Archive | March, 2008

Mission Impossible

31 Mar

We can protest, demonstrate, and write a letter to every political figurehead.
We can boycott, mobilize and inseminate our communities with the oxymoronic seeds of bias truths.
But, as south-Central’s very own street prophet Mr. Shakur eloquently stated, “Some things never change.”
I’m not sure about ‘never.’ Seems to me like can and never have an inverse relationship; if we believe both time and space to be infinite, then the possibility of anything drastically increases and the probability of never diminishes.
However, some things in this crazy, mixed up world of ours are changing at the pace of a recorded sloth, played in slow motion, and re-winded 1 second per 2 seconds it’s played.
You know what I mean?
Let me provide an example.
Free Tibet. For the love of god, Free Tibet already.
This week there was a big Free Tibet protest in downtown Portland (my hometown). Typical. But really, how helpful are those demonstrations? So one Portlander informs another about Tibet and (surprise surprise) the new liberal guy agrees with the other liberal guy; national sovereignty is so in this century. Great. And let’s even take this thought experiment as far as to say that these two fellow acted on their convictions and tried to do something to free Tibet. They created a documentary about the issue. Did that work? Is Tibet now free? No. My proof: my sophomore year in high school I saw a Free Tibet documentary in a local indie cinema. Is Tibet free now, 4 years later? No. Did I do anything about the issue after watching the film? No. Do I care/empathize more? Yes. …Does that matter to the Tibetan people or help them whatsoever? Not really, No. Let’s say these two men started a non-profit charity where all of the proceeds were put towards Tibet. Would that help? Ehhh…I mean, yeah I guess, but it’s that exact form of altruistic neo-colonialism (nourishing a country from the tit of this great motherland) which a) sets up a dependent relationship which fucks over the other guys in the end and b) we NEVER ASK what the people over there want and need. We put our opinions, our values, our rhetoric, our theories, and our individualistic cultures into their collectivistic territory and don’t really make things much better as much as we make them more complicated.

So if you ask me, I won’t say Tibet will never be free, but probably not in my lifetime. But maybe I just need to adjust my mindset…with infinite time and space…if I was born once there is a possibility I could eventually be born again…and if I buy into the chance of my reincarnation, than the probability that Tibet will be free in my lifetime increases. Ah, optimism. And with that, I’m off to bed.

Mission Impossible

30 Mar

We can protest, demonstrate, and write a letter to every political figurehead.
We can boycott, mobilize and inseminate our communities with the oxymoronic seeds of bias truths.
But, as south-Central’s very own street prophet Mr. Shakur eloquently stated, “Some things never change.”
I’m not sure about ‘never.’ Seems to me like can and never have an inverse relationship; if we believe both time and space to be infinite, then the possibility of anything drastically increases and the probability of never diminishes.
However, some things in this crazy, mixed up world of ours are changing at the pace of a recorded sloth, played in slow motion, and re-winded 1 second per 2 seconds it’s played.
You know what I mean?
Let me provide an example.
Free Tibet. For the love of god, Free Tibet already.
This week there was a big Free Tibet protest in downtown Portland (my hometown). Typical. But really, how helpful are those demonstrations? So one Portlander informs another about Tibet and (surprise surprise) the new liberal guy agrees with the other liberal guy; national sovereignty is so in this century. Great. And let’s even take this thought experiment as far as to say that these two fellow acted on their convictions and tried to do something to free Tibet. They created a documentary about the issue. Did that work? Is Tibet now free? No. My proof: my sophomore year in high school I saw a Free Tibet documentary in a local indie cinema. Is Tibet free now, 4 years later? No. Did I do anything about the issue after watching the film? No. Do I care/empathize more? Yes. …Does that matter to the Tibetan people or help them whatsoever? Not really, No. Let’s say these two men started a non-profit charity where all of the proceeds were put towards Tibet. Would that help? Ehhh…I mean, yeah I guess, but it’s that exact form of altruistic neo-colonialism (nourishing a country from the tit of this great motherland) which a) sets up a dependent relationship which fucks over the other guys in the end and b) we NEVER ASK what the people over there want and need. We put our opinions, our values, our rhetoric, our theories, and our individualistic cultures into their collectivistic territory and don’t really make things much better as much as we make them more complicated.

