Days and What to Do With Them- A Scheduling

Days and What to Do With Them- A Scheduling

I am a stay at home father and houseman, and the amount of stigma i have self inflicted  this staid modus with is shameful, especially when the history of the home is uncovered and the importance of a basis of peace and a place to uncurl your stress (which is the essence of a home), and has been the focus of thousands of competing philosophies since the rise of mans need to “get away” is brought to your attention.

Suddenly you find that your very equilibrium relied upon the way you sat papers on a counter or the sense of unfinished brokenness that is a home with nothing in a convenient place, books unable to be found at whim, maps etc.  I do not speak of course for everyone (obviously i don’t, odd that this has become a common disclaimer) for there are those who can see beauty in a mound of papers and no organization.

Why don’t i say instead that one must find the perfect balance of clean, but in seeking that balance one finds they always want and need more improvement, not just in their home but in their mind and the way it interacts within their home, which is in all honesty where are lives unfold, the place where we can be ourselves.

The way one begins such a task of change, is to merely take a step, whichever one, doesn’t really matter. Once momentum is developed only death will change your taste. After you have had an inkling of the peaceful perception  granted you by a clean home, unclogged by the mundane nonsense you’ve already taken care of in an unconscious manner while you were able to consider a line from Herodotus,  Suetonius or whatever it is you read. Breaking you will be an impossibility. Only the afterthoughts of a God would hold you in thrall of fear.

One begins to realize that they live in an autonomous kingdom of self and it is important to have an immaculate place to practice a justice unto your own mind.  I suppose i could give a schedule, and begin by telling you television and the internet are Beelzebub’s teats.

The schedule is as follows ( loosely) :

  • Awake at 6:25 , make coffee and look at list made night previously
  • Perform ablutions as necessary
  • Try to ignore the  juxtaposition of what is odd upon what is basic
  • Crush your heart and hold it in until the inevitable
  • Let the green of grass grow like moss on the grave of the dead monkey emperors
  • Persist and defeat the purporters to dynasties

My list is my list but yours can also be yours, and what is within it is what defines your day. And this makes sense as we constantly make lists in our heads anyways, but these list are often unfulfilled and tenuous, reliant upon our energy and not upon the efficacy of permanence ( or rather semi-permanence) provided by  paper and or electronic reminder devices (if you’re a Nazi).

And let it be known that in writing this i took two weeks off. Reason being that it is unnecessary to give things a place in your constellation of thought if they are mere remonstrances to a fact (even a fact which is mere allusion to the false). Ive found that as a being on a green earth breathing air, i consume not air the most, but thought. And often nonsense thought, on worry and pointlessness. When i could have been creating something beautiful, i instead built a palace of worry and inevitable collapse.


No need to be all “perforce “.

One can change.

The lie is, Home is what you buy.

Home is you, and what you build within you.

One can always be at home, the hearth burning, a sense of a poet reading in a dusky light in your brain.  A freedom known, so untoward as to almost be pornographic compared to the lie of what we experience daily and give the false appellation of freedom.

One grows ashamed of waving flags when one knows that they never weaved a flag for themselves.

I read folk of the past which we venerate and I’ve yet to see anyone present a unity , be it Herodotus or Thucydides, ( he with his tangents and the latter with his mathematics of human behavior almost to be as Braille) or Russell or Toynbee or Durant, or Gibbon or Braudel, Barzun,Strabo,Hecateus  etc.

Mere inference is the basis of history and all thought.  One cracks open a nut and acts as if it were the very explanation of the  nut.  As though there were a renaissance of it which never took place except in charity of nonsense, we’d still elaborate it and celebrate it in a carnival regardless.

Burning echoes.

This deference we give to abnegation will always be beyond me, but also an effervescent eke of me, an iteration .

Ones purpose is always noticeable, whether one be a fool or genius, there are but a few rules.

Organization though often snidely scoffed at even by me, is quite literally a key to a door of perception, and id say the act of finally getting organized and realizing its freedom is beyond heroin in its expedient satisfaction.

I must say Im still getting organized, this ill thought attempt at an essay with a point is a mere iteration of this truth among many others perpetrated by me presently ( and i am sure in the future) , yet worthy is the task completed even if it is an errand one ran for oneself, even if things have no equivocal social value. For honestly the scales with which we use to measure value should be individual and thus the need to organize is as well, and the need to moralize etc.

Let it be said that the world does not seem to feel this way, or rather let it be said that men yearn for freedom unconsciously but seek adherently the slavery they dispossess in ideology. Me personally, i struggle to find my own style and ape the past as if it were an ideal rather than seeking my own in a pertinent fashion, i rely too heavily on the ways of others instead of plying my way as a foolish example.  Not everyone can be Socrates and suck down the hemlock or Cato or Seneca, not all of us can be crucified for what we believe. Some of us must be placed in an invisible crucible in perpetuity until we find ourselves dead and surprised, and like Vespasian jokingly emit ” Dear me! I must be turning into a God!”




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