Planets Not Actors. It is Kundera's Fault.

Have you ever put your hand lightly on your neck and felt the blood traveling through your veins. Flows then soft, flows then soft. It feels like smooth grains of sand traveling through a tube.

I imagine it would be exactly like feeling an earth worm pulse itself through its dirt tunnels if a hand touched the ground just perfectly lightly. That is why birds are successful fishers for worms. Because of the lightness.

It’s very interesting how one - specifically me is easily swayed by outer lives.

Because it is my body I’m in the centre of my life. There will be no other centre, even if the skin is switched it is still my body – and dreams, drugs or alcohol experiences aside I am always inside of the shell – and everything is seen and understood from the moving body that is me. I could have been an ocean.

People are like planets – not actors. (To be considered an actor on a stage for all of one’s life is such a limiting notion.) People are at least geographical in nature. The moon pulls the tide. The sun pulls the masses. Other things follow paths that are seemingly indirect. Some people have direct courses – but everything is swayed by something else. So it is not a necessity to act differently but to be pulled accordingly.

Books and movies are culprit masses that move. They are worlds of a different light. A different composition or species really. The pages the dirt – the letters the people, the words the institutions (as words are never a singular idea) The chapters the countries. Maybe the cover is the UN – if the UN represents the total human interest.

How could an astronaut landing on a different planet not be easily moved by the understanding of a whole new life? Not even the understanding – but the ephemeral feeling that a brand new place creates. The ambiance of a different colour.

And if you take that planet as a whole – how interesting to take down the words to their first original cellular concept. Lightness and heaviness for examples – when taken to the extreme detached emotion of each word is an interesting singular event. Each journey that is – you could imbibe a word 800 times, but each is a singular journey with a separate reason for existing. A repetition yes – but not one with mundane, forseen, and yet nonsensical conditions. A word would make an interesting human being – yes limited but aren’t we all in some small way? It’s called skin.

But it’s interesting – as much as I want to build the planets, they come straight back to the animal beginnings. To the human mind, to the human definition, to the human intention. All of them are mine. Each person a lover or a hater or a specific word.
It makes me wonder what kind of awe would be inspired by something beyond scientifically unique. Or existentially unique. That is most important.