So if you ask me, I won’t say Tibet will never be free, but probably not in my lifetime. But maybe I just need to adjust my mindset…with infinite time and space…if I was born once there is a possibility I could eventually be born again…and if I buy into the chance of my reincarnation, than the probability that Tibet will be free in my lifetime increases. Ah, optimism. And with that, I’m off to bed.

Check in

27 Mar

Every so often I do a self assesment. I ask myself: ‘Self, if you could be anywhere in the world right now, doing anything you please, in whatever company you chose, where/what/with whom would be be (with)?’

Sometimes my (seemingly) mundane reality is the antithesis of my outrageous ideal; other times the two overlap so one is just a crescent shadow beneath the other.

The more boring my life is, the more extreme my desire to be in the exact opposite context is. When life is spice, my ideal meets it halfway. This is a happy place.

I’ve stumbeled into a realm of adventure and stability, with routine and occasional spontenaity to break it with. This is a new mix, a great mix, and let’s see if i can finish week one of post spring break school on this same positive mood-note. CHALLENGE
.

Check in

27 Mar

Every so often I do a self assesment. I ask myself: ‘Self, if you could be anywhere in the world right now, doing anything you please, in whatever company you chose, where/what/with whom would be be (with)?’

Sometimes my (seemingly) mundane reality is the antithesis of my outrageous ideal; other times the two overlap so one is just a crescent shadow beneath the other.

The more boring my life is, the more extreme my desire to be in the exact opposite context is. When life is spice, my ideal meets it halfway. This is a happy place.

I’ve stumbeled into a realm of adventure and stability, with routine and occasional spontenaity to break it with. This is a new mix, a great mix, and let’s see if i can finish week one of post spring break school on this same positive mood-note. CHALLENGE
.

Cool Poem

23 Mar

I’m reading Pinker’s new book The Stuff of Thought. The guy is chalk full of examples to support his words analyzing our system of words and thoughts. One thing he threw in the mix was this poem which I really like, not quite sure why but it strikes me as clever. It also fronts as surface, which is nice because then ya can dig into it and get out from it what you want/can. To lay down the context, Pinker was discussing radical pragmatics as an alternative to conceptual semantics in terms of the aquisition and capacity for human language. Yeah, he’s pretty much presenting the theory of pragmatics which is ( to the linguist) how language is used in context in light of the knowledge and expectations of the conversants. No more waiting, I’ll unveil the poem he provided to exemplify polysemy as a function of pragmatics:

Dear White Fella
When I am born I’m black
When I grow up I’m black
When I am sick I’m black
When I go out ina sun I’m black
When I git cold I’m black
When I git scared I’m black
And when I die I’m still black.

But you white fella
When you’re born you’re pink
When you grow up you’re white
When you git sick you’re green
When you go out ina sun you go red
When you git cold you go blue
When you git scared you go yellow
And when you die you go grey
And you got the cheek to call me coloured?

Cool Poem

22 Mar

I’m reading Pinker’s new book The Stuff of Thought. The guy is chalk full of examples to support his words analyzing our system of words and thoughts. One thing he threw in the mix was this poem which I really like, not quite sure why but it strikes me as clever. It also fronts as surface, which is nice because then ya can dig into it and get out from it what you want/can. To lay down the context, Pinker was discussing radical pragmatics as an alternative to conceptual semantics in terms of the aquisition and capacity for human language. Yeah, he’s pretty much presenting the theory of pragmatics which is ( to the linguist) how language is used in context in light of the knowledge and expectations of the conversants. No more waiting, I’ll unveil the poem he provided to exemplify polysemy as a function of pragmatics:

Dear White Fella
When I am born I’m black
When I grow up I’m black
When I am sick I’m black
When I go out ina sun I’m black
When I git cold I’m black
When I git scared I’m black
And when I die I’m still black.

But you white fella
When you’re born you’re pink
When you grow up you’re white
When you git sick you’re green
When you go out ina sun you go red
When you git cold you go blue
When you git scared you go yellow
And when you die you go grey
And you got the cheek to call me coloured?

springtime cliche

20 Mar

To whom this preemptive warning may concern (i.e. Hannah), one may not want to read this post if easily nauseated by frolicking, unicorns, rainbows and butterfly kisses. This springtime concussion has temporarily impaired by realistic cynicism.

It’s spring! yada yada yada Rebirth! yada yada flowers blooming! yada yada yada Clean the closet, the fresh light illuminates the impossible internal maze of the winter and the correct corridors leading to the bright exit become obvious, yada yada CHLICHE, Cliche, cliché.

