“Our logic is full of holes...
I can see the bubbles.”
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void* Randomness ( )
/* How are you gentlemen? All your James Joyce are belong to us! */
{
/* February 27, 2006 */
/* It's raining, and I've been reading "Fisherman" again...

Damn contradictions. They're everywhere. I love them and I hate them, heh. Life is like a succession of riddles with no solution. Not puzzles, because puzzles have some kind of underlying logic and - generally - a solution or an answer.

Words, words, words.

Even white noise, the most painfully honest thing in the world, contains all opposites really bar one - because noise itself, by being, contradicts the silence. I'm not sure that it's even possible to have meaning without opposition - even tally marks, though unary in operation, have an oppositional, contrasting effect from the material from which they stand out.

It is interesting that in formal, mathematical languages (I don't count mathematical notation itself, though Jimmy can rant about that one much more convincingly than I can) the directions in which the opposites go are quite clear; simple algebra may derive its power (linguistically, not mathematically) from the introduction of the concept of a 'variable', and the means to unify variables and constants - or, more generally, a means of knowing what you don't know. In natural languages, though, the opposites are wilder, like trying to do hairdressing on a yak; but that's OK, we are allowed to be confused, humanity can be considered to be a state of confusion. All that the mathematics and the sciences tend to do is push it down to the point where the confusion is in the assumptions, and so long as you accept those then the rest follows... but to deny the confusion is, I think, dangerous.

Enough maths.

Humans, poor lost creatures that we are, seem to live always in two worlds at once; the world inside our heads only barely touches the world outside. And yet we know that we are one being, split somehow between these two, and never understanding either. We can never understand ourselves or, really, be at peace with ourselves; partly because we sit like bubbles on the water of our unconscious, and partly due to the old logical principle that one cannot take a photo of a box with a camera inside that box.

I think that, to be whole, you have to be broken. Or have to have been, maybe. Whether what you are is what you are or what you are and have been is not a question that I know how to answer, at all - more, I'm not sure it's a question to which there is any kind of meaningful answer.

Love also I think should be a - not exactly contradiction, more like a - completion, which is probably just a nice way of saying "contradiction", but hey. The whole idea of 'two becoming one' is so deep inside the mind that one can't really quantify it.

Maybe that's why I hate and love story so much; love for its beauty and contradictoriness, and hate and fear for its arbitrariness, its inescapability, its inevitability. Story is destiny, and it's a one-way trip, and not one we really have any control over. Not that that is, necessarily, unwelcome, but still.

Lights in darkness. Moving lights in darkness.

Our hopes, too, are candles, fragile and human, and yet (heh, opposition) dancing and mocking the darkness. Tiny flames, but determined, come hell or high water. Lighting a candle for a hope, or for a person, is a powerful symbol, I think. It brings the incomprehensibility of emotions closer to being understandable; it lives and it dances and it enlightens, and brings belief and reality closer together. Sometimes I think I live through symbols.

I'm not really good at hope. I'm not really used to it. But I think I have some at the moment.

Thank you. */
return 0;
}

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