I'm listening to: Patty Griffin - The Long Ride Home

Old but always new. I don't think you truly know the object of your contemplation; not that I do, but you don't see how it takes on different faces.

Is this a paradox? When defined by the Other, it seems neither leaves any room for its antithetic. When you capture a moment and stow it away, 'new' and 'old' are compounded as a palimpsest within its metaphysical element. You will recall how stepping into a foreign environment felt, and later contrast it with an acquired familiarity and heavily blunted sensitivity. The first experience, as if petrified in some psychic dimension, will always intrinsically retain its newness, even as it ages along another chronological dimension. In other words, equivocating these concepts (just a little) to allow them to operate under different contexts (i.e. means to various entailing consequences) can negate the apparent paradox.

The distinctions we so painstakingly draw and fight tooth and nail to maintain don't mean as much as we'd like, or at least in the way we'd expect. How this can be observed needs no elaboration whatsoever, but the constant violation and upheaval of psychological territorial lines is both painful and unnecessary. My opinion therefore favors a healthy degree of disengagement - in every sense of the word - in the face of this ambiguity.



Ain't nothing left at all in the end of being proud
With me riding in this car, and you flying through the clouds

I've had some time to think about you
And watch the sun sink like a stone