Like everything else. It is like everything else. Like everything else. Words are like everything else. They are the same. Like everything else they are the same. Always the same. All ways of sameness. Like everything else they are always the same. But still they change. There is nothing stable about things that do not change. Everything always changes around and so it is different. Piles of words remain recorded for year after year without change but what they mean and who they reach and why they reach out. It all changes. If the people look the same then it looks like the words change. The words come and flow. Rise and fall. Fall. Down. Fall down. Ineffectual fall out. And words. Always words. What are you on? I'm on a straight backed chair. I can quote great chunks of highly accessible philosophy back at you and it is all nothing at all unless it is there already. All ready to be met. I could give you the same words from a dozen different books. It is there again and again. Repeated over and over. You have thrown away the message and retained the story. Does anybody ever really see that if you tore this page out of a book it would all become more? If you crossed out every third word it would still make more sense. It is not the words. If you hold onto the words you will only see the sunlight shining high above you glistening on the surface of the water. You will only see the brief glints as you drown. If you hold on to the words they will drag you under with them. Wods do not change much. As years roll by words do not change much. They are not real, they have no need of change. It can be as stable as a rock. A rock in a quarry. Sentances can be fun, or they can be boring, or they can be intriguing. They start. They continue. They end. It is strangely satisfactory that it should be so, they have no meaning or they have no meaning. It is not dependent on the words. It is in the people. To be strange, to be intriguing, to be fun. It is in all the people. And words are nothing in that.
And still you cannot manage wiothout words. It is the words that make it a sentence. It is the person that makes it a fun sentence. So this is another time. So this is another place. So this is another way. Nothing has actually changed. It may only be that it is seen differently. More or less. There is a puppy and it is the same puppy. But it is a completely different puppy every time. It does not stay the same for a moment. It is in its nature to change, but it is your nature that has changed it. It is not an object it is a motive. It is moving because it is not wanted. It is said to be moving because it will be a good thing. There is little as patronising as someone who is too stupid to be patronising. It is a small and intellectual game to understand how it will fit in. I don't really understand how it appeared in the first place. I can imagine a measure of manipulation by the unwanted home. I don't really understand how it appeared. Probably in a cardboard box. So who proves what by all this. Everybody loses. It is hardly surprising that everybody loses.
I was lying in the bath and I have forgotten. I use the telephone and I have forgotten. No words. No ideas. Nothing left at all. Speaking into the telephone. I expected to trust somebody and I was let down. Usually I expect people to be untrustworthy, and so I am not surprised, I allow them to let me down. Allow them to get away with whatever it may have been. But I was let down by somebody I trusted. Really trusted. It was a very small thing but it mattered. I am used to people having nothing in them. I expect people to be very little. I wish I was never right. People have no self-respect until it grows from respect for themselves. So I was lket down, but I am never really let down. You did not let me down the way you let yourself down. I was lying in the bath and I have forgotten. I was speaking on the telephone and I have forgotten. No words. No music. Nothing at all. And it was because you let me down, I was speaking to somebody I met recently who looked as though he may have self-respect. I was feeling isolated and I was feeling alone because you let me down. When I thought I could rely on you you let me down. I was feeling isolated. So I telephoned the only person I can think of now who may have any self-respect. I must remember to thank you sometime for being there when I telephoned. It was a desperate act. It is being back at the edge again. The edge is still as bad. There is no fear here. There is no time for fear. No time for anything but now. Here and now. It is very relaxing in that way. Where has it got to now. Where is it going. It is just the same. The same edge. It goes down if it goes further.It is always isolation. Because I'm the only me there is.
The growth of an idea in a person is a difficult thing. The growth of a philosophy seems a pompous phrase. But it happens entirely on the inside. It is without regard to the outside world at all. It is regardless of external events. So those who grow it through a different life are the same as those who grow it otherwise. In difficult times ifficulties do no more than test the validity of attitudes. No more. It is independent of external events.
It is possible for two things to be totally contradictory and yet simultaneous. In truth it is essential. But that does not make it any easier to understand. A light breeze raises eyebrows to sight. The sound of somebody with their fingers in their ears.
Apart from mother he only person I was prepared to trust absolutely. It is a strange sound. Can I manage a fortnights holiday at the beginning of May.