Yes I do acknowledge the default position, place or situation forced down our throats by fate. In a nyakanyaka-mathatha situation wherein you don’t get to choose your birth country, race, sex even your parents one may find solace in the thought that if all is not well to your liking it is worthwhile to crawl towards the fanciful. An eastern sage, I read elsewhere, says everything that exists is cooked up in the mind. I am not so sure about mathematical problems though. However I hold dearly to the thought that we are animals of ‘belonging’ we want to be a part of a certain group or something, that’s our titillation. And by default we are a result of a particular ‘belong’ even if not of our choosing. All else from there onwards is negotiated.
We should include loved ones in our life’s timeline. This will inevitably allow us to invoke their memories much better.
For the new version of the text to survive it must attempt and hold its own ground as an entirely new work with its own fair share of audiences behind it. If it achieves this it would enter the annals of cultural artifacts that survive time itself.
And when an artist has met their demise the world would marvel wide eye awed by the genius of their work. The critic will evoke their deeds when he sets out to make sense of it all, while the art historian attempts to wedge that creative's life into the fabric of our memory might just …
His eyes took the scene in. He saw a woman walking into the picture plane from the left with a flat huge bowl balanced on her head. She was about to cross paths with a Reverend in dressed in black complete with a hat from whose right hand a walking cane issued. Just behind them two men, while on a stroll were talking. One of them who was wearing a white shirt seem animated as his right hand stretched out to emphasise what he was saying to his companion. Just behind the pair was a man who seemed like a labourer entering the scene from the top right pushing a wheelbarrow. Moje’KJoe noted that should one draw a line between the woman entering the scene from the bottom left of the viewer, the one with a flat container on her head, and the Reverend; they will experience a perfect straight line. However when that line is extended to the two men taking a stroll the line will extend from the Reverend diagonally even if its straightness can be maintained until it reached the man pushing the wheel barrow. The man pushing the wheel barrow cannot take this line further since the wall behind him delimits the line’s extension in this direction. The line dies here or rather it acutely changes direction here. Besides the direction of the wheelbarrow and the man move the eyes back into the picture plane.
But for now we will keep the jotterjollyjoy on a low key lest we forget the blues of the start of this odd year something. We will evade boredom. Take tagging on an internautical sphere – the internet that is. Especially if you are a fan of the social network that draws you in ‘like it’ or ‘no like’. But because at a certain point you did sign up for that social media account and went about rallying a few friends or searched for them and hooked up with some good looking not so harmful peeps in the midst of all things considered in the mediated space you are bound to be tagged (pheww full stop). Inbox: so and so have tagged you on their foto. Notification: so and so would like to tag you in their photo.
From your limited choice will come experience and this is a guarantee. A sign of maturity will show when you have worked it out for your self what works for you. Whether you will go the dried fruit range in the next shopping spree in pursuit of good health and miss out self indulgence in things all good and hazardous or perhaps you will brave it and pursue the experience of the galaxy of tasty sweetness - the certainty of the matter in this feeble plot is that for some time you’ll be stuck with your choice.