Tuesday, July 22, 2014
I've been reading my brain into a dribbling mess. It feels bruised. But strangely, not just because I've been reading so much, but because I haven't had the stimulation of streamlined productivity in awhile. I'm coming to think that the lack of proper work for the brain is as tiring, if not more so, than the abundance of it. Sometimes the new stimulation of productivity just comes from a new angle on what is already present, but I find that often enough, I feel as though I'm starving for new experiences, a new store of revelation and point of views to get a mental adrenaline rush from. Honestly, sometimes my brain says--is there not anything new at the moment? Come on, show me something new. Send my suppositions, assumptions, perceptions for whirl. Life, dance with me for a moment.
Ah, the dance. Sweet addiction. It makes you understand why so many authors traveled extensively. Studied widely. (The second of which I do myself--endless curiosity provides you the trail to many answers).
And I also suppose you're also asking what the point of the post is. A very logical question. I was asking it myself--and the answer is I don't have a clue. Perhaps it's just an expression.
~Elora Carmen Shore
"This case alone ought to destroy the absurd fancy that these modern philosophies are modern in the sense that the great men of the past did not think of them." ~ Chesterson
P.S. I meant to publish this the other day--since then, I've been making some progress. That's just how it goes. ;)