The utility of newspapers…
The multitude of ways that moods are affected is perhaps much too diverse a subject to speak about here; I will limit the post to mentioning only the way, or ways, that concerns our purpose. I will write it in a logical deductive process, for personal practice, but the message will be the same. I will make major presuppositions in this post because it is not a philosophical writing, even if it is structured as one; it is done for speed primarily. I beg the reader however to think about what has been said regardless of how it has been said; and try and see if what has been said is something that occurs in the reader’s life, or something that the reader is aware of. This post is dedicated to all our humble ladies and gents that board the public transport to get to work; how useful are those newspapers that you read before you go to work?
Mood is severely affected by thought patterns. The way you think, or what you think about undoubtedly affects the way you feel. We can all agree that there is a connection between thought and mood. A negative thought can lead to a negative mood, and a positive thought can lead to a positive mood. The relationship is not always from thought to mood, sometimes a mood can affect a thought, but I digress, we shall only consider the former way for our purposes.
Premise 1: Thought affects mood.
Symbols: (the equal sign with an arrow(’ => ‘) is simply to indicate that they are interrelated or that they affect each other; the direction of the arrow implies the direction of affect discussed in the text, e.g. thought affects mood, would be, thought => mood)
thought = t, Mood = m: t => m
Let’s equate utility to efficiency; let’s say what’s useful is efficient. Let’s also say that a good mood is useful (in the work environment); being happy or in a good mood is a useful thing. A happy worker is an efficient worker after all. Thus, I hope, that we can all agree to the premise that a good mood is connected to efficiency and utility. To sum up, mood affects efficiency, and thus utility, for efficiency is equated here with utility in that what is efficient is useful.
Premise 2: Mood affects efficiency. Efficiency is useful, therefore mood affects utility.
Symbols: (mood = m, efficiency = e, utility = u)
m => e……. u => e ………therefore,………. m => u
Your thoughts are affected by what you read; reading stimulates your thinking either positively or negatively. What you read affects what you think. You read the newspaper everyday, and especially more so in the morning. The newspaper will affect the content of your thought. The newspaper is mostly found to be with news that are negative, because for some reason or other it is the negative news that interest people. Negative news leads to negative thought, 90% of newspapers have negative news and thus, 90% of your thinking in the morning will be negative.
From this negative thought, one attains a negative mood (as shown in premise 1). A negative mood (depression, anger, frustration, anxiety, worry etc.) leads to a downfall in efficiency (as shown in premise 2) because you’re not happy any more, your mind is thinking about the multitude of deaths in the East as well as problems with mortgage rates. Efficiency drops, and in turn your utility drops too, you’re no longer as useful are you could have been (premise 2).
Final premise: Reading affects your thought. Newspapers are 90% negative, therefore your thought will be 90% negative. Negative thought leads to a negative mood. Negative mood leads to a negative efficiency and in turn a negative utility. You’re no longer as useful as you can be. The source of this is the newspapers. Thus, newspapers are not useful, in the morning at least.
Symbols: ( ‘>’ means ‘leads to’, e.g. negative thought leads to negative mood would be, negative thought > negative mood)
Reading = r, Newspaper = n, mood= m, efficiency = e, thought = t, utility= u
r => t ……. n => r …….. thus, ………. n=>t
-n > -r ….. -r > -t ….. -t > -m …….. -m > -e …… -e > -u ……
therefore, -n > -u
Hahahaha, I can’t begin to describe how anti-philosophical the above is. It is fun though, try and see if you can decipher it. It shouldn’t be too hard.
Anyways, here is the point. Stop reading newspapers in the morning, or even listening to depressing music. These are all things that affect your mood, and it sets the precedent for the rest of the day. Reading the newspaper in the morning will not lead to a good day, or rather not as good as it can be, unless of course something to boost you up happens; e.g. someone proposes to you, or asks for your number, or you get a raise. To make a long story short, the way you feel and how useful you are to others in the work environment, and most importantly to yourself, is affected by what you think. What you think will be altered by the negative constituents that are inevitably present in newspapers.
Stop, reading newspapers in the morning, do yourself, and the world, a favour and throw it away; read some interesting poetry or some humour. We’re all sick and tired of seeing unhappy depressed faces in each and every one of you on the tubes and buses. Stop it! Smile and laugh; you’ll feel better, I promise. To smile and laugh more easily, make your thoughts more prone to those emotions. If your thoughts are on a negative spiral, I promise you that there is no room for positivity; there is no room for happiness when all the room you have is occupied by something that leads to unhappiness. Give your mind some room to be happy, feed it with something positive, in the morning at least. You can always read newspapers in the evening; no worries there because you can just sleep your negativity off.
