Friday, August 26, 2011
the loss of instinct.
hasn't that been the saddest thing to happen in our times?
steve jobs never lost it and look what that got us. it's 7.45 in the morning. rain outside. the sound and the cool air of it reaches into my room all the way to the far wall where i sit on my bed in a downpour of thoughts, ideas, words, sentences, voices, faces, so much running through my head. oh how i wish i had some place to record it, quickly. before the images vapourize, the thoughts slip away, and the day gets going; hiding, snuffing out, making unimportant what really matters.
i pick up the little black thingie from my cluttered bedside table and touch a picture glowing on it's neat face. i start writing.
could anyone have thought up the iphone without their instinct switched utterly and absolutely on?
i look at the decisions i took that came from instinct. they were all correct. at fiftyone i can see that and so i say it. whether they were about the major things in life or like what to do with this chicken today. everytime i allowed my instinct to flow, it clicked. i just typed "clucked", hyuk.
8.03am. time to turn into a pumpkin and bow to the stupid and the useless. do pumpkins bow? and maybe there's some need in this universe for all the bs.
instinct says, good you wrote this down.
and mr jobs, thank you for knowing what i didn't know i wanted.
just simply didn't.
hasn't that been the saddest thing to happen in our times?
steve jobs never lost it and look what that got us. it's 7.45 in the morning. rain outside. the sound and the cool air of it reaches into my room all the way to the far wall where i sit on my bed in a downpour of thoughts, ideas, words, sentences, voices, faces, so much running through my head. oh how i wish i had some place to record it, quickly. before the images vapourize, the thoughts slip away, and the day gets going; hiding, snuffing out, making unimportant what really matters.
i pick up the little black thingie from my cluttered bedside table and touch a picture glowing on it's neat face. i start writing.
could anyone have thought up the iphone without their instinct switched utterly and absolutely on?
i look at the decisions i took that came from instinct. they were all correct. at fiftyone i can see that and so i say it. whether they were about the major things in life or like what to do with this chicken today. everytime i allowed my instinct to flow, it clicked. i just typed "clucked", hyuk.
8.03am. time to turn into a pumpkin and bow to the stupid and the useless. do pumpkins bow? and maybe there's some need in this universe for all the bs.
instinct says, good you wrote this down.
and mr jobs, thank you for knowing what i didn't know i wanted.
just simply didn't.