I woke up borderline euphoric. Pangs of warmth and happiness are pulsating through my body. This is strange, oh so strange, a strange and lovely surprise I could attribute to many things, which could all be summed up in one simple cliché: Springtime. In everything it actually is (freshness, openness, light, colors, flowers) and everything it has come to symbolize (clarity, personal hatching, balance achieved through restarting the circle of life, cleanliness, romance, buds of potential blossoming into a form that was once an idea), I feel the effects of spring drench my body like a much needed shower after hiking through the woods. I awoke at the end of that trail, feeling safe with my toes over the edge of a watercolor viewpoint. The mosaic routes and events have blended together to form a picture of a complete experience. I peer down: a birds eye view of the past, the pretzel twists and turns of the trail I spent the past year escalating. I gaze up: an open sky of possibility wisped with cirrus clouds. And I look straight out: a panorama skyline, inviting, wondrous, protective with infinite room for success, mistakes and growth. My eyes lock with the twinkling skyline lights; their winks assure me what’s below it is our secret of a foggy winter past and what’s above is worth climbing for up the thin, rope-like clouds because the building foundations are sturdy. I am my own safety net, and that feeling is the ultimate conceptual womb pregnant with euphoria.

Social Psychology is my favorite class of the semester, and among many other useful theories, it has taught me the Fundamental Attribution Error. People tend to overly attribute behaviors and attitudes as reflections of the person instead of giving the context and situation its correct weight. Maybe I’m overlooking how cathartic Spring Break has been by staking claim to achieving pure,raw, personal happiness. I have chosen what to do with my time instead of it dictating my life. I’m spending quality time with a few quality people instead of bits of time with boatloads of people. Real human connection-how refreshing. I have literally cleaned my room and the apartment every day. I have had time to pleasure read, which unfortunately has become a rarity that has been reserved for breaks since joining the world of academia. I feel relaxed, organized, put together, and in control instead of a victim of the circumstance. I’m able to be me at the core without sedimentary layers of anxiety compacted on top of me: obligations, responsibilities, meetings, classes, clubs, events, homework reading and writing and labs…at the end of the day, the aspect of life I value the most (inter-personal relationships) takes the largest concession. I’ve been working on reprioritizing and making my priorities congruent with my actual lifestyle. Which leads me full circle back to the silly little blurb which prompted the actual emotional regurgitation of this post: my horoscope for today. I clicked on it in my email for fun, and my skeptical stance on horoscopes is still in tact, but there is something eerie about receiving THIS horoscope on THIS day after waking up and feeling like THIS:
Gemini Daily Horoscope, Mar 20, 2008
Although you may have been overly involved with your career or with activities in your community, the primary emphasis in your life is changing. Your drive for professional success may be replaced with increasing concern for your own personal dreams. Use the weeks ahead to build friendships based on mutual benefit rather than a win-or-lose mentality.

I’ll conclude with some highlights of the break, some of which I’ll delve into in later posts: being a The Price Is Right audience member, Venice beach drum circles, drinking and dinning on our very own homemade Indian/ euro-itallianish meals in superb company, meeting Josh’s family, random costume challenges, exploring the UV and goodwill, continuing my musical journey and reading this book. Savor this overly optimistic post for the outlier that it is. Maybe that will change, is changing, do I want it to change? If I can keep my sarcasm and cynicism still then yeah, I guess I do…we’ll see what happens from here…

springtime cliche

20 Mar

To whom this preemptive warning may concern (i.e. Hannah), one may not want to read this post if easily nauseated by frolicking, unicorns, rainbows and butterfly kisses. This springtime concussion has temporarily impaired by realistic cynicism.

It’s spring! yada yada yada Rebirth! yada yada flowers blooming! yada yada yada Clean the closet, the fresh light illuminates the impossible internal maze of the winter and the correct corridors leading to the bright exit become obvious, yada yada CHLICHE, Cliche, cliché.

