evil_baron: (Default)
Well, if it was live, you'd read it as it happens, right? (DEAD-JOURNAL sounds to neo-Goth...)

There are some friends that I meet with regularly, and often the first question is "Did you read my Live Journal entry today?" Since I'm not one of the sort to use LJ, I usually have to say, "No, and wouldn't you rather just tell me?" If they sent a letter, I'd read it, but I always thought it was an invasion of privacy to read someone's journal or diary.

Kurt Vonnegut I am not. I cannot bring myself to follow a "Stream of unconsciousness" style of writing to express things (I'm strongly typed as the self-editing sort of writer. Please see the blog entry immediately preceding this one where I attempted such a style. YMMV.) Essays and composition are more what I grew up on, and letter writing (or even journal entries) are more often fully formed as a dialog before I set to writing them.

A long-hand letter is something still very special in my book (do people save the emails they get from their lovers? Pull them from the dust crusted boxes in the attic and reread them years later?) My personal journals are an exercise in thought, composition, and handwriting (the latter seriously needs work), and represent a continuity of thought in my life. They may be read when I am dead, if anybody cares.

Essays such as these are likely the greatest of the evils, as once the words are committed to (?) paper, they cease to have the vibrancy of voice, the intonation of inflection; no longer of space and time, they are only of mind and fleeting fancy. The words I hear are like sand within my fist, for I can feel them as they slip away to be lost to the winds of time.
evil_baron: (Default)
Well, it was in a comic strip like that today about the length of days.

How time can be so subjective is a marvel to my engineer side. That side expects that time is linear and invariant. Of course, if that were true, we could predict the future to some extent.

But I often predict the future by intuition, or so it seems. I'm sure there is a fair amount of statistical probability in use when I do it, but that's just mathematician talk for "I guess it could be like that, on average."

This random thought brought to you by the letter L and the number 3.
evil_baron: (Default)
Like the sirocco, heated spice wind...
she wafts through life,
leaving only the scent of her passage...

I hunger for so much more,
now that the palate has been whetted
with savory spices like these promised...

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evil_baron

September 2010

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