Nathan Petrelli

Day 10.

It was a dream about flying. Lift right foot with both hands, and with one’s left foot leap. The sensation was akin to floating on water at calm sea. Except one is face down high above ground roaming around free.

And not without effort too. The intention to lift one’s foot was all too real. One could feel the fatigue and the need to come down. Until one regroups enough to give it one more try.

The feeling is not unfamiliar as this I would always try to do. The sun is bright and the sky is blue. How nice it would be to plant one’s face on the sea for a change? But then one would get reminded that one can’t breathe under water. And we know how snorkels suck.

Existence is fascinating. This notion of a place, the knowledge that one is somewhere. What is this I that got disappointed it wasn’t real when it woke up? It’s as if this body had a memory of being a fish in the water, of being unborn in the womb.

Brains have sections that map to the physical world. One could acknowledge that physical processes as information compression could lead to this. That sometimes one could be “awake” while it happens. That one plays around with Google Earth on occasion. Yet even so it’s surreal.

And thus continues the eternal swinging of the pendulum. From the freedom to think of the self as not needing a body as did Avicenna, to one who says enough is enough as Al-Ghazali. So on and so forth.

The fish I ate for dinner was delicious. Enough for today.

Tumbleweed

It’s weird how the thing I wrote the three days ago complaining about how hard it is to write in a short period of time and the thing I wrote yesterday about how easy it is to come up with gibberish one might not be able to fill up the allotted time with enough words directly contradict each other.

Writing is staking out a position, and that’s perhaps why writing is hard. One cannot be sure the position one decides to put one’s stake in is the position one always wants to be in. But with writing, artifacts are left purporting a certain thought to be so, proclaiming for all time what the writer would seem to have always held true and will always supposedly will.

The irony, of course, is that most all great writing is this way. A declaration of certainty. An unchanging position. I suppose this case being so is just a natural byproduct of the inevitable passage of time, almost taken for granted that everything always changes, making any sort of permanence, even though very obviously illusory so rare, that any semblance of certainty is most cherished and yearned for.

Also, writing is inherently judgy. Any use of word to say anything betrays one’s values, and any exposure of one’s values lead to it contrasting with other’s, revealing minute differences of the underlying rarities and abundances from which such values arise; and in any such contrast an inevitable second order evaluation of both.

I have cut my allotted time for this excretory exercise by half. It feels better this way.

Enough for today.

Some things I noticed 01/16/2020:
  1. I don’t claim to be an expert on my successor, though I believe that he’s a patriot.” Always thought BSCA3 saying this of the POTROTP remarkable. Maybe of a different chirality, sure, but of course. Nation states are weird.
  2. Dodecahedron reminds me of santol for some reason. Where does one find a santol tree?
  3. Everything is a language. Underrated gospel that must be preached.
  4. At least once I had to have said out loud it’d be pretty cool if Betelgeuse, specifically, visibly went supernova, during my ill-fated dilettante star-gazing phase. Pretty sure it’d be awesome at first, in case.