Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
They may be empty and weightless,
and maybe I'll find some peace tonight

-sarah mclachlan


I am stuck on a paper right now, and so instead of sleeping, I will write here. I've been coming upon realizations lately that dont serve me because they don't come together in any meaningful way other than what I might say here or there in passing. I'm stuck with the ideas of perspective and memory and the forward march of the measure of the universe. I was thinking that maybe memory serves to replay situations and events that happened earlier in life, but as they are lived from another perspective we take the risk of not recognizing the situation, although we've already internalized it once or twice or ten times before. Maybe there are so many perspectives that we don't even realize are perspectives of the same situation. I am relating this idea of perspective to ideas of adaptation. The possibility of the impossibility of adaptation. Perhaps there is no way to be creative. Perhaps each story is really the adaptation of another. Or perhaps every adaptation is in itself a completely new thing. If there is no creation, then perhaps this idea could be related to memory and life and perspective. Maybe then it is just possible to adapt a story, a situation, an event an infinite number of ways so that each situation we encounter in our lives we have already encountered before, from an alternative perspective. But what does that mean? Does that mean that each experience is a benefit, and that eventually we will become like a bridge that is built by adding a brick a year. Maybe our perspectives will round us out, make us enlightened. Or maybe there is no satisfying the void, maybe it is like that stupid example of the heap of grains of sand. Maybe you can add and add grains till the cows come home and you'll never reach a point when you can unequivocally say that you have understood something.

i suppose when i grow up i will need to give order to the chaos of my mind, but for now it satisfies me to see it manifested in this inkblot on the internet.