THE BLOOD TRAVELS
1) Everything is a bit of something and in turn a bit of everyone eventually
passes through something ultimately connecting everything. So nothing ever
really happens in spite of the fact that everything is happening all the time
everywhere. Or everything is happening everywhere and it means nothing. That
is the simple fact of the matter he thought as he scribbled into his book. The
matter of which this thought was a fact. The fact that sparked the simplest
principle of this idea. In other words whatever is subscribed to at the moment
is the fact or the truth of the matter if only for that instant. Or maybe
nothing but a little heartfelt sputter or palpitation of an idea jump starting
a more desperate thought process that could mean everything, it all depends,
sub category he thought. He shut his book, he thought, he shook his head and
opened the book back up as he wet the tip of his pencil with his tongue. He
continued, we can't comprehend it. The idea that everything as a whole means
nothing and the beauty of nothing is it encompasses everything. Or maybe you
can understand, or should I say we, the human race that is . As he thought
this the sound "humph" unconsciously came from his mouth. But me from my point of view which is in fact the view which is contemplating this thought. "Humph" came out again, a bit louder this time. And this thought which is not my own but a learned one which I gravitated to, that is of course if I subscribe to
the idea of gravitation in its mental weightless form, which I apparently do,
"humph". Which of course is not my idea but one I learned. I Have my own ideas
about ideas that originally were not my ideas, like gravitation, he paused.
Unless I believe that the only good or true ideas are the ones that touch an
inner truth or understanding of the human race or human experience and
ultimately mean nothing. Ideas based in some feeling we all inherently have or
share or. His pencil broke. Not wanting to stop his train of thought he
reluctantly grabbed a ballpoint pen. He continued, my thoughts, my thoughts
which are based in someone else's ideas, he stopped. "Humph", so I am not
alone in this world in my mind and yet upon further reflection in ink I guess
that means I don't know who I am or who I am outside of these learned ideas
(he hated to write that in ink).". Further by breaking ones thoughts or ideas
down meaning becomes simpler and simpler and the simpler. The answers to all
questions become the same. The single simple answer to everything becomes
complex in its simplicity. Meaning seems to be unavoidable, "humph." The
meaning that embodies or represents the idea that struggle is existence would
be a simple explanation. One simple answer, just one. The answer is and means
nothing. Although I have some particular ideas about nothing.no-thing. He
closed his book sharply and looked around. He was no longer making sense, not
in the way he had learned. The look of the ink on the page in his book made
him wretch and he lost his train of thought. He would need to sharpen his
pencil; nothing is Permanent he thought.
1) Everything is a bit of something and in turn a bit of everyone eventually
passes through something ultimately connecting everything. So nothing ever
really happens in spite of the fact that everything is happening all the time
everywhere. Or everything is happening everywhere and it means nothing. That
is the simple fact of the matter he thought as he scribbled into his book. The
matter of which this thought was a fact. The fact that sparked the simplest
principle of this idea. In other words whatever is subscribed to at the moment
is the fact or the truth of the matter if only for that instant. Or maybe
nothing but a little heartfelt sputter or palpitation of an idea jump starting
a more desperate thought process that could mean everything, it all depends,
sub category he thought. He shut his book, he thought, he shook his head and
opened the book back up as he wet the tip of his pencil with his tongue. He
continued, we can't comprehend it. The idea that everything as a whole means
nothing and the beauty of nothing is it encompasses everything. Or maybe you
can understand, or should I say we, the human race that is . As he thought
this the sound "humph" unconsciously came from his mouth. But me from my point of view which is in fact the view which is contemplating this thought. "Humph" came out again, a bit louder this time. And this thought which is not my own but a learned one which I gravitated to, that is of course if I subscribe to
the idea of gravitation in its mental weightless form, which I apparently do,
"humph". Which of course is not my idea but one I learned. I Have my own ideas
about ideas that originally were not my ideas, like gravitation, he paused.
Unless I believe that the only good or true ideas are the ones that touch an
inner truth or understanding of the human race or human experience and
ultimately mean nothing. Ideas based in some feeling we all inherently have or
share or. His pencil broke. Not wanting to stop his train of thought he
reluctantly grabbed a ballpoint pen. He continued, my thoughts, my thoughts
which are based in someone else's ideas, he stopped. "Humph", so I am not
alone in this world in my mind and yet upon further reflection in ink I guess
that means I don't know who I am or who I am outside of these learned ideas
(he hated to write that in ink).". Further by breaking ones thoughts or ideas
down meaning becomes simpler and simpler and the simpler. The answers to all
questions become the same. The single simple answer to everything becomes
complex in its simplicity. Meaning seems to be unavoidable, "humph." The
meaning that embodies or represents the idea that struggle is existence would
be a simple explanation. One simple answer, just one. The answer is and means
nothing. Although I have some particular ideas about nothing.no-thing. He
closed his book sharply and looked around. He was no longer making sense, not
in the way he had learned. The look of the ink on the page in his book made
him wretch and he lost his train of thought. He would need to sharpen his
pencil; nothing is Permanent he thought.