Blog Archives

Certainty

Have you ever been so certain of something,
only to find that you were completely wrong?

It’s so liberating.

A weight of responsibility
lifts from your shoulders,
Because you make mistakes too.
You play the role of human in this production.

It’s even greater when you think you know something,
then you find out your wrong,
then you find out you were originally right in the first-place.

“Well am I really correct,
do I hold the truth of the situation,
or will my perceptions once again flip.
Now I can‘t rightfully know ANYTHING,
can I?”

This offers the greatest sense of emancipation
from the network of truth.
Weaved into web,
sticky network,
waiting to pull you in.

But upon realizing you’re not at all infallible,
your certainty gets pulled back and spread out,
the way the tide roles in and take a sand castle.

You become not only separate from the network of truth,
but you simultaneously become the network.
And knowing that you’re part of it,
allows you to rise above it; while at the same time questioning
if you really know that you’re part of it in the first place.

Epistemology – a philosophical branch closely tied to ontology that studies everything;
because everything is thought.
And the limits of thought define the boundaries of everything.

It is somewhat disheartening
to come to terms with the truth that all of these ideas thus presented
have already been thought about before.
None is wholly original.
It’s like, what use do I have writing this down when I could go read books on this topic.
Books that would map out my own ideas better than I ever could.

Not that the books know me better than I know me,
it’s that my ideas are not part of me. I don’t own the rights (I’ve yet to develop an original product).
They are part of the collective.
Thoughts and ideas are communal.
They rely on the existence of other people-generating-ideas to exist themselves.

I can’t build a house without the supplies provided to me by other people;
And the underline structure of each house will be loosely based off houses before it
and is not wholly original.
Similarly, I can’t build an idea
without the language/supplies/ideas provided to me by other people.

True independence can only be achieved upon death,
but even then
one relies on the bacteria and worms to facilitate the next step,
which is decomposition.

No one is independent, but we’re all individual.

Everyone is a snowflake,
with our own intricate pattern,
similar yet unique to the others around it,
and we’re falling into one big mound of snow.
The universe is snow.
Everything in the universe is a fluttering flake,
temporarily suspended in the fall to oblivion.

Yet, it’s only a matter of time before I find all this to be untrue.

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Melting Perspective

Melting Perspective

First things first: If you have an eclectic taste for music, follow this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0yhbvxT6TE. They’re called Piccola Orchestra Gagarin, and I have trouble describing their style. They are sort of experimental chamber music… only not really… but kind of. When you’re done, as a suggestion, listen to Herbie Hancock’s key solo at the end of “Sly”. His notes rattle off like a ballerina falling down the stairs, only to be brought back to her feet and then hurtled by these powerful Oriental sounding chords at the end.

Second things second: I pulled the title of my blog, “cognifeeder,” from a poem I wrote a while ago, and I thought that I should post it. The poem has to do with how words feed our brain by creating concepts, concepts create things, and the qualities of these things are completely dependent on the control of our words. Here is that poem:

This Poem Exists

Everything exists,

In some way,

On some level.

Chair, desk,

Right, left,

Writings, words,

Scribbled, slurred,

The bizarre, the odd,

And even the gods.

 

Everything.

 

Well then,

What is a chair

Or a god?

:

A chair provides comfort

After too much walking.

A god provides comfort

After too much talking.

THEYEXISTBECAUSEWEDOTHEYEXISTBECAUSEWEDOTHEYEXISTBECAUSEWEDOTHEYEXISTBECAUSEWE

They are but chronometers,

Glass geared cognifeeders,

Hung on bent nails,

High above a hard,

Unforgiving ground.