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Castles

I completely forget what I wanted to write here. "Sarah - toh - oh - oh- nin" was just playing in my headphones. What was I thinking about earlier ... oh yes, that's it. Woah - that next song came on way too loud. It's my July 2017 playlist. Pause. Did I already forget what I wanted to write about again? Mmmkay. That's not even a word. Oh. I'm sorry for belaboring, really. Oh yes, I remember again. But if I say I'm going to remember does that just mean I'm going to forget? Kind of like when somebody says that they'll keep a promise, but really, it means that they're just denying what you want them to accept. That probably reads cliché, although, that's only my opinion. Also, when I don't want the letter e with the accent over top, my computer spits it out, and when I do want it, I don't know where to begin, so I type it into Google but I'm certain there's any easier way. Of course there's an easier way.

What I wanted to talk about was ... hey, we're not going there again!

It's concerning to me how some identities are so difficult to shake. As much as I try to free myself from, say, political opinion, the truth of the matter is that my ideas can probably be categorized into a cute little holiday car, even though I'd rather make pessimistic remarks about how politics is just a room full of smoke, say, from that ever-polluting engine of said car. What's the problem here? Do I wish to be a total outsider in this regard, or am I not content with my beliefs, or am I not content with others' attitudes about my beliefs? Wow, only three questions there? I thought there would me more. When I write it out, it's really not so confusing, at least, it seems that way in a certain way.

I'm back. I don't know when I left. I shouldn't be looking at screens for reasons of sleep hygiene.

I re-read paragraph three, hoping that it would motivate some more interesting ideas. Nothing so far.

Today is another day, though it is almost over. "I see the rowan berries reddening and don't know for a moment why they, of all things, should be depressing." I'm not sure why I think of that quote from Clive so often, but it resonates. Somehow, I have been able to see a certain something in nearly everything at one time or another ... interesting for people my age who tend to compartmentalize, so I've heard ... it must be wrong when I don't take things for what they truly are.

I really didn't want to write about politics at all here, but alas, I did! I used to find the activist identity fascinating but now I seem to have a penchant for quietism. I guess quietism is what I've maintained all along, though now I actually seem to like it. It's interesting to note that a firebrand-of-a-"political"-man on the New Left like Herbert Marcuse was just an armchair philosopher. Though ... it's not that I don't want things to be good, or a lack of compassion necessarily; I think it's more so the complexity of social problems, and the limitations of human ability, and the limitations of group ability, discussion, and who knows what else. Perhaps the best thing is to remember our neighbor. As G. K. Chesterton writes: "We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next-door neighbor."

Though more people than I could count have probably said something along these lines, the forgetfulness about what's right before us need not be overlooked. This is the charm of the aesthete, the one who finds beauty in the ordinary. Living as meaningful a life as possible in one's mundane condition is also good, I would imagine. Why do we wait for castles to descend from the sky ... and why do we think ourselves capable of building castles?

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