The only way it can be "remembered" in a way that it's right there for you, readily available at all times, and not in the sense of remembering where you have to sit down and think at all really about it, is by having a classification system.

Do all people classify?

How much does the complexity of the classification system matter with regards to then becoming bored?

Does the owner of an intricate system stave off boredom appreciably better than someone who's system is perhaps vastly oversimplifies?

Is the "correct" classification system intricate? Or does everything reduce down into very few categories? Is it a lack to not be able to reduce much? Or is oversimplification the lacking?

To not classify is to more live in the moment.
To be busy remembering the past is also to more live in the moment.
To quickly glance at something, know you've seen it many times before and classify it and ignore it, is to live less in the moment. One does this enough and eventually there is nothing left. Might as well be a worm wiggling through homogenous material which supplies energy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHXqmTHUnA0

Like that deer hang out in our yard. This one isn't in a very secluded place but 75 yards down to the right there is a very small creek (not sewer water) with a ton of trees/vines, etc for privacy. Lots of deer hang out. Love it. Wonder if most of our mythical creatures come from real world creatures... Which brings up the question of just how old are myths about elves and dwarves anyway?

http://www.wordiq.com/definition/Elf

There is a midget at work, I must say she's pretty grumpy, just like dwarves are usually portrayed in fantasy fiction. If she weren't a midget, I'm not so sure she'd get away with being that grumpy/rude to others.

Wonder if elves are inspired by deer? Or perhaps just types of people? Liberal tree hugger types, and perhaps artistic types and effeminate men, etc? Which leaves rightwingers as ogres, troll, and goblins I guess. Rightwingers generally don't read fantasy fiction. And they lockup their doors tight each night, with plenty of guns, by the bed. Not interested in finding out what might be out there.

Strangely adding one last bottom row of bookshelves really changed the effect. Now it feels like both walls are just a mass of books from floor to ceiling and I look at it and feel so much more sooooothed. This is the effect I had wanted in the first place but until adding this one last row it had seemed to completely fail in giving the effect I was hoping for. Vague though the effect I was hoping for is. Thus at the time I just dismissed it as a stupid, childish thing.

...story sort of "idea". A certain sort of people are working their way through a castle. They have this special weapon which they spike it into a door so that just it's tip is protruding into the next room. Then they pull the trigger and destroy whatever was in that room. They don't even check beforehand to see what they're destroying. They destroy the unknown. The unknown is mysterious and magical... and they have no respect for it at all. They have no interest in the unknown. Minds Closed. Not interested in learning anything else. Or particularly worried about excessive killing. So, there they are, working their way through a massive castle, stretching for miles.

-
Today I practiced my cello,
wrote 112, which I like, unfortunately my favorite sounding VSTs only do 12TET,
wrote a bit of story,
played Oblivion for an hour,
lifted weights,
watched some movies including rewatching The Last Supper, which I had liked so much before, geez I must have had more aggression in me back then,
and off to read more of George Eliot.

practice cello-The sense of long term good (improvement over the long term) plus mostly enjoyable during but, over time the same mistakes get increasingly frustrating. Really a difficult instrument.

Long term-some
Short term-good

read book-has a sort of long term good. And good stories can be very enjoying but slight guilt about passiveness/life passing me by while missing "The Great Party", and can be a too immobile / unhealthy activity

Long term-some
Short term-good

write music-close to perfect indifference of others is an increasing negative. still really enjoyable though. Fueled by curiosity. I suppose others are ruining it though. Have to forget the existence of just about everyone on Earth to continue enjoying it.

Long term-? (increasing bitterness... no sense of achievement, becoming an ugly thing for me as I can't forget others complete indifference very often.)
Short term-very good

write stories-maybe causes the perception of a long term achievement but during the process the feelings of failure are so high.

Long term-good so far
Short term-some

watch TV-relaxing at times but eventually left with sense of uselessness

Long term-Except for the occasional movie, not good
Short term-some

play video games-the escapism is unfortuantely mixed with a feeling of ridiculousness of the uselessness combined with anxiety about not dying, etc.

Long term-not good, excepting Zelda I guess. (Why not put a lot more music, variation, and different voices in Oblivion, etc? How pitiful that 6 billion people. All these years and it's just devolved to military crap.)
Short term-some

A big hearty fuck you to all of you who were too weak to do anything but assimilate in this dystopian society. Too weak to be good. Too weak to break free. Too weak to do anything but adhere to the most crude, selfish, short term motivations. Too weak to be friendly, open, honest. Too weak to be anything but a mere survivalist. Focusing almost solely on just surviving with a few crap diversions thrown in, finding at most one person you'll be real and meaningful with, if even that.

You've made the world the piece of shit it is and you're too weak to face what it is. Too weak to see what it could be. Too weak to do anything but find a way to be happy in dystopia. And thus it won't change. It will never change. You'll only look for change when you run out of food and shelter, otherwise you'll put up with anything. Short of being literally beaten to a pulp there's nothing too crude and meaningless for you that you won't convince yourself is just fucking great.

You have no scope of mind. No ability to see that there must be more than just surviving and some meaningless diversions. But you're slaves who won't revolt. Who've tried to convince themselves this is all for the best. You won't do a goddammed thing outside the social norms.

