one hundred three

Every day, i forget what it is that i’m meant to say. The weather’s been quite perfect, though deceptively chilly. I watched Meet Joe Black last night and i enjoyed it far more than i would’ve expected, though it’s surely too long and too full of melodrama, but we’re a melodramatic country. We like our fiction overblown without any of that old world subtlety. Such is the way of the boisterous cowboys that we are, all bravado and daring, but none of that simplicity that keeps humans here in the ground.

I think a lot about cultural differences, about time, and about ideologies. I’ma ┬ábit of an anti-westerner, i think. An absurdist, i think this overrationalisation of the world, this intellectualisation of all ideologies and metaphysics is a bit silly. The world is not full of unanswerable questions, because those questions are of no import. How do i know that i exist? What is the nature of man? What is the nature of god? What is good? What evil? These questions are silly, to me. The world is the way it is because it must be. Things are what they are, and that simple answer is enough for me.

Nothing makes sense if you think too much about it. The universe is much the same. There are so many things about existence that make absolutely no sense to me, but it all must make perfect sense or things would not be so. Things are as they are because they have to be, and, if they didn’t, than they wouldn’t be.

I’ve been told many times that i exist outside of time.