I use commas a lot.
Maybe it's affecting me more than it should, more than I should allow it to. Not in a way where it annoys me to no end but rather like something that needs to be said. Maybe if it was someone else, something else during a different epoch I might not have cared. But a rebuttal, a response. An attack on my sensitivities as a person and as an individual where some mutual accord of respect should be present, or even as an acquaintance or a friend where sometimes, it's just moot. Maybe I terasa sikit la, but when the thought sticks with you before going to bed and is there again when you wake up, it merits a third thought.
The benchmark of intelligence. Stupidity. Conservation. Happiness. Of character and integrity, of brains and boobs. The thing about stereotypes and working methods is that yes, sometimes you can easily fit a fool into a category. Sometimes people really do make it easy for others to place them within a frame, within a mould that fits comfortably in their mind thus making the world an easier one to be angry about. But you know, other times a little slack would be much appreciated before shallow judgement is passed. Again, I'm not one to care but this has occurred more than once as it is, plus I'm annoyed and was looking for something to blog about.
I started reading The Outsider by Albert Camus again, partly for an assignment and partly for the heck of reading it for a second time. Mersault elevates the physical world over social and emotional aspects of life. The detail given to the description of his surroundings surpasses his care for his emotional attachment at that present moment in time, furthermore his emotions are tied to the prevalent physical climate. The irrationality of human thought and existence swirls in and out of the text shamelessly as I sit in the hairdresser's getting a hair cut. So I think how half the time the preoccupation rests with the physical, with the tangible, with the corporeal; a preoccupation with structure as opposed to substance. Because yes, human thought is largely irrational and when it manifests itself physically the effect is compounded and makes even less sense than it already does.
It's like something I read in The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (thanks Najah): we're the only creatures on earth with free will, or at least free will to the largest degree, the only creatures that can think, question and analyse and half the time we're trying so hard to do the exact opposite. I think that's just it. One may be pigeon-holed in order for the world to make more sense, but as all Arts students are guilty of doing, a little bit of bitter over-analysis leads to something profoundly stupid, like poststructuralism. Not discounting social studies all together, but the next time someone presents an equation for the way people appear to operate and behave, I'm going to take it with a pinch of salt. And sugar. And cinnamon. And then turn it into a cake. And eat it.
"Love me for my mind, cuz I'm a dangerous heart" - Daniel Johns of Silverchair. He's only half right.
0 comments:
Post a Comment