I still “write things out” for myself – meaning, as in mathematics, I do not memorize proofs to theorems but understand first (or at the very least try to) underlying “truths” (for there is nothing as brutally honest as an equation). Only then can I trudge on – elegance be damned!
Of course, this has confounded my math, statistics, and even operations research instructors. Not to mention my by-the-book classmates.
Why make your life harder? (Tell that to the philosophers.)
I will not even try to explain my lifelong battle against cliché.
Even the best art has the capacity to degenerate into something banal.
I try my best to hang on to what is material, which is the material. Or to materials.
Bag, Eighty and Ninety, thrifted
Today is Black Saturday, that precarious moment in the history of Christianity when the dead remain dead and have nothing to look forward to.
In the absence of salvation, faith is worthless.
But on the other hand, constant anticipation gives leeway to distraction and unfaithfulness.
I have learned not to trust those who do not trust silence.
Those who do not seek clarity and consistency (one of the reasons I value good grammar).
Yes, we are all weak, but it is cowardly to always rely on excuses.
Ah, conviction! Isn’t it more potent than faith that offers no supporting arguments?
Not that I do not believe in things that have no proof. Even doubting Thomas held on to hope.