There was one a way in which the entire world could becaome illuminated in a certain light-as Camus said, I revert to old words I had once read...-'that with each mood there lies an entire universe of feeling.' That everything becomes seen in a new light given the underlying mood affecting the perceptions-the apperceptions. So, without feeling can I then conclude that there is simply no universe? Or that the universe merely exists as it is to be seen before my eyes?...Images can pass by unnoticed when seen without feeling or impulse to interpret in a certain light. Seems to me to be the case...For, here I find myself surrounded by new frameworks, and all new faces-wiaitng for the storm still to come sweeping down these streets and knock me off my feet to send me gasping for air on a water slide without the slightest plateau for momentary repose....I postiviely expected something greater to overcome my psychic life. Whether or not meaning can come by storm I am yet to demonstrate with my actions. If anything, this move has made me more doubtful of the possibility of the more poetic notion of meaning which I long to believe in; that very one I am seemingly unable to articulate properly; without analogy; that meaning which overcomes us and conquers our capacity to construe...for without my own inward storm-or inward push in a certain direction then it seems that all will continue to mean nothing to me-very little to me at least.
And, when I gage the degree in which something can mean something, what I am doing is most accurately determinging its strength by the degree or significance of feeling with which it comes accompanied; and what I have felt over the past few weeks is very little; slightly out of place at best. As if still waiting for my self to arrive in the mail in order to digest as Bart did his soul in order to feel whole again. But, there have been many sights which pass before my eyes, and I am sort of this spoiled kid who sees them and wonders when the feeling of significance will arise.
But, there is nothing amazing falling from the sky despite how pretty the snow looks from time to time. I can recognize the beauty, 'someone would say that looks quite pretty' i think to myself-'if only she were here to enjoy it for me; to reassure me of the belief that aesthetic beauty in nature can in fact be enjoyed with the eyes without requiring some sort of epressional articulation in order to become meaningful.' I unfortunately can seemingly not overcome this human need...in the movie, the snow falling bares significance, and the joy lies not in simply looking upon the sight but upon perpetually re-interpreting the significance the symbol bares to the development of the story and the character's emotions. The auteur meant something by this shot, it is the intention when properly conveyed that possesses the capacity to break one's heart-intentionless beauty lacks any sort of affect. There is a beautiful girl-what am I in a positon to do with this pereception?.... very little; for my heart seemingly remains a crucial tool in allowing for such sights to make an impact-the impact as of late is complacency, a sort of desperation in order to be desired as a means of re-assurance that I am still in fact as desirable as I once percieved myself to be in the smaller place from which I came. But, there remains my heart, in a suit case perhaps, locked with a code that I remain to afraid to recall in order to free-for the safety in which the confines of the darkness in the box bring to me is very hard to will myself to leave-it simply hurts too much to let go of things from the past whose meaning I have come to understand in some synthetic intuitive sense. So, maybe I have seen the most beautiful girls in the world-maybe I have not...I'm not entirely sure-does that render me asexual? This thing I'm describing...no, for the desire remains a voice, an inclination upon seeing such sights-the point I merely try to make, is that intentionality does in fact bare resonance with how I am capable of interpreting-......in a sentence-the moral restrictions placed upon potential intentionality; the significane with which potential meanings become less feelable. For, I suppose, what I want is not merely to appreciate the contours of something and place a stamp of beauty upon it. I want to fall in love with it. I want to render it soft. I want it to become my own. I want to imagine the infinitude of potentialities which accompany the sight; I want to complicate it, impregnate it with meaning-I have seemingly said to myself though, that this is not an option-thus, such sights pass before me and I am unable to even place myself in a position so to warrant becoming overcome by something powerful.....If I am struck, then so i shall be; this, that would fill me with such torment would surely strike joy in me as well-for the fact would remain; that I were still a lover of lovely things in an intuitive way. Surely, I still am, but if I cannot possess and bring into my own in the fullest sense then I still remain slightly complacent toward the larger significance which i long for-
As I started, there was once a way in which it could all become meaningful-the previous way was by pouring everything outward onto the frameworks surroundings me via some articulation in a kind of blue. There was seemingly an infinite well of sadness with which I could tap into; but utilizing this option requires some kind of acknowledgement of a burn which I do not necesarilyl feel anymore; or have upon me in order to become conscious of...surely there is so much there, but going down those roads can also lead to a lack of clarity...but without a feeling to inspire intentionality, then the ability to articulate becomes inhibited-for without an initial stratum from which intentionality might spring, then there lies a lack of justifcation for any persuasion in any certain direction....a feeling is what is requited to dictate the path of an either/or. For, principles can be justified by other principles endlessly, but whether or not I care about the principles in order to place them higher on the hierarchy of things then I remain careless...For, so many principle can bare the same sound reasoning, the same logical validity; an endless line of propositions could bare these same stamps of soundess and validity; what I choose to justify each would remain arbitrary; unless I gave precendence to a feeling; though that too could be considered some kind of maxim, which would then require more justification.... it stops with me though; what I feel; why? because I'm human, this is the foundation...fluid sure, for feelings are genetic. Life is perpetual becoming.