Beauty

As an atheist, I think I've often struggled to explain to people that a world that has only evolved by chance is not devoid of beauty. There is a beauty in how rare it is that we exist at all. and similarly, there is a beauty in the uniqueness of human interaction.

One of the best examples I have found in literature to explain the beauty of our world is in the graphic novel Watchmen, during a conversation between two of the main characters, Doctor Manhattan (a superhero created from radiation basically, a man that can control physics with his will and generally fails to understand people because of his inability to think without logic) and Laurie (his estranged wife) on the planet mars. After losing Laurie, Doctor Manhattan decides he has noting else tying him to the human race, so he retreats to Mars, Laurie hopes to convince him to come home. Laurie has just found out that her father is in fact a man she has hated her whole life.

I've taken this conversation from a script on the internet of the Watchmen movie:

          LAURIE
          The comedian is my father. I guess my
         life is just one big joke.

          DR. MANHATTAN
          I don't think your life is a joke.

          LAURIE
          Well, of course you're going to say that.

          DR. MANHATTAN
          But I've changed my mind. There are
         miracles in your world that are worth
         preserving.

          LAURIE
          What? But you were saying--


          DR. MANHATTAN
          I tried to explain. Thermodynamic
         miracles--events with odds against so
         astronomical, like oxygen turning into
         gold. I have longed to witness such a
         thing and yet I neglect that in human
         coupling, millions upon millions of cells
         compete to create life over generation
         after generation: Until finally, your
         mother loves a man--Edward Blake, the
         Comedian--a man she has every reason to
         hate. And out of that contradiction,
         against unfathomable odds, it was you,
         only you, that emerged. To distill so
         specific a form from all of that chaos;
         Your creation is like... turning air
         into gold. A miracle.

          LAURIE
          But if my birth is a miracle you, you
         could say that about anyone.

          DR. MANHATTAN
          Yes, anyone in the world. But the world
         is so crowded with miracles that they
         become commonplace and we forget. I
         forget.

         They stand there in silence. Connected for the first time in
          years.

          DR. MANHATTAN
          Now. Dry your eyes.
      

          DR. MANHATTAN
          And let's go home.

Fighting

I wrote this tonight after thinking about arguments. I've written about before (and then later taken the post down) about how after fighting with some people, I've felt like I meant nothing to them because of how hard we'd fought. I felt like if they wanted to keep me around, maybe they would have been a bit more restrained. I then thought about some of the arguments I've started in my own life and how often I fight to the death as well. I just hope people understand that I do care, I just believe in honesty more than I believe in keeping the peace/things being easy.

If there's anything I've started to realise these days,
it's that by nature I'm more fighter than lover, you could say.
I've spent a lifetime trying to change it,
but I still can't always beat it.
I doubt it helps that I have this chip on my shoulder,
from a year spent living as a constant fold-er.
It all fucks with my head,
and makes me lash out when I sense a threat.

Because so often it gets lost in the storm of the day to day,
there's something important I want to say:

That just because I fight with you and I fight hard,
doesn't mean that I don't care immensely.
I may hate it sometimes, but I believe in our honesty.
It's rewarding, even if it isn't easy.

With Every Intention

the Ocean

Why does the feeling of extreme clarity only ever appear in the calm water after a crippling storm?

Why does the beacon of absolute truth only shine on the horizon in the early hours of the morning, when half the time it's already too late for anyone to be saved?

A Danger to Myself and Others

I've been really digging the new Most Precious Blood album lately. It ticks all the boxes of a good hardcore album: heavy, angry and decently intelligent. These are the lyrics to the first song 'A Danger to Myself and Others', they're a bit bleak to start with, but I dig the sentiment at the end:

This is my most heartfelt spit in the face
to every one of you who represent this place.
Every word is a knife between the ribs
of every single member of the fucking human race.
Live day by day because life is cold.
It's apathetic and ill-disposed.
No one makes the promise that you'll survive.
When death sees fit to close your eyes it keeps them closed.
This is a place only for those who endure and recognize
the simplest law of nature: you die if you don't grow.
The law of these times: abandon all hope.

Running

life feels like a constant battle between heart and mind
preaching robotic logic while struggling to get out of bed on time
fueled by self blame and self loathing
chased by a constant fear of failing
as I run from the present, run from the past
failing to realise, the writing's already on the glass
drunk with purpose, seeing in black and white
claiming to hate arrogance, still thinking I'm right
judge my enemies, judge my friends
claim to want peace, but won't let the issues end
cut the brakes so there's no way out
it's either hit the wall or ride it out

oh harro

I haven't posted a real blog in ages it seems. Tonight I was looking through a new pile of records I had and I found some really cool lyrics in a place I wasn't really expecting to find cool, personal lyrics, the last Remembering Never album. About feeling like you're nothing, but at the same time accepting it and moving on with things I guess.

"Please Don't Let My Mother Read This"

From the bottom of the barrel
And I'm still here
We all would like to think that we are more important than we are
I am nothing
It's not hard to understand
I've known it all along since birth
I've never had a sense of pride
I've never had a shred of hope
Believing in myself would be the death of my sincerity
Kill the lights
Face to face with myself
I know that I am nothing
Face to face with myself
I am nothing
This isn't a cry for help
This isn't reaching out
I wonder what this life would be like without me
This isn't even close to my suicide note

Dead Ends

Some days there just seems to be no motivation. Not a single thought in my head seems homogeneous enough to yield even a line of worthy prose.

You know what?

It's almost humourous how rude I can be to myself some days.

Lights Out

A finale is a finale. No open ended cliffhanger endings. No director's cuts. No sequels. Certainly no remakes.

Why is it so hard to create new ideas that we're instead content with making a mockery of old ones?