Time: the other forgotten variable.
2002-12-09 - 4:33 p.m.
wow, it's been forever. since i last posted, i mean. but also, in the general sense, it's been forever, and will continue to be forever, until forever ceases to be so...foreverish.
walked on one of the imigrant-cleaning-person's perfect mopping jobs this morning...started to try to step around it, and said sorry about stepping in the mop water, but what could i do? this brought up an interesting question...should one be sorry for the things one can't control (because it's the other person's discomfort, and not the fault, that is important), or not be sorry (because what was done would have been done regardless of choices, and there's no use in crying over a spot where milk was spilt two days prior)? or should one be sorry ahead of time, or at all? personally, i prefer just being sorry in general...doesn't really matter to me how much i'm responsible, so long as there's something going wrong and i'm in the vicinity of the something. i'm not sorry for my client, who comes to me and asks me to bury a guy who's been in the hospital for five years. i can't be sorry for god...the moon is sorry for the sun, and look where he is, ganitor of the day's bloodshed. but i am sorry for my client if s/he expresses this grief in a destructive or maladjustive manner. i'm sorry that people have to suffer, that people have to starve, but i accept such things as part of the basic pains of life. ask me tomorrow, i'll give you a different answer.
brushing my teeth a couple days ago, i reflected on that day in warsaw middle school, sitting in the cafeterium, "hmm...my pizza...what do you have to trade? how about your soul?" it surprised me how quickly i lost the pizza...another kid even wanted to give me his soul for free, trying to make fun of my bizzaire suggestion. but i assured him that i couldn't take his soul unless i gave some thing to him, becasue the eating of another person's food constituted possesion...like Persephone and the six pomegranate seeds...and i had nothing else on my plate. all the other kids on the playground thought that i had lost in the deal, because he ate the pizza before giving me his soul, so he didn't have to give it to me, or something like that. got called into the principle's office for that one...a few years later and he was the only kid of his class that didn't survive to graduate, but i'm sure such things are purely coincidental. and then, on a seperate childhood note, i never really understood the game 'twister'. even at new years, my senior year in high school, i played a game with a few other people, and found it quite easy to stay on my own little edge of the mat and win the game, while everyone else was getting caught up in some huge ball of knots. it rather confused me, how the losers could score more than i, even though i had won the game. i know i've said it before, but odd little childhoods have odd little childs.
mostly, i haven't been up to much lately...a little here and a little there...more there than here. got done fixing a half-dozen computers that were just sitting around my room, and shipped them off to their respective students. almost got the ball rolling on three projects for next semester: the mosaic2, blood-flying analysis, and the FU (forward union). the latter of which is going to start with a breifing and brainstorming period about what sucks at this college and what should be done about it. becasue I woke up one day and realized that they give me that scholarship for a reason. becasue they expect something out of it.
was gonna do another black comedy peice, but about all i had to talk about concerned the similarities between monkeys and humans, and the psychological ramifications of wearing those jeans that are worn out on the ass, because it makes one look like a baboon instead of chimpanze...babboon pants yo, bacuase some girls just have a thing with wearin' clothes that make them all *insert baboon-butt-wiggling ritual*. and i'm down with that, i'm right right there with all that, even though i'm a straight chimpanze-sorta chimpanze. fuckin' sloths, yea, ya all know who you are. and all them girls with the apes for boyfriends, wishing that they had gone with someone a little more...knowledgeable *pelvic thrusts* 'bout the world, ya know? a lot of the time, people are all "we be better than animals" and all, but really, it's all the same deal. don't see a monkey drivin' a car yo, but that's because we keeps the monkey man down. keep him locked up and undereducated, so that he'll never be able to learn our language, and therefore will never gain our empathy. sure you can pity a monkey, but you can't empathise with it until it be speakin' your language. 'til it raps in your tongue, yo. i tell ya, we educate monkeys, and they'd be all "damn man! i be lost my banana!" and in that sentence, we'll see how much we're alike. 'cuz that's all we be after as humans, be it money er chicks er fun, yo. it's all about bananas, all about the simple, stupid little [earthly] things that makes us animals. becasue, when you really get down to the grime, thoughts don't require big fancy words. the white boys just like to use 'em to get schoolarships, because they can't get money for college any other way, 'less they plays sports, yo. and their ancestors used those words too many times to steal land and keep the black man down, so let's hope for their sake that the president of their college ain't offended. big words are alls he's gots on his side, all he's gots to go home to at night, yo. evidently, girls don't falls for big words neither...and basically, the comedy bit was lacking in the comedy department.
at the olive garden a while back with john (AD+D john, not to be confused with Call of Cathulu John) and his sister-mother combonation, i stumbled accross a theory concerning creativity and tests thereof. see, there were some muscle shells ordered, and i wasn't eating, so i figured the best use of my time was not to talk to john's rather attractive sister, but to sit there and play with the mathematical variations of arrangements of four or less muscle shells of varrying size. i figured on at least two basic interactions between the shells, as they could be either layered upon one another (with differint percentages, rotations, and locations of overlapping, relative to the first [0% assumed to mean that they are touching and 100% assumed to mean that they are stacked]), or not touch alltogether (with variations in distance, rotation, and polar location). The trick is that with all these variables, the point at which one thing is one thing and not the next variation is determined by the administrator of the creativity test...because this is actually one thing that we tell children to do, to find out how creative they are...so, creativity exists in the tester, and not in the testee. but anyone can become a tester by simply having the test. but the creativity must not be contained in the test, because everyone is constantly a tester and testee without the test, as it seems a part of human nature to make judgements about one another in regards to creativity (along with 50000 er so other judgements). or if it was contained in the test, it would also be contained in all other types of matter, which we use to judge creativity in others, in which case, the creativity is in the shells. shells and other such inanimates, however, are by definition not creative. the form of the shell may be creative, but such a comment refers to the creativity of the maker of the shell. it may aslo be siad that a person is creative in regard to how they deal with a certain situation, in which inanimates play a minor role. my conclusion to this paradox is that Creativity is actually a quantity of the number of types of relationships that are possible between any number of things and is only limited from being infinity by our own ignorance. thus, the normal creativity (lowercase C) could be defined as the inverse of someone's ability to not limit their expression of Creativity.
