/ 19:26, September 16, 2011 (UTC)

There once was a writer with a slash in a letter in his name who professed himself a creed: Either/Or

Either and or or

Funny guy

He died

We all do

Thus does it make me ask: How would we view death if it was only a trait of the few?

It depends on how death picked. If only the ruling class could elect themselves for death, the working class might stir in their chains and demand it for themselves

If it was administered by the tax collector, there would be no such desire. It’d be available to anyone who cared. Anyone who might complain would soon be dead, and thus incapable of complaining

Slashed off the list

This is one of my issues with philosophy: The silent philosophy has no public relations

The same relates to suicide. The only supporters around to debate the point with are not knowledgeable on the supporting points to be dead themselves

No empathy. Only sympathy. Sympathy debates against my point. I debate against my own points too

Such level headed rationalism is a burden sensationalists are able to advertise without

Someone stands around in a street corner trying to sell peanuts for chestnuts. They are cast aside and silenced, though not before some angry shouts demand freedom from those who have applied their freedom freely against the freedom of those who only wish they were free

Strange dreams have painted my disposition while reading. Thus are my past arguments revised. In the past I’ve cited the halting problem as an example that time is determinite only in so far as it can execute itself. Here is a more humanistic approach: consciousness is the basis for that thing which paradoxes require: recursion. It’s through recursion that answers can exist without being computable. Experience is only the perception of some iteration, which the next moment will contradict

This gives some pretty words:

Time is a series of contradictions

Thus can a person not exist in one moment, become in the next, change thereafter, and cease now

Here I am

You’ven’t any time

I’ll be here anytime. Or so I’ll say for now

Forever. How short a timespan

This moment has always been. Thus is it forever. No time to stop and look though, time moves forwards. Here’s the next moment:

Curtains half closed/open. Blinds half down/up. Chairs half in/out. Occupants half asleep/awake. Moment half over. Sun half risen/set. Moon half phased. Trees half dead. Glass half empty/full

Over to the next:

Closed/Open. Down/Up. In/Out. Asleep/Awake. Risen/Set. Phased. Dead. Empty/Full. Over

Phase to death. All goes black. The lid is shut. The body is set to rest. Moments never last

Return is hit. Throat is slit. Slit to slash

Flash to the next photographs:

Gray door labeled 102 with handle near third of tall height under dark window under round caged light surrounded by pale brick and tall unevenly four paned windows reflecting sky in front of chip lawn of red flowers in low right + two short conniferouses + bush + left alley gated wood

Clouds above crow on box lights above hosts garage 1307 backed by metal with tree to left akin to telephone pole left of crow crow pole behind tree with yellow sticker and 9 loosely fitted between crow pole and telephone pole is a house with right clear left trees

Snowy rear of black hair blown in west lot between two trees lined with third are cars blue beige past carrying light brown bag at right side gloved with new coat by two cars left front of trianglular sign with another poking and another off far while farther is train crane seven telephone poles foliage

Like I said: Slit to slash

• more

An infinite series. Of contradictions. eg This was that. This is only this. Nothing more

& that’s that

Split it open: Back to things that aren’t themselves: Myself

It’s you or me

Nobody can decide. Selfish bastard selects herself

The slightest whisper, breathed only with the lips of others:

Neither

I keep ending this and then feeling there’s more to say. It ended back when I declared that time is a series of contradicting points. It ended now. Some split where one ends and the other continues. What moments have diverged from happy ends?

When did I miss my exit?