London’s finest transport…
Doors open wide to reveal a sea of insomnia;
Another day, another week, another year.
Life engulfed by the presence of the mundane.
Monday discloses the stench of beer;
Tuesday and the seats are haunted by job-loss-fear.
Wednesday – bosses nightmare, raises drive them insane;
Thursday they prepare for tomorrow’s shag-fest terrain.
Friday – laughter, alcohol and sex is London’s hysteria.
Saturday morning’s hangover manifests peace;
The evening infested by the immortal deceased.
Vampires, they hide during the day,
Awaiting the sunset to bring recovery and the prey.
Sunday morning is blessed by the touch of God,
The newly induced hangover demands greasy chips and cod.
All the while love is dismissed with a mournful nod.
Sunday evening, the time for a humble retreat,
Head and pillow reluctantly meet;
Anticipating this destructive cycle’s painful repeat.
Either, every day is Valentine’s Day, or no day at all.
Natalie Wood
A look that calms, the wild sea,
A touch that traps, your heart even though you’re free.
A smile that ignites, in you desire,
A complexion that adds, gasoline to the fire.
A madness in you rises, for the beauty you mourn,
A delicacy in the female aura, forever you scorn.
An expression that fills, your heart with grief,
A beauty as that in Autumn, at the fall of the last leaf.
A mystery that compels you, as you write each verse,
An agony you experience, at the face of your curse.
You, the World for You
A touch, my existence for a touch.
I pledge my allegiance to the mystic cycle of sorrow, Living honourably in the never ending hope for tomorrow Devout to the pleasure of loving sacrifice; A touch from divinity will suffice, Whilst I linger here tossing the dice. A kiss, my heart for a kiss. Devoured whole by the prospect of release, Engulfed entirely in the womb of potential peace. Dancing with fate on the edge of a knife, Losing passion with every breath, present in this strife. Cut by the shards of experiencing life. A moment, my body for a moment. Delete my essence and ensemble my heart, Don’t reject my end; I’ve yearned for it from the start. Make this feeling last a parenthesis in eternity, Mingle with my desire for abiding to obscurity. The reward you shall reap is humble serenity. A love, my soul for a love. Touch me where I will feel free, Kiss and become one with me. Spend the moment that will overcome the absolute, I will give in to love and let it become resolute. You may dance and sing to the sound of my flute. A dance, my fate for a dance. Don’t go; stay with me, Together we can learn how to let love be. Bend towards my arms and fall into my heart, Then once that moment has become, let us dance it apart. Express the wordless in the form of an art. A night, my divinity for a night. Sleep with me till you can’t sleep no more, The gift I call sorrow is all I abhor. Become the flower that buds out of my soul, My yearning is for you and you’re above all, So embrace my desire and please, please fall. A cuddle, my eyes for a cuddle. Don’t fear the prospect of an eternal pledge; The moment is much too enticing not to live on the edge. Lose yourself in me; I lose myself in you, This isn’t a joke; it’s an allegiance for two. This door of fire, head high, together we’ll walk through. An end, my beginning for an end. The paradox of existence cuts into my spirit, I ran away from absolution, for some reason I fear it. Take my beginning and offer me the end. Any longer in this state will leave me unable to fend. I only anticipate the blessing you promise to send. You, the world for you. Darling, be with me now, Forever is not appealing to my heart somehow. I would exchange all that is me, just to know, That you’re not afraid to let go. Renounce the world, for the love I know you can show.
Solitude
Promises as solitude extends its step,
Paying off my salvation like a mournful debt.
Anguish fills my bones with sacredness,
A heart is bashful, standing alone in its nakedness.
Make manifest a companion from the external;
Extinguish the flames that are my internal.
My senses take leave of me day by day,
Desire rocks my loins, whilst I remain in dismay.
Stop this patronizing of my hope,
Send me a sweetheart with which to elope.
Deny me this painful moment for love’s beginning,
Without love my end can have no meaning.
A fantasy builds deep inside of me;
Seduced by its nature, I’m unable to break free.
Devoured by the longing thoughts of pleasure,
My tears becoming an obsessive treasure.
