Reading Log (Epic)

This entry not only is a reading log but to me it meant far more.

It was in France when the feeling to write something down took over.
My family and I were there for holiday in a nice, small appartment 500 metres from the sea. For the weather did not play its part very well and also because I took lots of english literature ('Death of a Salesman', 'Long Day's Journey into Night', 'A Streetcar named Desire' – to tell the best ones) with me I brought myself to continue reading BNW. Two hours later I finished it once more, but this time I more understood it! Maybe even the way Huxley wanted me to understand: Not only what is basically written, but to incorporate and feel the connection of the book to your own life.

To be honest, I do not like books with weak self – esteem characters and a pretty boring plot which I only follow to get to the author's conclusion and philosophy at the end of it, compare it with my own and put the whole thing back in the shelf which is full of long forgotten things. BNW unfortunately is written that way...
Even though I did not put it in the shelf nor forgot about it. Not because Huxley's writing skills are so impressive for they are not and only raised by Shakespeare quotations. But because the french sun, the books I read short before, the music that tootled out of my sisters Ipod Dockstation and all the stuff that comes to your mind if you and the time permit it, got me in a mood of total inanity and I felt the void creeping around.
That was when I could not stand it any more and started to write as if the hell broke loose. After all she did not but when I finished after 3 pages, I had to read them over and over carefully to make out what I actually wrote.
And what I wrote came straight from the horses mouth, straight from my soul- proven by the confused writing I found myself confronted with. All I could think of in that moment was: 'Wow' I suppose this was some kind of maniac fit or something.
Now I do not want you to be waiting and I guess my explanations will do so far that I can commence with what is essential: My thoughts! (Besides in real life one thing always misses: Background music!)

First, to make it absolutely clear: My thoughts are my thoughts, no one elses. And if I would stop right now................................................................................................................................................................
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Quite right: blank page, chapter closed and forgotten, thank you for the show!

But I do not stop and will never stop to tell what I am thinking, what I am really up to -weather, coffee time and leisure, they are nothing but a mockery!

Those are just parts of something to keep you alive! To keep the engine running: oil, gas, the chassis and the windows. But in the end the word that keeps all the spare parts together is car and it drives on every road you wish.
Now all the feelings that makes you human: love and hate, joy and sadness- all that makes you have a life with which you can do whatever you want. The reason why you strive to keep the parts together.
And now I wonder: What if the reason to live is not to feel that you're living and not to drive on the road to uncertainty. What if the sole purpose to live is
to build the road and having no one to drive on it?

What sense would life have?

If there is only nonsense blubbering about tar and rollers and the world keeps on turning to the very end.

My intention to write this was the same Helmholtz Watson had:
The feeling to have something to say that is more than just...whatever!
I only write because I am somebody – not just anybody who has nothing to say! I matter and what I say matters. If to no one else, at least to me:

Cogito, ergo sum! - I think, so I am!

What if I do not have to say anything? -
because you do not want to say something -
because they condition you to say nothing!

Would the stupid chatting still be enough to count for Déscartes (The french guy who said the latin stuff)?

I say NO!

Tomorrow these thoughts could already be gone if I had not written them down.
If I would die, I would bury them with me.
If I am no more, these thoughts matter a damn -
But what would I matter if there were no such thoughts?

I think, if a society gets this far, nothing matters anymore:
I could be gone, anybody could be gone.
Whereas animals - who have no such thougts - are necessary to keep the world alive, mankind is the odd one out, dispensable.

If a man only lives to keep his world, the society alive, he himself is of no importance anymore (GDR had very high suicide rates, China the highest ever since and suicide is the #5 cause of death ).
Society is just an invented word with better connotations than imposed identity, forced community (We are talking about extremes of course). But what should community and society exist for if not for the individual? If I would be of no importance and live solely for communities best, then I live for something I myself invented to...yes, what for? To live so that my invention exists? I only exist to keep it alive?
But if this would be our reality there is virtually nothing but a lie, a fake!
Everythings fate falls with the individual. In the Brave New World nobody cares about that fact...and the world keeps on turning, just like Mars and Venus, all those dead planets.

THIS IS NOT THE LIFE WE WERE MADE FOR !

For life is more than just jollie happiness and mere being

Life is the embrace after a fight
Life means keeping your face in the darkest night
And we cry of friendly joy and evil fright!

If you now think I would tell you how to live, you have not understood at all!




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'So long as there are men, there will be wars.'
-Albert Einstein