J-Soft Blog

Monday, January 27, 2003

"How are we going to get out of here?"

"We'll dig our way out!"

"..No! no! Dig up stupid!"
posted by Jesse at 4:07 PM #


Monday, January 20, 2003

I was approaching the doors, about to exit the building. There were several sets of doors, each with a left door, and a right door. I would soon have to decide on a door through which to leave the building. This was not a decision I would give conscious resources to make, it was more of a background process. One of the many such necessary, yet unimportant decisions that passes through the brain's queue each day. On this occasion, I took notice of this particular background process, and watched as it occurred. One of the doors had just recently been passed through by someone entering the building, and so, was at the moment partially open. The rest of the doors that were close enough to consider going through were all closed. All the doors but that one, were all identical, and in the same state; closed. A choice of one of those would be entirely random. Of course, I could simply have chosen the most direct route and gone through the door directly in front of me. However, the altered state of the partially opened door just to my left had a certain gravity. Perhaps this bias, for the partially open door, had practicality. It would certainly take less effort to open an already open door. That is a justification for choosing the open door, and a proof of sloth, for the extra effort to open a door, as opposed to a half open door is minimal. Quite simply, the uniqueness of the open door set it apart from the rest. It made the choice trivial, precluding the need to randomly select one of several identical doors. Had that door to my left been closed, like all the rest, the choice would have gone to the door directly in front of me, its position in front of me being its distinguishing feature. However, the openness of the door to my left was a much greater distinguishing feature than the "directly in front of me"ness of the door directly in front of me, so I altered my path and exited through the partially opened door to my left.
posted by Jesse at 11:35 AM #


Wednesday, January 08, 2003

I stand precariously atop an ice covered mountain, afraid to move a muscle, lest I slip and fall. As time passes the ice, it seems, becomes slipperier, and the mountain grows taller. Descent becomes more and more daunting. Most of the time when I find myself atop such a mountain I am content to remain on the mountain and simply enjoy the view, but now the valley below is lush and green, and warm. Suddenly the mountaintop seems cold and isolated. The valley is where I want to be. A couple of times, I lean over to peak down toward the valley. It is inviting. Each time, I almost loose my grip, but quickly lean back. Each time, I wish I had slipped, knowing I probably would have slid all the way down to the valley unharmed.
posted by Jesse at 8:17 PM #




It is wet. It is slushy. It is receding. It is salty, and it is dirty. It was silent when first walked on, but now squishes, an unappealing squish. It once had beauty, briefly. It is snow in Hamilton.
posted by Jesse at 8:13 PM #


Sunday, January 05, 2003

It is dusk. Viewed through a thin cloth curtain, the sky and anything snow covered apprear the same light shade of grey. The roof next door blends perflectly with the sky. Were it not for the image of the powerlines, which get blocked out by the roof that passes in front of them, and the fact that I know there is a roof there, the roof might seem not to exist. I am at this moment dissapointed by the presence of the powerlines. They ruin the illusion that my neighbor's roof no longer exists. Unable to indulge in the illusion that my neighbor's roof has disappeared off the face of the earth, I return upstairs to write about this illusion that wouldn't be.
posted by Jesse at 5:24 PM #


Thursday, January 02, 2003

Beginnings can be tricky things. The points where some fundamental change occurs. The start of a note, when silence becomes sound. When pen is put to paper and swirling ideas become ordered. Often times one might know what the middle should be, but to reach the middle there must be a beginning. Beginnings are tricky, if you try to start from the middle. Then again, middles can be tricky if all you have is a beginning. Of course, knowing that there is no apparent middle to speak of, one might hesitate to create the beginning, assuming one already had a beginning in mind.

Tricky business, these beginnings.
posted by Jesse at 1:35 AM #