It's amazing how often I find myself defending the earthly. I'm always arguing that we need to disregard religion or ceremony or tradition in the name of saving lives, of ending war and poverty and much preventable death.
It's part of Marxism: nothing comes from dreams. We're materialists, the lot of us.
I was saying this to John today: we don't understand the universe, and we don't understand the constructs we make to deal with it. There is no definition of art, for example, that satisfies us all. And we still don't really know how anything works, not really.
I was also saying this: I am a sceptic when it comes to reality. And a lot of other things, but reality is what I've been thinking about. I don't think it is possible to prove, at all, that the world- in the sense of the physical world, not the planet- is actually real. And that it may just be possible to prove that it isn't. Of course, you can't prove anything- but it's that feeling that you can never know. It's the sense that I can never, ever know the most basic thing about these things I interact with that has begun to drive me mad.
I keep feeling trapped by gravity. Like I can't move in enough dimensions.
Maybe I'm just tired. I don't really have reason to be.
http://www.anotherthirteenautumns.blogspot.com
2008-06-15 @ 16:34