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May 26th, 2008

[info]accio_arse12:21 pm - Thoughts and plankton
A lot of the reason why I don't write more, or at least in my journal, is a lack of belief in the value of my thoughts.

I think pretty much all the time. I have these great swirling theories in my head and they're very important to me. They keep me alive. Yet I hesitate to put them down, as if by setting them in concrete they'll be somehow diminished. Or more likely, my ideas will turn out to be a lot more rubbish than I thought they were. Perhaps I like their potential more than their reality.

Ultimately it's a self-defeating thing to do. If I don't set down my ideas and make them real, I can never set about honing them, testing them, and slowly getting better at having them. I'll always live in an amorphous grey cloud of possibilities. I need to crystallise them into their true potential, no matter how flawed.

I just spent three weeks having a lymph node infection, and that's why there's been no writing updates from me. And by the way, if anyone is thinking of having a lymph node infection, just for fun and merry laughs, here's a word. DON'T! Not that you're given a choice in the matter. But it really does hurt rather.

I went out for the first time in a month yesterday. It was very nice. I went to the local park. Lots of sun and flowers. But I did have to stop along the way about 30 times to rest because I'm still so weak. Stupid being ill.

On the other hand, it's given me loads of time to watch hours and hours of David Attenborough on the telly. Today's episode was about the deep ocean. Ah, those crazy plankton and their merry japes.

Oh, and I'm still reading Umberto Eco's 'The Island of the Day Before'. It's fantastic. It gets better the more I read.


"A true philosopher never seeks to subvert the order of things. He accepts it. He asks only to be allowed to cultivate the thoughts that cultivate a strong spirit...

Sometimes I look at the Moon, and I imagine that those darker spots are caverns, cities, isalnds and the places that shine are those where the sea catches the light of the sun like the glass of a mirror. I would like to tell the stories of their kings, their wars, and their revolutions, or of the unhappiness of lovers up there, who in the course of their nights sigh as they look down at our Earth. I would like to tell about war and friendship among the various parts of the body, the arms that do battle with the feet, and the veins that make love with the arteries, or the bones with the marrow. All the stories I would like to write persecute me."

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