From A Sand Castle to A Stone Palace -- Tweets and Blogs

A thought from a friend:

In my contemplation about me writing about something, and while I was writing a blog (that I wrote before this entry), I have further realized today the huge difference between blogs and tidbits of thoughts that go to various social-networking sites such as Plurk or Twitter.

"Nuggets of wisdom" only contain small flakes of knowledge, or thought in them. Yes, they can be expounded, but they will only expound once further thought is given unto them. A balloon won't inflate unless one breathes into them or pumps them air.

I have in the past reflected a lot of times about me not writing as much anymore compared to the first few years that I started this blog. Yes, I love writing, I love expressing my thoughts, and I love learning more about myself. But, it's not the type of love that I devote myself entirely to writing. I am not a writer by profession. I am not a writer by title. I am only a writer by want, and by choice.

My knack for writing continuously (in this blog) had come to a sort of hiatus starting the time that I felt like writing was a matter of impressing through expressing, expressing through the number of entries I write, and by expressing whenever I felt like something needs to be expressed, but couldn't be -- those that Wittgenstein claims should be treated with silence. "What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence" (Tractatus 7), but I still find myself struggling and forcing myself to speak out what cannot be spoken.

Another reason why I had lesser and lesser blog entries is because of the advent and the then-rising popularity of micro-blogging sites (Plurk, Twitter, etc.) -- they're now really popular (especially the latter). They greatly decreased my personal appeal to blogs, although I love them in essence. "Micro" as they were, they remained as small dots, and dashes, that just could not make a straight line. I'd be lucky enough to scoop my hands through them like dust, and hold them together for moments, until what's left of their diminishing number is a tiny mound of sand. Aside from the said reasons, I can't think of others, although there still might be more.

There's just a difference when you write a piece, your thoughts. There's a whole lot o learning. There is depth, and there is form. You don't just see the particles that make up something, you see what the particles create. You don't expect the pieces to create their selves on their own. You should be the one to piece them together with your own hands, not just your imagination. Your imagination is only the abstract of the extent or potentiality of them to become what they can be -- a whole piece. The most that we might make out of the snippets of our thoughts (Tweets, Plurks) would be Sand Castles. But, if we take a moment and give more time to actually think, and then write, we get the chance to learn more, create understanding, and generate knowledge. We build palaces that are either made up of wood, or even stone.

I am writing this because I believe I have found again and realized more about what the importance of writing is to me. I think I now understand more why I write, why I share, why I post. I am not promising more entries, because I know now that it is not about numbers. But, what I can promise is that I know what writing means to me now, after trying to search for what it means to me from the start.

Notes: the friend I was referring to is J. Miguel Quizon. Thank you very much for the thoughts on writing. Anticipating to learn more from you soon! :)

References about "silence" include:

- Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1953. Philosophical Investigations. Translated by G.E.M. Anscombe. Oxford: Basil Blackwell
- _____. 1974. Tractatus logico-philosophicus. Translated By D.F. Pears and B.F. McGuinness. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

How the Atmosphere Affects Us

Atmosphere, environment, and situations really affect the way you think and how you do the things that you love doing. That is what I've observed tonight.

I've been really pressured to put up something new on my personal blog recently. I just can't seem to "squeeze" out any fresh idea or something really original and not scripted. Scripted in such a way that I'm not just writing for the blogs to make me feel okay because there's a new post. It'll only be for the short term, if I do that. Because, posts that do not have a real connection with me are just like fillers. Like fake smiles that do not last. Like add-ons that you immediately forget after buying.

I've been through an upstair-downstair robot craze tonight and it really stresses me out. Technically, because I've just been through an accident and I've broken three of my left foot's weight-bearing bones. It's still not easy for me to go up and downstairs. I can only think to myself that they feel the way I feel being "pushed" around for some insensitive unimportant orders. It was really driving me to the brim of my humanly limits.

I went upstairs, after going through a stressful upstair-downstair errand mania, and some silent, serious thinking about a lot of things. I do think a lot -- I actually tend to think deviously -- when I feel really stressed out. Well now, I'm lucky enough to have a moment of peace and reflection. In fact, really fortunate to have the chance to bypass my fears of doing something and needing to do it out of fear. I'm talking about being able to express myself right now genuinely.

Things are much different now than it was maybe an hour ago or a few more. It's been long since I've stayed where I am right now -- alone in my converted-room-slash-bed, and silently & peacefully conversing with myself in a preserving way. I'm using the word 'preserve' because that is the way I treat The Day Writer. I treat it as a memorial of who I am throughout my ages.

I can only compare how the world I was in a few hours ago is a lot different than the isolated, protected incubator that I am in now. From there, I think I have decoded the reason behind my painful separation and break from being with my space, these sheets of intangible paper that I'm writing on.

The Dead

As I reflected on who I am, a thought entered me. I felt deep silence despite the noise and the music playing on my ears. It seems like my eyes flew that I suddenly looked through the eyes of the dead. The dead are to be envied. They are able to enjoy silence, peace, and bliss as they leave this life. They are no more yet they are not affected.

The following passages are results of that meditated thought.

The peaceful. The undisturbed.
The unhurt. The pacified.
The silent. The arbitrer.
The conscious no more. The dead.

The rested. The sound slumber.
The careless. The unbiased.
The frozen. The withdrawn soul.
The one fortunate. The dead.

The first bid. The precedent.
The ended. The immediate.
The goodbye. The departure.
The sole-forsaker. The dead.

The at-hand. The coming soon.
The certain. The imminent.
The horror. The apprehend.
The last catch of breath. The dead.

The repeat. The new reborn.
The juncture. The intertwined.
The raptured. The paradised.
The non-suffering. The dead.

Ripples

Ripples from the rain
Makes it okay
Small waves that they make
Make me forget all the pain

A still gaze of silence
The absence of motion
Except a drop from nowhere
Making all the notion

It stills my heart
Reminds me to breathe
And catch a glimpse
Of what made that mist

Shower over all of me
Wash away the uncertainty
Sprinkle in my eyes
And quench my thirst for sanity

I forget my cares
I begin to hear the sounds
I now fix my stare
See the beauty all around

I might have lost my soul
But only for a while
Makes me see daylight
Wake up and make things right

Pillows

In a dark cold night
Of tears and silence, dust
In a closed room of
Muted squeals of pain

Where no one else exists
Except a pillow, You
Where no one's there to hug
And no one's there for you

Tis' one friend left
One without a breath
But will carry you
The night of stars and blue

When you badly need that hug
But no one's there for you
There it would be
Still waiting, left for you

No matter how tight
Or you press on it so cruel
Would it never try react
It's just a simple tool

A pillow's a dear friend
There when you're in need
When you're all alone it is
By your side, will give you peace

To guide you in your sleep
And sponge up all your tears
Is just a deed it do
It's always there for you