Hergest Ridge

“We thought of life by analogy with a journey, with
a pilgrimage which had a serious purpose at the end
and the thing was to get to that end. But we missed
the point the whole way along. It was a musical thing
and you were supposed to sing or to dance while the
music was being played.”

~ Alan Watt

Wear your seat belts.
Preach. Yell. Force. Convince.
Now, silence. Quiet.
Just watch.

assume there is a heaven – some kind of a good place we go after we die. and imagine you’re a tired and worn old worker in some communist regime.

you’ve gone through near dozen “five year plans” while your living conditions got worse with each passing season. one day your heart holds its breath on you, and you’re done for. you get to heaven, of which you’ve never even heard of until you were on the in. you look around, and shit man! look at how all that hard work paid off!

the party knew all along, but left it as a wonderful surprise. they made sure we tightened our belts almost to the breaking point, but it was all for our own good. we cursed and complained, but the party didn’t let us stray from the path of success. long live the party, for its leadership and foresight! long live the party!

I’ve retweeted without shame, but what about reblogging? Are retweets and reblogs just another way of saying “Hey, look: I’ve plagiarised this”?

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best — ” and then he had to stop and think. Because although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.

What is that feeling called?

Maybe then I can finally explain it to others, those that offer me strange glances when I happen to mention it in conversation somewhere between “my dog died” and “the broken leg is not healing right – the doctors will have to break it again.”

Anyway, reblogged from monicks: unleashed, who – judging by her blog and to put it in Woody Allen’s words – is a credit to our race.

Is it too early to be thinking about what I’ll be doing and how I will be living when I return to Canada? I can’t decide.

I’ve began to assemble what I’ve written so far, and the results are disappointing. It’s not the quantity that is the main issue (although there is nothing to brag about in that area either), but the quality.

Seems that much of what I wrote should see only the white pages of a journal, and be read only by the author. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that having the world read it could constitute a crime against humanity, but the thought did cross my mind as I read through some pages.

To the old saying that everyone has a book inside them, Christopher Hitchens replies ‘Yes, and for most people that is where it should stay.’

I am wondering the fate of my writing. But there are some pieces I’ve written which give me some hope, and if the end result is in any way a reflection of the inspiration behind the work, well, then everything will turn out just fine.

“Eyyy Matey, this loot is hot, hot, hot off the line. My groin is strangely attracted to it, but I am willin’ to part with ‘er for the right price.”

It’s things like this that make me wonder about the current level of LSD usage around these parts. Understanding the actual verbiage hardly affects that curiosity.