Lady at work's boyfriend is going to become a coal miner. He'll be working 6 days a week, which with his commute added in will each be ten hour days. Reminds me of asking my mom about my grandfather, asking what he was like. She answered she didn't really know, he was always at work until he was killed in the mines when she was 16. This lady at work's cousin has already been killed in the mines. What does she think? "When it's your time, it's just your time." As if there's nothing that can be done to change the situation. Nothing to do but meakly agree to be a slave and try to convince yourself it's all for the best.

Another woman is planning on becoming a coal miner, again working 6 days a week, like her husband who already does so. She believes that we exist to work and wouldn't even know what to otherwise be doing. The idea of spending time not working is shameful to her. She's a perfectly evolved prole. One of many. Such is our evolution.

Things were actually better in old England compared to here today in America where now everyone is a worker. Most of the people now crowing at the top of the pile of dead human corpses all work long hours also. They mostly got to the top because they worked their asses off. Because that's what they like to be doing. Their job is their life and so it is for pretty much everyone. In old England you had far more people who were free to just be idle. People who just inherited fortunes. Yes, the majority were stuck in virtual slavery but at least a very few had free time for art.

Now most of the people who potentially could have sufficient free time to make some beautiful thing, some thing beyond mere survival, got in such a position exactly because they liked working so hard, and thus like robots continue working so hard, accumulating massive wealth they don't even know what to do with. Wealth and free time is now far more likely to be wasted on people who have no idea what actually to do with either other than to try to make sure others see how rich they are. The inequality and injustice of inherited wealth was actually better than this.

And so we evolve to love doing nothing but working absurdly long hours in jobs that shouldn't define us, but more and more, do. More and more of today's slaves want to be slaves. Those who don't being far less likely to successfully reproduce.

The happy man is defined by his job and wouldn't know what to do if he wasn't working. The happy man doesn't hardly speak to his neighbors and likes it that way. He's got his food, shelter, sex and TV, what else could he need? He sees anyone step outside the social norms and he thinks they must be nuts or possibly some kind of criminal.

...The above was written with a temperature of a 102 a bit after taking 2 lortabs. After getting the irregular heartbeat I started eating grilled cheese sandwiches as they're such a comfort food for me having grown up on them. As a result I caught the flu and felt all around awful. Really, really bad.

Anger, frustration, hatred. Such may be all incredibly crude, violence based feelings, but it's probably just too much a basic part of who we are.

To some extent I've been avoiding negative thoughts lately and instead enjoying small things. Doing so reduces tension and makes the days pass nicer. And also removes my motivations, my sense of direction as far as writing. Removes my purpose for being eventually.

So that eventually I apparently use feeling awful as fuel to help me try to remember. Including anger because it is an awful feeling.

Something vaguely like that.

I've said I don't believe in willpower, that instead one should find a way to do things so that they enjoy what they are doing right then and there instead of focusing off in the distance to some great time achievement which if it ever comes anyway actually will be quite hollow.

That thing off far in the future will be hollow anyway and long term willpower doesn't really work anyway.

But, there is something to be said for short term willpower. Just a smidgeon anyway. A short term willpower that puts one in a position to better enjoy themselves day after day over the long term.

So some willpower isn't a bad thing, if understood that you aren't planning on relying on willpower over the long term. That instead you are hoping this short term willpower will lead to changes that will better enable you to have immediate enjoyment at whatever activity you're trying to improve at/learn, etc.

But just a tiny bit. Still should be primarily about immediate enjoyment. And if it isn't, understanding what stands in the way.

They can be suspicious or they can be trusting.
They can be stingy/selfish or they can be giving/altruistic.
Full of fear or strong.
Small minded, seeking wealth/materialistic or wise, searching for peace, moral pride, friendship.
Bigoted or not/able to accurately assess people or not. (The worse one is at assessing the more suspicious/hateful they are.)

A sort of humility perhaps with a trace of something that's perhaps the extreme opposite. But on both accounts my words fall short.

My stepfather had no toys growing up and instead found some rocks which he cherished. I had grown up playing with matchbox cars. More humble still, to play with nothing at all but your mind and a pen/word processor. To just dream, and write the dreams down. What more humble endeavor to pass your free time could there be?

It is a sort of giving up on the grand party, or a sad understanding that there is no happiness greater than what one can do simply within one's own mind, safely away from the unpredictability of others. And, the predictability of eventual ugliness from them. A greater happiness than any other, and yet the most humble sort of play.

Writing down your daydreams. And no dreams of getting published. No dreams of fame intermixed. Just right at that moment the enjoyment of whatever daydreams.

And, at the same time, a strange mystical belief that by writing them down and making them more concrete (even if no one else ever reads them) you make them in some way real. A belief that there are gods/infinities of life and if it's dreamed it will Be somewhere someday. Like I once believed that all the worlds of Jack Vance MUST be real, somewhere, someday, somehow. That simply by writing them down they became real.

Such a belief is anything but humble. It is mystical and nuts. But it is somewhat back in the distance. This godlike belief. But I've heard it said--not put quite put so clearly--by others. Famous writers, some musicians..

This latter belief is far back though. Dangerous maybe to think on it too directly. Might shatter it into absurdity. Very dangerous. But on the other hand, may wake up in 5 weeks with no idea why for a short time I had been able to write without trying to use futile willpower. Instead enjoying it right NOW. As one should do, or shouldn't bother at all.

The humility of just dreaming and the immediate enjoyment of so doing is at the front. Is it alone enough though without that other bit?

I shall not think about it.