songofcopper: (gaze)
What do we do almost without ceasing? Even while asleep, or in meditation? We PERCEIVE. Information washes up upon the shores of our flesh, and we have feelings about it. It is impossible to say whether this is important or useful or significant in the grand scheme of the Kosmos, but it’s a phenomenon that is unavoidably ongoing.

Even if your conscious mind goes bye-bye, your brain is still doing it regardless.

Often, we value our various perceptive experiences very subjectively. (And why not; what else is a perceiver to do? Perception can never be truly unbiased.) We consider that sitting around in our underwear staring at an empty crisp packet is somehow less instructive or enlightening than climbing to the top of a green hill and remarking the horizon. Personally, I don’t want to exclude the possibility that the sight of a humble crisp packet might nudge my perceptive faculties towards some kind of life-enhancing comprehension of… something. But on the other hand, I happen to live in one of the most beautiful regions of our silly little fool of a planet, so I may as well put on outdoor clothes and wander around in it.

(Yes, our planet is a silly little darling. Other, more sensible planets are seemingly little disposed to bother with the confounding and sticky business of hosting life. ‘What on Earth for?!’ is the only reasonable reaction to the presence of life, really. Perceivers seem to like having reasons for things, but there needn’t be a reason. We cherish the question ‘Why?’ when we might be happier fellows if we prioritised ‘How?’ instead. Anyway - for no discernible reason, You and I Exist. Shall we shrug and humbly enjoy it together?)

Ecce: my weekend has included the imposition of Me upon several landscapes. On Saturday we took the train to Exmouth and then got the bus to Budleigh Salterton, before strolling back to Exmouth along the coastal path. I definitely, thoroughly recommend this. Here are some photographs which shall speak in tongues for eyes to hear. ;-)


The beach at Budleigh Salterton wore shades of silver and steel in the morning. It was so still that there no waves. The sea was mute, flat as a puddle of mercury. We passed various kiosks, just starting to open up. It felt as though the place was waiting for enough human beings to turn up before switching itself back on.


Wandering with eyes open )


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This journal is not a private diary, it is more like an occasional, imaginary column. Therefore, much of it is on public display. However, if you want to read my occasional attempts at creative writing, my Caution Elf tells me I should only show that stuff to my friends. You know what to do. :-)

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