Australian politics goes for the re-shuffle again.

French was fun today.
Felt strong, good looking, energised.

Then crashed. Rode home, knee was sore.
Ate and ate and ate.
Made rice pudding.
Tried to make plans.
Got organised. Looked for any drastic double booking/crossovers.
The busy week starts now. I’m pretty cracked though.
Feel like energy is leaking outta my head.
How do I fix this.
Feeling fat.
Coma oncomming.
So much work, study, to be done.
My thoughts,
Not words, ideas, in form. Associations.
They may as well be colours.
They don’t exist in your head.
When you effect, or affect (who fucking knows)
a change, from your thoughts to reality you’re making a difference.
I get that.
But the associatioin of a word.
Makes for everything you say, to be ambigous.
I remember thinking that nothing is important.
The only way you can effect change is by actions and communication.
However, by abstaining from that train of thought you allow yourself to be free from want and need to enact change. Therefore clearing yourself,
your waking consious from the conceeded postmodern material efforts that surround us today.
Buy hermitting yourself socially you nullify any impact.
Could you perhaps, (be more true to yourself).
Live life how you would [normally].
and subtley effect the world around you?
What instigates change from the base to the superstructure?

Who allows for us to define times to modernity and postmodernity?
Could post modernity be simply materialist?
Was there really a crisis or “turning point” in representation?
With the modern world. Indeed just being another word for current.
And the current, having undergone change being accepted.
Then the norm having changed. Means that our stream of conscious collectively has re-aligned.
How can you define time as being different, ideas as being different, people fighting* (doing) different things. Just to be different. Being experimental.
People always have. That is the nature of our diverse species.
The urbanisation of people means that our busy lives and denoted towards comfort.
And comfort is a killer of outward creativity.
like nesting. The effects on the mind are like a shark having gorged itself on too much food.
There is a stasis, a docile quality – this content that everyone strives to achieve is barely recogniseable due to further natures within the humane persona. Enlivened by our own vague words. “Things” need doing. always.
Interpret how you will.
We are continuous. The brackets surrounding social life. And our own need to group and organise thoughts as they occur is a deep lying conceit of our own awareness.
We struggle to look inwards. Beyond the cover of our own book. We believe we have chapters.
We posit that the text is journalistic. Written by us, for us.
I think not. I think we are becomming more confused and have yet to attain a true picture of “where we are”.

If earth was a piece of coal.  How long will it take us and our ideas to transform our own realm into a diamond. Could it be that we never will and that our future rests in our own self immolation.

I rest my case by the door of the cafe. And hope there some answers and some interesting ideas to be scrabbled through in the not so distant future, before now is bracketed, and uncommunicably different, estranged and wild a thought. Bastardised and monacle’d over; right down the path.

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