Bats

Although it is said that since Alice is not able to answer either of the two questions, " do cats eat bats?" and " do bats eat cats?', it does not matter in which way she puts it, but apparently one of them sounds more absurd than the other, doesn't it? Why I think so is my question, because it does seem to me that asking a question whether cats eat bats makes you look less insane than whether bats eat cats. I guess the answer can be easily obtained - because I presuppose before these questions that there exist the hierarchy of food chain, and that the cats is certainly situated above a certain category, which I also presuppose includes bats similar to rats, as Alice says herself. So I know the one on the top will eat and the one under it will be eaten, the reversal impossible, so although I don't know precisely whether cats eat bats, I know that bats do not eat cats, ergo the question to which the answer is not only certainly negative in an obvious way but the action of asking it implies the subversion of a pre-constructed seemingly unquestionable order will surely seem ridiculous. It seems that the implicit already resolved questions have the impact on the way one perceives the questions that follow, which, I wonder, whether or not, is the explanation for some of the you-are-insane expressions that I get from the others facing my questions...

raef

The last few days she'd been concentrated on a certain topic and the messiness seemed to have been poured into a river of reasoning oriented to a certain place, running parallel with the route where the shadows persist, which had detached her from her, so she did not know how to formulate the start. She rolled the dice and they were scattered into pieces. However, she decided to begin with 'scared', although the actual beginning was a word of laziness. She is scared, which happens not often, but now she is. She is afraid that she's been lancing herself so fearlessly into something that would finally turn out to be uncontrollable. But isn't what she expected? Perhaps the shape of the unknown has undergone some hardly inappreciable change, transformed from the wide opening where things happen to the wide open where things may not happen; or perhaps it is the emergence of a visible, still ambiguous but detected outline of the shape that freaks her out. It becomes explicit enough to be actually spoken out. Either way, the result is the fear that she's never experienced. It is as if she could be comfortably floating on the surface of a sea of chaos, letting it take her wherever, but all would become unbearable once she is rescued onto the deck of a ship and told that she would be taken somewhere safely, and she would probably jump back into the water. Why does materializing something appear to her like a threat? Perhaps because now she prefers staying in the background. There was a time when she was on the spot light and she thought it was being so that she enjoyed until one day she came to the realization that it was being lightened by that specific light that really mattered, so once the light changed, being on the spot light did not mean as much. She kept believing if she stayed in the background and refusing to come out of the darkness,  it would be easier to locate that light again, because in the somberness you may see clearly. But now she is scared as she is stepping out, which she knows necessary but that gives her the chill in the backbone. What if you cannot shape it into the form you have in mind? What if the final product is a total fiasco, or even worse, too concrete to be destroyed? 

Snap the sky

'What is the point of taking photos of sky and clouds?' somebody asked me, to which I know the answer 'that piece of cloud is so beautiful that it makes me want to scream." will not make me look any less crazier, so I gave a shrug of I've-no-idea, but what I was sure was that I certainly preferred clumsy photos of sky, clouds, streets to those of them. I hate being sentimental, or I hate showing that. When you try to decipher codes, it becomes hard to feel emotional before any stories in novels which aim to play with pathos. I cannot remember crying over anything that can be defined as sadness or happiness, which does not mean I've lost my faculty of crying. I do cry, only not before a film or someone's unfortunate family story or the 'tragedy' of the hero in the epics...anything that you 'are supposed' to shed tears for, but I'd cry reading a crazily jumbled passage seeming like some lunatic's charabia, or remembering the location of a past period but not able to fill it with any contents, or, seeing anything that is vast, the sea, the desert, or the sky... hopefulness, hopelessness, no use to define. I guess I'm just not used to it, all of it, being so real and unreal at the same time.

Seesaw

I don't get drunk, by which I mean I don't normally get drunk from alcohol for the same reason I hated napping in the kindergarten, or, sleeping at all, that being conscious is much more fun than loosing it. But the question is how much conscious one can be? Is it possible to become too aware of things that you actually find yourself loosing awareness? I'll freak out if the shape of my mind is no longer palpable. It feels like a fetus, suffocated in a place where it is in constant struggle to get out of. The frustration is that it does not know where is the place smothering it. It denies the mother that carries it in the first place, so how can it get out of the unknown? Unlocated, it is not looking for a home to go back but trying to find a home to get away from. If you get it drunk, I will still be aware of it, if I get myself drunk, it will be aware of me. Can I get both of us drunk? I don't know how.

The Void. The Launcher.

void: /void/noun

1.a completely empty space:

  - an emptiness caused by the loss of something.

  - an unfilled space in a wall, building, or structure.

2. (in bridge and whist) a suit in which a player is dealt no cards.

launcher: /ˈlɔːn.tʃəʳ/ noun (often in compounds) a device that is used to send a rocket, a MISSILE, etc. into the sky: a rocket launcher.

Perhaps the fifth day of every October is a better occasion to write this post, but today is the day when on my way, I was able to connect the small points into a continuous line orientated in one direction and the seemingly scattered images into one picture. They are all related. The inside and outside, the past and envisaged future, and all the between's. What I was after, what I've been after and what I seem to have decided to go after...it's been the same thing. I am finally able to identify it, giving it a name, and the reason is the void. The void in two senses. The space reserved for any kind of belief in my is unoccupied, or occupied by disbelief, which I fully embrace, but now I've come into the realization that this void is not completely empty, or it keeps searching to be filled with something else, which is why the ones resembling priests preaching keep me fascinated to whom I've been looking up, but instead of the bullshits, they are saying the things intriguing my mind. They are like launchers, preparing me for the flight, which is why I feel free with them, and hopeful. The launcher may stay there, but they push you to go higher and in their force you can feel the silent loudness of their wilderness hidden behind a static appearance of posture. And they can feel my urge and agitation and the potential violent untamed desire to be launched. And there is another kind of void which is even more personal, left by the dramatic (that I only heard but haven't been able to conceive) departure of the occupier, so unlike the first kind which has kept its state of emptiness right from the beginning, this vacuum was once occupied, and unlike the first one, I cannot locate it or to clarify the characteristics of it, which I think to be emotional in general but to which I sense much more. Whatever it is, the feeling of lacking in there is certain, so since the departure of the first, I have perhaps been keeping searching the liaison I once had had with her in all the ones playing the similar role that I've met, whether consciously or unconsciously, and it has been proved that the shapes of our relations are rare, sometimes beyond understanding. Now I know what I see and what I've been wanting for all this time, and most importantly, I now know why, which asks so many questions - the one to 'whether I will be able to get rid of that shadow' is ' I don't even need to because the shadow has shaped me and it will eventually change into something else.' I feel lucky, because all the trouble I saw once is actually what has pushed me into experiencing a territory that not everyone can have access to.The confusion and stubbornness are what has opened up the world about the existence of which I've been questioning, though lingering outside the door. I think I've finally recognized it.