Some day I will express a complete thought I promise.

Oh – it is time for the back woods. My fifteen minutes of fame before sleep. I am full. My stomach and my limbs. They are full of the heat from walking, and from food. Home made breads and pastries, purchased cheeses and fruits and wine. A meal fit for a snacking European.

I am highfalutin – don’t you worry I know. I’m getting out the utter tripe and exasperation that all people do – before they hit the wall of self importance and begin embracing the simpler things – like the thesis of 4th year paper. A simple sentence, proper grammar, small idea bursting at the seams with detail. Right now I have a hard time constructing the plot line. It is more or less ignorance – my will to ignore it – then it is a lack of understanding. Sooner or later – I won’t remember the definition of that word ‘plot’.

I’m sitting in a colder basement, a caterpillar in a new sleeping bag, finally having it out with the mind. The famous time at night – you know what it is. The beautiful time where your mind is free and wise, peaceful but not asleep. It is not the time of unreal dreams, but of seeming material liberation.

Bashfulness occurs when you admit dependence on someone, and then life slowly builds up barriers where you walk dutifully around these people, or dutifully right through them. There is no real definition of hate or love. Oxymorons in a single word – is it possible. I will expand upon that later it doesn’t seem relevant now.

But maybe an attempt to define the word material – as in materialism. If it is defined it is material – for a lawyer will vow that certain pieces of paper with ideas written in words is considered a thing. Something to be protected with rights – rights better defined than the rights of an 8 year old in any country, but especially the third and fifth worlds. Funny that we consider the “lesser” worlds part of another dimension.

Material – is another human being. They are explicit matter, not just computer ink communicating effectively an abstract and complex occurrence in someone’s mind that at some point became “the norm”. In must be so because some people think they own other people.

I don’t know anything about pop culture. I don’t understand the dimensions and seeming limitations of music. I cannot define the word “art” except using the words ‘context’ and audience’ which means that only the negative space of the word is loosely drawn. But of the thing itself – a simple void of explanation. I also cannot name a writer who is currently popular and avant garde. I am unfamiliar with titles of dances and theatres. I do not understand fashion. And as for the communication of a complex idea, in any form even silence – I am distracted.

I am almost entirely sure that all of it, this culture of ours is a game of whims. Everything all at once all at the same time. Does anyone notice this but me? Somewhere in the world a little girl is hauling water from a well in a long skirt while her father arranges her marriage – are we sure old Kings are dead and buried, or are they conducting other nations like complex orchestras play cat and mouse – oh and an orchestra can play that game well.

All genres, all histories, all facts all the time. The ultimate experience is it not – to be absolutely everything at once, and if you take drugs maybe a dinosaur will grace your presence, or perhaps a magnifying glass and an ant.

And am I the hyperbole of this? A capable student of all classes, a hard working artisan of life, willing to kill and cook a chicken, while trying to understand software, diddling on the piano while dreaming of some colours or some ambiance that someone else can dance to? Another material human being? Tell me – how am I to be selfish?

Perhaps this did at some point become a diary. And I masked good ideas in it somewhere – ideas because they are words representing what I think about my life.

I read a forward in a short stories compendium. How does the fictional writer come up with his/her ideas? That is something I would also like to know. Because then maybe I wouldn’t have to live one thousand lives. And I wouldn’t have to explain the rules every fucking single time.