doodle break

Quasi-artistic depiction of today's activity.

when is space too much?

September 8, 2010 will be remembered as the day a good friend took his life. We were all shocked when we discovered that he jumped off from their condo that morning. All we can do is speculate about the series of events or circumstances and the amount of time he spent contemplating the end of his life. And all we can do to comfort ourselves is to create hypothetical situations that would have prevented his demise; if it were really comforting. I have been a strong advocate of real friendship. A 'no strings attached,' unconditional kind of friendship that does not depend on constant physical togetherness in order to allow for some personal space. I suppose that time is invested at the beginning of friendship or all kinds of relationships. Once the mutual decision has been made---that you choose to be friends for life---things begin to change. There is a lot of trust involved. There is a lot of silent disappointment. There are occasions of waiting for the friend to offer his/her time. For all we know, out of the pure intention to avoid being burdensome to one another, too much space is allowed. Space becomes the the cutting implement that cessates the delicate thread of friendship.

Revelation!

Thank you for bothering to pretend to understand despite the deliberately listless cover. No the magazine isn't real. Heck, everything about the image isn't real. An alternate reality.

Life should not mean but be

This entry's title is an allusion to the last line of Archibald McLeish's 'Ars Poetica' that states, 'A poem should not mean but be.' This pseudoanonymity in the blogging world allows for the poetry of life to be. My intention may both include for life to mean and be. Strictly speaking, my blog entries are at least 90% based on deep-seated, cerebral cortex plus limbic system and hypothalamus ideas rather than tangible reality. That is the sadness and beauty of it all. To be able to wring every drop of my conscious and whatever part of my subconscious that has escaped and put these conceptual creations into the English language is the self-fulfilling goal. Of course, my quixotic style is open to all sorts of interpretation but among all those possible strings of meaning, only one is the best-fitting model that only me or an alter-ego or that one half of my being will understand.