I woke up borderline euphoric. Pangs of warmth and happiness are pulsating through my body. This is strange, oh so strange, a strange and lovely surprise I could attribute to many things, which could all be summed up in one simple cliché: Springtime. In everything it actually is (freshness, openness, light, colors, flowers) and everything it has come to symbolize (clarity, personal hatching, balance achieved through restarting the circle of life, cleanliness, romance, buds of potential blossoming into a form that was once an idea), I feel the effects of spring drench my body like a much needed shower after hiking through the woods. I awoke at the end of that trail, feeling safe with my toes over the edge of a watercolor viewpoint. The mosaic routes and events have blended together to form a picture of a complete experience. I peer down: a birds eye view of the past, the pretzel twists and turns of the trail I spent the past year escalating. I gaze up: an open sky of possibility wisped with cirrus clouds. And I look straight out: a panorama skyline, inviting, wondrous, protective with infinite room for success, mistakes and growth. My eyes lock with the twinkling skyline lights; their winks assure me what’s below it is our secret of a foggy winter past and what’s above is worth climbing for up the thin, rope-like clouds because the building foundations are sturdy. I am my own safety net, and that feeling is the ultimate conceptual womb pregnant with euphoria.

Social Psychology is my favorite class of the semester, and among many other useful theories, it has taught me the Fundamental Attribution Error. People tend to overly attribute behaviors and attitudes as reflections of the person instead of giving the context and situation its correct weight. Maybe I’m overlooking how cathartic Spring Break has been by staking claim to achieving pure,raw, personal happiness. I have chosen what to do with my time instead of it dictating my life. I’m spending quality time with a few quality people instead of bits of time with boatloads of people. Real human connection-how refreshing. I have literally cleaned my room and the apartment every day. I have had time to pleasure read, which unfortunately has become a rarity that has been reserved for breaks since joining the world of academia. I feel relaxed, organized, put together, and in control instead of a victim of the circumstance. I’m able to be me at the core without sedimentary layers of anxiety compacted on top of me: obligations, responsibilities, meetings, classes, clubs, events, homework reading and writing and labs…at the end of the day, the aspect of life I value the most (inter-personal relationships) takes the largest concession. I’ve been working on reprioritizing and making my priorities congruent with my actual lifestyle. Which leads me full circle back to the silly little blurb which prompted the actual emotional regurgitation of this post: my horoscope for today. I clicked on it in my email for fun, and my skeptical stance on horoscopes is still in tact, but there is something eerie about receiving THIS horoscope on THIS day after waking up and feeling like THIS:
Gemini Daily Horoscope, Mar 20, 2008
Although you may have been overly involved with your career or with activities in your community, the primary emphasis in your life is changing. Your drive for professional success may be replaced with increasing concern for your own personal dreams. Use the weeks ahead to build friendships based on mutual benefit rather than a win-or-lose mentality.

I’ll conclude with some highlights of the break, some of which I’ll delve into in later posts: being a The Price Is Right audience member, Venice beach drum circles, drinking and dinning on our very own homemade Indian/ euro-itallianish meals in superb company, meeting Josh’s family, random costume challenges, exploring the UV and goodwill, continuing my musical journey and reading this book. Savor this overly optimistic post for the outlier that it is. Maybe that will change, is changing, do I want it to change? If I can keep my sarcasm and cynicism still then yeah, I guess I do…we’ll see what happens from here…

Spring Cleaning

17 Mar

When I was a kid (note: ‘kid’ is embarrassingly flexible and stretches through the middle school years), there was never a monster in my closet. But there was a person. I was never sure of the greater force he represented, but it was obvious that he was the Employee-of-the-Month type, dependable to be present and punctual for his window, bedside and closet looming duties. His lack of physical presence only confirmed my suspicion of his existence; any savvy Watcher would know that their implied presence is the fulcrum of their power. Remaining a nameless, faceless, mysterious entity was the job description by and large: watch by day, and let the implied presence marinate in wayward daydreams until the nighttime, culminating into the an unbearable tease, bulldozing the brink, brick wall of the imagination’s relative sanity and the concept of itself. Tangents of terror run amuck, the land of the mind and the land of time become indistinguishable and interactive: wincing at imagined wounds, whimpering for help to rescue you from the confines and constructions of your mind, your body. Point being, the Watcher need not do more than exist as a concept, because the imagination brings him to reality.

