||[Sep. 18th, 2003|05:47 pm]
Why is it that we are affected so much by something so small? Maybe it is the writer, something so great expressing itself in a tiny way but echoing, resounding, growing and expanding through the knowledge connected with the same, implicit not explicit, a lossless compression technique embedded in our brains and the spaces between them. Or maybe the references, obvious and hidden, unconscious and conscious, agonised over and lightly tossed out, for both the writer and the reader; and what correlation is there? Things that to one person are meaning-free, a constellation of pointillism, form when seen from another point of view, through another filter, a complete circle. Things taken out of context can be incomprehensible; and there are so many levels of context that to really understand you have to be identically the same as the originator, that being which even five seconds of entropy eradicates. But continuation is always the rule; no going back, nothing to be lost, everything is important. Who knows whether something was designed or sprang, fully-formed (in as much as it is), out of the head of its originator? Whittled to the elegant shape to achieve its effect or just happening to be like that, and we only notice it because it worked but forget about the million-and-a-half ones that tried but failed? Is it anyway a transient or a steady-state, and on which derivative? And does forgetting about it make it any less true?|
Or maybe it's just tiredness, the beginning of a virus, a momentary disturbance, perfectly understandable, and all you need is a good cup of tea and a biscuit.