the pleasures of the past
most of what is written or told is firmly based on the past of the person. humans i think are incapapble of recreating in their minds emotions or events in the same manner as they had happened unless they have a similar experience to bank on. infact, if you read most of what is written, a lot of effort goes into description, or decrypting unique experiences into a language which makes it lucid to a larger population (which might have not gone through those emotions or experinces). perhaps in the process, language and writing is the common denominator and in that sense, diluted. the true essence of an experience in the writers own words, which make sense to him, would probably not be understood by most people. and since the objective of writing is to express and to be read, it makes sense i think to produce uniqueness onto a larger canvas.
why am i discussing this? to bring to the point that writing is a blast from the past. the summation of what we have gone through. things inexpressible in the spoken language. poetry comes closer to reality in that sense. and therefore is harder to understand. i have started liking poetry quite a lot these days. keats has started appealing to me these days. especially when i see the type of stuff he used to write. about birds, and things he saw during the day. about emotions, and stuff. it is interesting.
this has become a largish post. sorry.
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