going on to become a table and then part of Saturn and then part of the dog star?
And then around again.
Is the universe fluid?

Em Pathetic

Even empathy is just us projecting our own feelings on to someone else and thinking that must be how they feel.
When you love someone you really love an aspect of yourself. Or something they made you see that you haven't discovered yet. About yourself.
Who is truly outward looking?
Hate may be pure.

Thursday, April 02, 2015

A fine whine

Here is some whining for you.
There is life.
We are all experiencing it, for a little while.
I filter it through my experience and offer it to you couched in English words arranged in a certain order so as to convey my meaning,
a meaning which means different things to every observer.
What does this mean?
There are such an incomprehensibly large number of humans in the world now that one individual's experience of life must be less than meaningless, unimportant, and their whining even less so. Which is why I write this for myself to read, as I am my own universe. Sux
Navelgaze Maximus.
And, to boot, the same exact thoughts as every other mildly stupid and numb person over time.

Plastic Stars

I think it was when I went to IKEA that my life fell apart and I realised that I was in the wrong time, in the wrong place, and on the wrong planet. Do people really like to be herded like sylvanian family rats through a maze of kit set bedside tables, kit set bookshelves, kit set suggestions for how to live, and kit set robot children? Slotted in to a filing system, stamped with a number and left to decompose in convenient waste disposal system? Herded onto trains like sterile white cubes, which then drive off cliffs into a chemical soup?
It can't be just me that wants to spend the rest of time sitting in a glade, looking at a tree, and never, never reproduce. Why? Ugh, humanity.
We are the stars made conscious.