Fragmentarium

by SULI QYRE

  • 32. The Name Of The Poet

    It was impossible for me not to feel excited when you told me you liked to read. Books are my favourite things. You asked me what sorts of books I read and I enthusiastically listed a number of authors at random. You told me you’d read some of them — two or three, or maybe it was four. I was so happy to hear it that I couldn’t properly process your words.

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  • 31. My Nature Is Change

    The world is constantly changing. What is formed dissolves. What is alive dies. What is built falls apart. Some things last longer than others, but nothing lasts forever.

    Against this truth, I try to create something permanent, something I can rely on, something that will outlast change itself. Perhaps I do this because I can see that I am also constantly changing. My life is short — my body will decay and fall apart and my personal consciousness will eventually come to an end. I want to halt this process. I want to stabilize my existence. I want to preserve what I have.

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  • 30. Happy Or Joyful

    Happiness and joy are not the same thing.

    Happiness comes from satisfying my desires, from getting what I want, from living the life that I want. Happiness is rational and so it can be explained and justified. When I am happy, there is a reason I am happy. Happiness is a result — it is what I get when I am successful.

    Joy comes when I am actively doing something and only while I remain active. It arises without reason or justification and stays regardless of circumstance, struggle, or pain. It is inexplicable and irrational. An action that provides no joy one day could bring joy the next. Joy can even arise from an action that also brings pain and unhappiness.

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  • 29. Today's Poems Are Tomorrow's Language

    Poetry is powerful because it takes us beyond the reaches of our everyday language. A poem is a text that points at something outside of it, something for which words are not enough.

    The more we use language, the more we find ourselves trapped inside it, unable to find the words to express what we want to say, and as such, unable to communicate our meaning to others. To escape this prison, we write poems — tricks of language that indicate the thing in question without ever naming it. This trickery is not always successful, which makes writing effective poetry difficult.

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  • 28. The Artwork That Changes The World

    You’re nobody’s fool. You’re not about to go through life with blinders on. You’re paying attention to everything that is happening, to your life and to the world. You see all of the forces in play, all of the patterns.

    Everything seems to be pushing you towards conformity. Bribing you to take the path of least resistance. Asking you to accept the world just as it is. Everyone tells you that if you just go along with the way they do things, then you’ll have a happy and pleasant life.

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  • 27. Uncertainty Is

    Certainty seems beyond my reach. My knowledge of the world is always limited, always finite, always subjective. To claim certainty would imply I have somehow managed to transcend these limitations. But this kind of transcendence does not seem possible for a human being like me. There is always some degree of uncertainty that remains in everything I know. To say I am certain would be a lie.

    When I am dishonest, I suffer because I am forced to battle with reality itself. I try to live out my lies against reality, but reality is ruthless and it always wins. I want to be certain because I have needs that must be satisfied and satisfying those needs is far more feasible in an environment of relative certainty, where I can know what worked yesterday will also work today. To the extent that I desire my continued existence, I also desire certainty. Anxiety arises whenever I encounter the very real uncertainty that opposes my desire, and so I suffer.

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  • 26. The Last One He Will Ever Read

    The old clock in the kitchen says it’s almost nine when he finally gets home. He was at work for over ten hours, plus the time to commute there and back. Now, he is exhausted. He showers quickly and eats leftovers from the fridge before collapsing onto the couch. He wants to sleep, but he knows it will be impossible. Despite his exhaustion, his mind refuses to slow down. It is still running at full speed, replaying today’s events and imagining tomorrow’s problems. He considers turning on the TV to distract him. It would give him a virtual world to fall into, a world built out of blitzes of image and sound that would occupy his mind until it finally surrenders and allows him to sleep. But he does not actually want this. He does not want more noise and activity. What he really wants is clarity. But lying here and ruminating on his life does nothing to make things clearer. He needs something to calm his mind. He ponders the problem but finds no solution, and so he decides to stop thinking about it. He will just do something. He picks up a book he has been reading. He opens it and looks at the words and realizes he doesn’t want to read. The book feels burdensome and the text looks oppressive and unwelcoming. Even so, he continues to stare at the page. He finds himself scanning the words, skipping to the place where he left off. He reads without intention, absent of any goal. He does not even know if he will make it beyond this page. He takes in each sentence as though it were the last one he will ever read. He examines it carefully, much more carefully than he ordinarily would, allowing it to fully occupy his mind. He reads it again and again, letting its meaning sink into him. Finally his attention dries up and he moves to the next sentence. And then the next. Eventually he comes across a sentence that is more interesting than the others. It seems to have multiple meanings and he is unable to settle on just one. He starts to take the sentence apart, moving the words around and replacing them with others. He plays this game with the words until his attention finally drifts to the next sentence. He continues on like this, considering everything carefully, imagining the full scope of possibility created by the language. Soon his mind grows tired. He reads only a page or two before he settles into the bliss of dreamful sleep.

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  • 25. Critical And Creative

    The critical spirit looks at what already exists and questions it. The creative spirit looks beyond what already exists and searches for something new.

    The critical spirit compares reality to an ideal. The creative spirit attempts to manifest an ideal by bringing it into reality.

    The critical spirit discovers problems and performs investigations. The creative spirit explores possible solutions and performs experiments.

    The critical spirit sees particulars as limited and subject to revision. The creative spirit sees the whole as limitless and complete in itself.

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  • 24. Shifting Meanings

    Language is based on agreement. You and I can communicate only insofar as we agree on the meanings of the words we use. If you judge one of the words to have a different meaning than I judge it to have, then I will not be able to communicate what I intend by using that word. Similarly, if I use a word that has no recognizable meaning for you, then I will not communicate anything at all, since for you it will be literal nonsense.

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  • 23. The Right Direction

    We put enormous emphasis on optimizing quantities. Our attention is shackled to screens where we make certain numbers go up and other numbers go down. We want to measure everything so that we can control and optimize it. The benefit of this is that we are able to fulfill our material needs more efficiently and with less effort.

    But by doing so, we begin to think only about quantities. We create incentives to sacrifice quality in order to obtain better quantitative results. We become so focused on measuring and optimizing, on increasing efficiency and productivity, that we stop thinking about what is happening to us in our day-to-day lives.

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