Peb 22, 2002

Killing Time in Cold Place

I just went through some of the horrible typo errors I committed. Typographical error is of course a fashionable way of saying almost anything ranging from a petty blunder to utter stupidity. Stupid will do for me, I guess.

Baguio is around ten hours away, I fathom. Will that activity be such as this one? A going-over of recently committed typos? I wonder. I come from one of those Catholic High Schools (I love the Saint but the memory is another thing altogether) where we have have those spiritual retreats. Heart-rending for some, a bit amusing for others, and just plain and simple waste of time for some hardcore evil doers.

I'm not hardcore so count my state in another category: gut-wrenching.

I may approximate that state again this time. Although I really originally just planned to be aimless. Something I haven't been in quite a while. Just plain purposeless. Walking or running or crawling around in those large and small and polka-dotty imperfect circles.

But can one really aim for aimlessness? It's like ideology (which I will blog about sometime). Everybody has one. Even the one who says she has no ideology is making a very ideological statement.

Everything has power relations. Everything politics. Everything Zen.

So even escape is commitment to some other purpose. I wrote my original aim. Consider it a typo error then? Nah. Call it stupid.

So I restate my purpose, the one I've been blogging about. I journey to stop. To smell the flowers.