Why is it that when my brain is running low on juice my first instinct is to make posts on my blog? I for one do not know the answer to that question.
So where was I?
Tonight, well specifically this morning (1:57AM) I am on my computer. Yes, well that is to say irrevocably yet in a very stable and demonstrable manner. My computer has been getting mixed up lately and I have not been able to use it properly. It is quite aggravating actually, to wait for so many a moment just to get that specific data to be added to your knowledge only to be held up by a whatchamacall it box that says error, or maybe even making a cold reboot only to sigh on a rather great denial to make assignments, or just plain reading.
Seriously, on another note, I for one have to wonder about what it takes to be featured, although I am do not consistently view blogs, I would have to say that some people out there, I believe, make more comprehensive posts than many of those featured. Such vichyssoise of nonsense of blogs maybe funny to some but sometimes I would have to say it's not, or maybe I'm just lacking a sense of humor? I certainly hope it's not the latter.
And yet why am I still typing? Is it because I choose to? It is obviously because I chose to. What I am here to discover is why I chose to continue typing. I asked this question because this dialog box keeps coming out saying that there's an error in a program and it needs to restart, and everytime I have to click on the cancel button and it's getting on my nerves.
Reasoning is a very powerful tool, yes, but without proper information to make inferences from is just folly. I can remember that there was a time when I could see past masks that people wear so they can conceal their real selves. I cannot do so anymore and it pains me to not understand what is going on at the back of their minds. They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul, which is where I usually start; but what I saw, was such a sad sight. Beneath many a mask I have seen was a person, either hiding or trapped in a cage. One was trying to hide from the world, the other caged because of fear of disapproval. There was a time that I even had the patience for each and every masked individual and maybe felt a little love for the person beneath that I was hurt in the process. So goes the saying love until it hurts.
The people I encountered that took of their masks began to put them on again and once again I felt so alone. Even in the happiests of giggles and laughter, there was a gripping inner feeling that I am a man among masks; and yet we continue to ask ourselves who we are-- who is but the form following the function of what and what most people have been are men in masks. "I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is..."
That is to say that I had been practicing my eyes of the heart; but that was not all I saw. Factors that took their toll on the people beneath, hiding, caged, ever patient in waiting for the right time to come out or to be freed. Why do we wear masks? Is it because we choose to? Or are we also here to understand why we made the choice to wear masks? Feel free to tell me if you find a plausible answer.
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