Now hold your applause, but by the ripe, wise age of 14, I devised a way to bid adieu to the Watcher. I’ve been sleeping in a bed, by a closet, and under a window for years. I know- Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, here I come. The solution turned out to be simple: give the unknown a name. I humanized the hell out of that Watcher, kind of like a game of SIMs. The Watcher’s ill intentions were as vast as America the beautiful herself, accentuated by years of exposure to our god blessed, striped and starred, sensationalizaed media. What’s a kid supposed to think when Mortal Combat and WWF entertainment are laced with advertisements claiming “Impossible is Nothing” and “ Just do it”? However, James McDougal, certified Watcher by profession, was just a lonely, harmless, twice divorced balding man with a fear of mold and impressive stamp collection. James had been in enough custody battles to prove his devotion to his children and to make him go broke, but unfortunately, he only got to see the little ones every other weekend. James had three dogs (literally the man’s best friends), one of which was a Chihuahua he bought in the glory days of the Taco Bell ad’s to pick up Bitches also walking their bitches in the park by his condo. No such luck. James was a good guy at heart, but that heart was calloused and layered, thumping lethargically through his jaded existence of watching and reporting, and occasionally opting out of mass for a Sunday social with his buddies C-Span and Jergens. There is nothing unknown, mysterious or faceless about James. He has a name. Thus, How James Lost his Fear Factor.

Spring Cleaning. Before I clean out my closet, I have to sift through the assorted clutter. Some I recognize, some I don’t. Don’t know how I got it, why I’ve kept it, or how I go about getting rid of it. The difference between this and the Watcher situation is now I have a handful of cards and know how to play them when Fear invites me to the table for a game of poker. I just need to remember to box it all up and write a huge, legible label across the top in order to pack it up and ship it out of my closet. I want, so desperately, a nice, clean closet; the exhausting process is a means worth that ends. Name it, Say it, let someone hear it, package it, ship it. The psycho-therapeutic assembly line. Ford ain’t got nothing on this, shoot.

Spring Cleaning

16 Mar

When I was a kid (note: ‘kid’ is embarrassingly flexible and stretches through the middle school years), there was never a monster in my closet. But there was a person. I was never sure of the greater force he represented, but it was obvious that he was the Employee-of-the-Month type, dependable to be present and punctual for his window, bedside and closet looming duties. His lack of physical presence only confirmed my suspicion of his existence; any savvy Watcher would know that their implied presence is the fulcrum of their power. Remaining a nameless, faceless, mysterious entity was the job description by and large: watch by day, and let the implied presence marinate in wayward daydreams until the nighttime, culminating into the an unbearable tease, bulldozing the brink, brick wall of the imagination’s relative sanity and the concept of itself. Tangents of terror run amuck, the land of the mind and the land of time become indistinguishable and interactive: wincing at imagined wounds, whimpering for help to rescue you from the confines and constructions of your mind, your body. Point being, the Watcher need not do more than exist as a concept, because the imagination brings him to reality.

Now hold your applause, but by the ripe, wise age of 14, I devised a way to bid adieu to the Watcher. I’ve been sleeping in a bed, by a closet, and under a window for years. I know- Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, here I come. The solution turned out to be simple: give the unknown a name. I humanized the hell out of that Watcher, kind of like a game of SIMs. The Watcher’s ill intentions were as vast as America the beautiful herself, accentuated by years of exposure to our god blessed, striped and starred, sensationalizaed media. What’s a kid supposed to think when Mortal Combat and WWF entertainment are laced with advertisements claiming “Impossible is Nothing” and “ Just do it”? However, James McDougal, certified Watcher by profession, was just a lonely, harmless, twice divorced balding man with a fear of mold and impressive stamp collection. James had been in enough custody battles to prove his devotion to his children and to make him go broke, but unfortunately, he only got to see the little ones every other weekend. James had three dogs (literally the man’s best friends), one of which was a Chihuahua he bought in the glory days of the Taco Bell ad’s to pick up Bitches also walking their bitches in the park by his condo. No such luck. James was a good guy at heart, but that heart was calloused and layered, thumping lethargically through his jaded existence of watching and reporting, and occasionally opting out of mass for a Sunday social with his buddies C-Span and Jergens. There is nothing unknown, mysterious or faceless about James. He has a name. Thus, How James Lost his Fear Factor.

Spring Cleaning. Before I clean out my closet, I have to sift through the assorted clutter. Some I recognize, some I don’t. Don’t know how I got it, why I’ve kept it, or how I go about getting rid of it. The difference between this and the Watcher situation is now I have a handful of cards and know how to play them when Fear invites me to the table for a game of poker. I just need to remember to box it all up and write a huge, legible label across the top in order to pack it up and ship it out of my closet. I want, so desperately, a nice, clean closet; the exhausting process is a means worth that ends. Name it, Say it, let someone hear it, package it, ship it. The psycho-therapeutic assembly line. Ford ain’t got nothing on this, shoot.

