Someone really needs to make brain lollipops…
Welcome to a post born out of an overly analytical approach to… everything. Sometimes a phrase will embed itself in a part of your brain and stay planted there to be revisited and understood should the possessor of the brain (which incidentally is a nickname of mine) wish to. Here’s one I’ve been carrying around with me for a long time:
“The dim incalculable hours” — F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)
It’s a line said in passing which describes that hazy period of night/morning where time has been lost track of. It doesn’t actually make sense, time is always calculable, but I find it beautiful and as a seasoned veteran of nightowlmanship I’m yet to encounter a more perfect description of being so far beyond bedtime. No doubt this is some basic literary device that I’m simply not read up on, but to me it’s cause to re-evaluate an allegiance to logic in all situations, or should I say, to acknowledge its limits.
Put simply, there are times when an inaccurate or imprecise description, is the best one. Where describing how a thing feels surpasses describing what the thing is when it comes to conveying its essence.
It makes me wonder whether something is fundamentally lost in the act of trying to make sense? Life is inherently absurd and doesn’t care to contort itself in ways we find understandable. Logic and language are limited, so perhaps some things can only be seen by warping them?
Maybe none of that made sense, but in my defence this was written at 6:30 am which is really late – see? Nowhere near as good.
Beautiful indeed, and a constant battle for many. One of the loveliest parts about being awake in the small hours is the logical side eventually giving in to the disorder, so that feelings might be appreciated and come out to help with decisions more than they're normally allowed. The results are usually better than expected.