So it appears there's also a blog titled Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset. Thats what you get for quoting mouse lyrics from a bygone year. Thats what you get for assuming that you don't share the internet with a million people. One day, everything will be said, every thought already thought. On a long enough time-line nothing will be new. Or has it already happened?
Here lies Invention. He is survived by his loving son, Novelty.
I bet we're nothing new. Egotism makes us feel special. But someone, from some time period, could have been "me." Its just culture that makes us feel like someone special. I'm native american. I'm a Catholic. I'm a socialist. etc. Are we novelty?
Need a new name for this blog. Something novel.
But then after I define it, it will be old. Not novel anymore. But I think I can live with this.
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Take it on a bigger scale. Invention, the most rare commodity of our time, was the staple in say the Industrial Revolution. Times change. We reinvent. Societies reinvent. Dohi, standing with my 299 friends, ready to slay, ready to die. Could we be the blood-drenched warriors of yesteryear? This past-time has definitely gone extinct. Point being, with every new century, every new year, month, day, minute . . . we change, we tweak what we thing is wrong with the world and we change. In agreement, most everything has been done, but with subtle changes here and there, a small window is left. The closing doors Mr. Cool must make it through to save the world; the last five seconds before this website self-destructs. I will name this window: hope. Hope that this isn't all the world is cracked up to be. We can do more, we can be more, we must resist conformity and always push.
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