Theraputic Email Plea

15 Mar

If anyone saw me on Monday or Tuesday, I was a complete mess. Personal stuff, two midterms, and getting the grade back on a midterm from the week before all bubbled inside my mind like a teapot, until it reached a boil. I broke down into tears, I screamed. Some of the anxiety was just the stress of all of the looming library study hours and upcoming assignments. I’m used to academic stress, and alone it is manageable. Another component of the anxiety was lack of sleep, the effects of which cycle through fatigue, silliness, deindividuation, and finally everything about life seeming impossible, epic, and unfair. I was at stage four, which didn’t help. The last part was the shame: the shame that I couldn’t handle my own life, the shame of my own immaturity backlashing and slapping me in the face after turning a blind eye to my own deficiencies, and the shame of what those deficiencies are. It’s break now, my assignments are done, I’ve slept, and now all that’s left to do is face the music and get the help I need by blasting the music as loud as I can and embracing my own capabilities for what they are and what they aren’t. Sighhhh…. I am dyslexic, here me roar.

Below is the email I wrote to my Law renowned professor and TA regarding my midterm grade. The very last thing I wanted to do was to personally and/or publicly give this situation any thought, but after time and some introspective thinking took place, I’ve concluded the antithesis: the best thing for me to do is to make to the situation as public as possible, come out of the proverbial learning disabled closet, and try to fix this laughably poor grade anomaly I’ve never dealt with before to sooth the sting of the shame.

********************************
edit: took out e-mail. I think the above gives the gist of things.

Theraputic Email Plea

15 Mar

If anyone saw me on Monday or Tuesday, I was a complete mess. Personal stuff, two midterms, and getting the grade back on a midterm from the week before all bubbled inside my mind like a teapot, until it reached a boil. I broke down into tears, I screamed. Some of the anxiety was just the stress of all of the looming library study hours and upcoming assignments. I’m used to academic stress, and alone it is manageable. Another component of the anxiety was lack of sleep, the effects of which cycle through fatigue, silliness, deindividuation, and finally everything about life seeming impossible, epic, and unfair. I was at stage four, which didn’t help. The last part was the shame: the shame that I couldn’t handle my own life, the shame of my own immaturity backlashing and slapping me in the face after turning a blind eye to my own deficiencies, and the shame of what those deficiencies are. It’s break now, my assignments are done, I’ve slept, and now all that’s left to do is face the music and get the help I need by blasting the music as loud as I can and embracing my own capabilities for what they are and what they aren’t. Sighhhh…. I am dyslexic, here me roar.

Below is the email I wrote to my Law renowned professor and TA regarding my midterm grade. The very last thing I wanted to do was to personally and/or publicly give this situation any thought, but after time and some introspective thinking took place, I’ve concluded the antithesis: the best thing for me to do is to make to the situation as public as possible, come out of the proverbial learning disabled closet, and try to fix this laughably poor grade anomaly I’ve never dealt with before to sooth the sting of the shame.

********************************
edit: took out e-mail. I think the above gives the gist of things.

Fleeting Thought…

12 Mar

I don’t feel the need to prove myself to anyone else, so why do I feel the need to prove me to me?

Fleeting Thought…

12 Mar

I don’t feel the need to prove myself to anyone else, so why do I feel the need to prove me to me?

Percieve and Believe

9 Mar

Preemptive warning: tired, tipsy and tangental opinion below. Mind your head.

For us earth organisms, ‘change’ is a shift in perception. That’s it. Funny how for us, Perception is Everything, but Everything is not Perception. (sidenote: shoutout to the muses who re-aroused my contemplation about everything and Everything.) Maybe Everything is perception, but for the sake of my sanity in at 9:30 am statistics class, I’m buying into it’s applied validity for the human world…and the chance that this thing we have called existance is coincidently unique to specifically the scope and limits of our random 5 senses is kate moss slim. My point: if every truth and definition we have is limited to our perception, and we only test what we can emperically messure which is double limited by our perception AND abilities, AND perception is slave to a zillion variables, then how can change exist from one state to another when original state cannot be accurately defined?

i hate daylights savings. i like maple bars.

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