Is this pain a catharsis, or is it not?
Or am I amidst pain’s circular plot?
Do these tears cleanse or do they stain?
I cannot be sure, only that solitude accompanies pain.
Living
Grasping blindly in the un-manifest, but what for?
Devouring and consuming all around life’s banal floor;
The gusts of despair increase ever more.
Taking him by the heart, the winds batter and throw.
Hope’s resistance steadily loses its glow.
Tears and laughter render explicit in life’s river-like flow.
Sitting down humbly, surrounded by possible subjection,
Stopped and in mute, betrayed by hopeless intention,
Himself and his thoughts, along with regressive reflection.
Words were his life’s frivolous gift,
Orifice-bleeding emotions are awaiting the next shift,
Engulfed him whole while desire’s flame became swift.
Euphoria in the company of subjective living,
Disaster in the exchange of taking and not giving,
Silence entraps the mouth with the words it is thieving.
In the struggle for becoming he finds being,
Mind tries to look elsewhere, but itself it is seeing.
Gripped by fear, from becoming an object; he is fleeing.
Fear of death or fear of life?
Does he get up to work, or get friendly with the knife?
Can there even be an explanation to this strife?
Tries to become but is afraid to be,
Caught in this cycle he cannot break free.
Tries desperately to look, but is unable to see.
Lover’s Sigh
A hero that bathes in blank expression;
With a face that’s a canvas betraying no reflection.
His hands are full of love’s stain,
Women struggle to escape; always in vain.
He lives for woman and woman alone,
He bleeds love from skin to bone.
The field created by Eros is his dominant terrain,
Seduction and love he makes easy and plain.
A different man, with every woman he desires,
Out of their heart, their ideal he inspires.
Makes manifest the longed-for release,
He leads them from ecstasy, to blissful peace.
He never consummates or makes it known,
Such an act would lose him Love’s desired thrown.
He breathes for love and Eros does repay,
Offers his bow and sends him on his way.
Walking down the road with nothing in mind,
Across comes the lady he wishes to find.
He walks and doesn’t look, yet he constantly sees,
From the glimpses of love he never flees.
Faithful to one and one alone,
Love he makes the queen, sitting by his thrown.
His queen he loves, and love is his queen,
Searches for her everywhere and is always keen.
The moment he obeys with utter conviction,
His reward is the erotic, a gentle benediction.
Love life and live for love he maintains,
Takes failure with a smile and never complains.
The striving for perfection is his only drug,
Absolution he wishes to be an everlasting hug.
Melancholia
Melancholia; she doesn’t look this way.
Her pretty eyes glisten in the sun’s subtle sway.
All I want is her face to inspire,
Whilst letting me to be her item of desire.
Her naked charm strips me in turn,
Uncanny the word; in her image I burn.
Dwindle ever so slightly in respect,
For the closeness of many who wouldn’t object.
Love she craved, and sex she received,
By her own self-worth she was being deceived.
She runs away from herself within,
Meanwhile she waits for repose to begin.
Escape from this cycle she would try,
In the web that is her self she would lie.
To have that intimacy, her soul she would give,
To conceal her shame, a dick she would receive.
“Understand me”, is her life’s woeful pledge,
“Feel what I feel”, she screams from her heart’s ledge.
Another in her bed, but how many in her mind?
Requests interrogate her, and she replies in kind.
With each one from pain she tries to abstain,
With a faulty method her attempts in vain.
Experience she must and her release she wills,
The shield she drops and her heart she momentarily fills.
Passion! Yet, no …She feels like a mutt;
Stop! …She screams, but,
Penetration continues from back to front.
Yes …She could, if she would, but she won’t.
Stop! …Her body is so exuberant!
Yes …He would, if he could, but he can’t.
Cogito est forem Mortuus
There’s an exquisite beauty to the world of light
A beauty not everyone can see;
Caught and preoccupied by a futile fight
Thus leaving our eyes full of debris.
Aspiration, like gods, we entertain
Inspiration, like poets, we should maintain.
Love above all is the key to life
Love above all is the way to end the strife.
The heart struggles to awaken us from sleep,
The mind struggles to carry on dreaming.
The mind creates the strife that cuts us deep
The heart is the liberation we are all seeking.
Death to the mind or death to the heart
This has been our mission from the start.
Chose one and eliminate the other;
Consciousness or death is the only way my brother.