Perfection is the one of the few things in the world that lingers around once you see it, you experience it. And by this I don't just mean achieving perfection in something, in fact I mean quite the opposite: to be in the presence/audience of someone who, by your own standards, has achieved it.
I went for Jason Mraz live last night, and it was oh, awesome. I'd always heard about Mraz being pretty damn good live, but it didn't quite prepare me for the concert last night. So I wasn't familiar with all the songs, but with Mraz I guess you don't really need to know ALL of them. It was actually perfect, as far as I could tell.
So yes, perfection lingers in different forms for different people. For me it's one of the few things I could describe as "humbing" in a there's a lot you can do in the world kinda way. And it also makes me avoid anything I deem possibly interesting for a while, because the bar has been set so high. I felt that the first time after finishing the Fountainhead, I couldn't get myself to read anything for 6 months, and then after Lisa Smedman's series.
And last night, after Jason Mraz Live, that about sums up how I'm feeling.
Well I suppose well all make our judgement call
Well walk it alone, stand up tall, then march to the fall
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
My Stoddard Temple
Today I feel like writing for an audience. And it's ironic that this is the only place I can say that without intending it for any other reason than to just express just that simple fact, where nobody else can read it.
Let me explain, for the benefit of my failing memory, why it is tonight that I feel this way. Sometimes you feel compelled by not a certain event but a series of them, and I'm personally not really a fan of blogging about events, but here goes.
Last night a particular conversation made me wonder if it's time that I let someone step forward and renew my clear lack of respect for humanity, where humanity is what I see of it and not what I believe in my own head, namely my own ideals.
I was reading about the credit crunch today, and it made me wonder if any respect I will now acquire for humanity will be temporary and falsely created. In view of the mumbling idiots who thought of it a few years ago and those who sat by without realising where it's going to take them. Maybe the Statue of Liberty is incomplete, because holding up the torch doesn't remove the filth where the light doesn't shine.
And another conversation last night made me realise that there's nothing I know in the world that could be classified as "informed malice", and it made me wonder why I believe in such a concept in the first place. Maybe Ellsworth M. Toohey is nothing but an impossibility. But I still don't see how the world is getting where it is without such a helping hand.
Lastly, I'm in the middle of the Fountainhead. That explains my choice of title, the line just blew me away. But my reference to Toohey has nothing to do with my reading the Fountainhead right now. I've always felt that way, even before I read the Fountainhead, except now I have a name for it. Maybe it's because I fell asleep reading it, but it makes me slightly depressed. Strangely it has nothing to do with being homesick, because I'm not homesick. It's because of something between the fact that I didn't regret missing dinner today and the fact that my idealism isn't failing, and yet I'm afraid to express that in writing.
In true fashion of how I feel about all this:
shrugs.
Let me explain, for the benefit of my failing memory, why it is tonight that I feel this way. Sometimes you feel compelled by not a certain event but a series of them, and I'm personally not really a fan of blogging about events, but here goes.
Last night a particular conversation made me wonder if it's time that I let someone step forward and renew my clear lack of respect for humanity, where humanity is what I see of it and not what I believe in my own head, namely my own ideals.
I was reading about the credit crunch today, and it made me wonder if any respect I will now acquire for humanity will be temporary and falsely created. In view of the mumbling idiots who thought of it a few years ago and those who sat by without realising where it's going to take them. Maybe the Statue of Liberty is incomplete, because holding up the torch doesn't remove the filth where the light doesn't shine.
And another conversation last night made me realise that there's nothing I know in the world that could be classified as "informed malice", and it made me wonder why I believe in such a concept in the first place. Maybe Ellsworth M. Toohey is nothing but an impossibility. But I still don't see how the world is getting where it is without such a helping hand.
Lastly, I'm in the middle of the Fountainhead. That explains my choice of title, the line just blew me away. But my reference to Toohey has nothing to do with my reading the Fountainhead right now. I've always felt that way, even before I read the Fountainhead, except now I have a name for it. Maybe it's because I fell asleep reading it, but it makes me slightly depressed. Strangely it has nothing to do with being homesick, because I'm not homesick. It's because of something between the fact that I didn't regret missing dinner today and the fact that my idealism isn't failing, and yet I'm afraid to express that in writing.
In true fashion of how I feel about all this:
shrugs.
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