1.13
(Writing in English is just to pasting time.)
Every morning i come to sit at the same table, seeing sunlight falling onto things in front of me. The table is cute like a round face with sometimes a same or sometimes a different person staying beside me. Yesterday was an undergraduate, a boy with some hot drinking always at his hand, and Francis Bacon, the 17thcentury English writer and philosopher. Today, no real person comes and I just stay alone with Jacques Derrida, about whom my professor says most and who I comprehend least. In the article about plato’s allegory he argues that the word which the greek philosopher uses (which is in its greek form and I cannot spell here exactly) have two opposite meanings, ‘remedy’ and ‘poison’; and this proves that the writing contains more information than speech, is different from speech, and ought to regain its lost status: an idea contradictory to the common sense in the history of philosophical thinking. His idea reminds me of the similar facts in ancient Chinese interpretation, “反训”,and other things alike.
Beautiful sunlight.
Everyday doing similar things may be a test to everyone. People should bear life if it is safe(compared to ancestors in the Old Stone Age fighting against beasts), warm(with air conditioners in our library) and idle apparently, but cold and dangerous in the heart, when things do not know how to be done as a result of everything should be done. I make effort to ease myself and try to persuade her that this is the life of a normal process of reaching to some certain stage. Please, be free of doubt.
But do not doubt about writing. it is a vehicle carrying my everyday expressions that no where to place. It is like gas emissions, but also buried jewelry; it is waste and treasure at the same time. No matter what obscure ideas Jacques Derrida said about it, it is transparent and makes an intimate friend of ordinary people, especially those who temporarily have no one to talk with, and, after long hours of tiring studying, no one to say ‘good night’, in this day’s end.
So, good night.
Every morning i come to sit at the same table, seeing sunlight falling onto things in front of me. The table is cute like a round face with sometimes a same or sometimes a different person staying beside me. Yesterday was an undergraduate, a boy with some hot drinking always at his hand, and Francis Bacon, the 17thcentury English writer and philosopher. Today, no real person comes and I just stay alone with Jacques Derrida, about whom my professor says most and who I comprehend least. In the article about plato’s allegory he argues that the word which the greek philosopher uses (which is in its greek form and I cannot spell here exactly) have two opposite meanings, ‘remedy’ and ‘poison’; and this proves that the writing contains more information than speech, is different from speech, and ought to regain its lost status: an idea contradictory to the common sense in the history of philosophical thinking. His idea reminds me of the similar facts in ancient Chinese interpretation, “反训”,and other things alike.
Beautiful sunlight.
Everyday doing similar things may be a test to everyone. People should bear life if it is safe(compared to ancestors in the Old Stone Age fighting against beasts), warm(with air conditioners in our library) and idle apparently, but cold and dangerous in the heart, when things do not know how to be done as a result of everything should be done. I make effort to ease myself and try to persuade her that this is the life of a normal process of reaching to some certain stage. Please, be free of doubt.
But do not doubt about writing. it is a vehicle carrying my everyday expressions that no where to place. It is like gas emissions, but also buried jewelry; it is waste and treasure at the same time. No matter what obscure ideas Jacques Derrida said about it, it is transparent and makes an intimate friend of ordinary people, especially those who temporarily have no one to talk with, and, after long hours of tiring studying, no one to say ‘good night’, in this day’s end.
So, good night.
