What do you mean you thought Interstellar was 'meh'????

All concepts are inherently imaginary. Without an observer there is no beautiful, there is no ugly, no interesting or boring, no good or bad.

Whatever concept we believe we see attached to something, is just our own projection being thrown back at us.

Reality is nothing but a mirror.

On my toes

My eyes point outward

Don't care what happens inward

I happen to things

Fix You from Jacob Collier is like an emotional surgeon pulling a heist on God's tambourine stash.

On August

I went home Northward

The summer sun behind me

My back, momiji

On the management of frailty

“Demonstrate it then,” I said.

“Fine, fine.” Elodin walked over to where Fela sat. “We’ll use Fela’s example.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, motioning me to follow.

I came reluctantly to my feet as well and Elodin arranged the two of us so we stood facing each other in profile to the class. “Here we have two lovely young people,” he said. “Their eyes meet across the room.”

Elodin pushed my shoulder and I stumbled forward half a step. “He says hello. She says hello. She smiles. He shifts uneasily from foot to foot.” I stopped doing just that and there was a faint murmur of laughter from the others.

“There is something ephemeral in the air,” Elodin said, moving to stand behind Fela. He put his hands on her shoulders, leaning close to her ear. “She loves the lines of him,” he said softly. “She is curious about the shape of his mouth. She wonders if this could be the one, if she could unclasp the secret pieces of her heart to him.” Fela looked down, her cheeks flushing a bright scarlet.

Elodin stalked around to stand behind me. “Kvothe looks at her, and for the first time he understands the impulse that first drove men to paint. To sculpt. To sing.”

He circled us again, eventually standing between us like a priest about to perform a wedding. “There exists between them something tenuous and delicate. They can both feel it. Like static in the air. Faint as frost.”

He looked me full in the face. His dark eyes serious. “Now. What do you do?”

I looked back at him, utterly lost. If there was one thing I knew less about than naming, it was courting women.

“There are three paths here,” Elodin said to the class. He held up one finger. “First. Our young lovers can try to express what they feel. They can try to play the half-heard song their hearts are singing.”

Elodin paused for effect. “This is the path of the honest fool, and it will go badly. This thing between you is too tremulous for talk. It is a spark so faint that even the most careful breath might snuff it out.”

Master Namer shook his head. “Even if you are clever and have a way with words, you are doomed in this. Because while your mouths might speak the same language, your hearts do not.” He looked at me intently. “This is an issue of translation.”

Elodin held up two fingers. “The second path is more careful. You talk of small things. The weather. A familiar play. You spend time in company. You hold hands. In doing so you slowly learn the secret meanings of each other’s words. This way, when the time comes you can speak with subtle meaning underneath your words, so there is understanding on both sides.”

Elodin made a sweeping gesture toward me. “Then there is the third path. The path of Kvothe.” He strode to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, facing Fela. “You sense something between you. Something wonderful and delicate.” He gave a romantic, lovelorn sigh.

“And, because you desire certainty in all things, you decide to force the issue. You take the shortest route. Simplest is best, you think.” Elodin extended his own hands and made wild grasping motions in Fela’s direction. “So you reach out and you grab this young woman’s breasts.”

There was a burst of startled laughter from everyone except Fela and myself. I scowled. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and her flush spread down her neck until it was hidden by her shirt.

Elodin turned his back to her and looked me in the eye.

“Re’lar Kvothe,” he said seriously. “I am trying to wake your sleeping mind to the subtle language the world is whispering. I am trying to seduce you into understanding. I am trying to teach you.” He leaned forward until his face was almost touching mine. “Quit grabbing at my tits.”

Chop me down and count my rings

The bliss I've felt, the times I've cried,

Mistakes I've made, learned and retried

The friends I've met, the girls I've liked,

Misjudgements, good calls, and goodbyes

We're multitudes, oceans of time

the past is inside, not behind

Where lie my failures at my core

You see but shipwrecks to explore

The kid that cried, the boy that wished,

the teen who cared, the man who dreamed

live all today in my heart free

They feel your love when you love me

Brickies and Pixies

 Last week I had an interesting conversation with a Spanish Philology major. He defended that people think in words. He said we build our concepts using the words that are taught to us as bricks, and then process the information explaining it with words. I told him I always thought we built abstract concepts, ideas and reasonings over time and then, when we try to express them, we figure out a way to make them sort of fit in a limited amount of pixels called words. If you're good at it, the point sort of gets through in 4K quality. If you suck at it however (like I do), not only is the process a pain but also the point often gets lost in translation in TS screener 240p.

I wonder what that means in terms of personality. I guess pixel-word guys like me are better at learning new languages or complicated ideas, maybe dreamier? And brick-word guys are better at communicating, teaching and interacting with other people, maybe more down to Earth.

I guess for us pixies, the answer to where is my mind is probably "on the clouds".

An odd hill to die on

I guess with time I've realized being right is not just about stating facts, but rather about which truths one chooses to defend and which truths one deems not worth defending. Using facts and logic instead of emotional reactions to process information and being open to fair criticism make one a reasonable person, sure, but once one is there, one needs to understand that, as widespread as it is, defending facts that support one's ideology and shutting up when facts come against the grain (even if internally you know them true) is hypocritical at best and at worst downright shitty. To be a decent person, not only is it required to be reasonable (people that cannot be reasoned with can never be decent. Being good requires understanding, otherwise it's just fanaticism, which however misguided may even end up helping some people incidentally!¹) but also one has to choose carefully how they challenge a given opinion, because focusing on contesting specific contradictions that don't affect its general validity can give the impression that one is against the whole idea or even the principles behind it.

So I always check now. Even if what I'm going to say, while controversial, is technically right, I look around to see whether it's worth the hassle. And around most people, it almost never is.

I hope this answers your question as to why I deleted my Twitter account.

¹: Looking at you, religion, you crazy fuck.