I remember a good friend of mine telling me once that to write something down is to concretise the thing, to acknowledge the fact...

I refuse to concretise anything, then. I shall write ambiguously, beat around the bush, and allow all occurances to remain their natural fluid selves, uninfluenced by my words, because I know not how to direct them, anyhow.

I do write with certain few thoughts upon my mind, though, that you may feel free to cast your own interpretations from, and see if you'd end up with the same things. The real delight in the flexibility of ambiguous texts is when you're the writer and you hold your own agenda, and everyone else wonders what to make of it... For all you know I might be thinking nonsense that do not link to a big picture, but ah, you will not know for sure *mischievous grin*

Trailing upon the train of thought sparked off by S/F tutorial today...

If we don't pin something down with language, if I let the thought float, but refuse to confirm or unconfirm it... then it will remain real and unreal at the same time, right? And until I make myself pick one of the possibilites, thereby collapsing all other possibilities the moment I say, or think, or write so... The possibilities will co-exist, still, and everything is still open to me, yes?

How very intriguing. Yet... *frowns* if some related party were to make a decision, then he or she will have the ability to close down some of my possibilities as well. How far do our ability to direct ourselves go, then? Like the free moving particle that you are, your direction is still oft- changed by other moving particles, is it not?

There is something, I feel, that I have not caught upon yet, that the fact that the possibilities are endless, always, but I have not... (dare not?) step over my own boundaries to explore. And within my self-set boundaries, as far as the eyes can see, choices are so few, so few...

Is it a question of make-do, is the choice ever with me, or do they reside in someone, anyone else? Does it ever exist, something tangible, that can be felt, and understood, and desired, and known, within my sphere of whatever-will-be? Or is blissful unknowing the only factor that enables free will, to explore, to realise, to feel for oneself...?

Or perhaps it is not a question of being, but of time. Whatever will be resides in whenever will be...

But when, indeed?