i am a simply complex person. and it is always the simply complex that you can expect to be understandably complicated. for when your very self-description is a paradox, does that not set you up for complications?
i read a book last week titled traitor. it is one of my favorite books in a genre to which i desparatly cleave. one of the central concepts throughout the book is a simply complex paradox often uttered by one of the main characters, vergere:
"everything i tell you is a lie."
if everything she says is a lie, then that statement is a lie implying that all she says is truth. but if that is the case, then that statement is true and everything she says is a lie. how simply complex.
how does this fit in with anything at all?
i feel the walls around me crashing down. all the past floods back and eats away at my paradox. my personal, little, homespun paradox. simple complexity. simple, right? not at all, and therein lies the difficulty i face in myself. i am not some book to be read cover to cover. i want to be explicated, analysed, responded to. but here is the catch, i want to choose my readers. yeah, some people get excerpts, and others only get the flyleaf. i guess the problem is that the last people to engulf my pages, to digest my chapters, put me on a used bookshelf to be sold for $.50. i don't want to be sold for that cheap again. i have spent the last 5 years building my value so that the next person to really read me will see the marks that came before, learn from them, and add his'er own. and i want to belong to that person's library. and never leave it.
maybe these are just ridiculous rantings of a half-crazed, sleep-deprived, pissed-off revolutionary wanna-be. but, i have no other way to put it all. at all. simply complex.
