The beggining

I should be listening to "This is the end" right now, but anyway. I read on landiman's brand new blog (he still doesn't allow me to make it public) that every story has a beggining. I know, this is not landiman's creation: we've heard that sentence over an over: "every story has a beggining". Perhaps because I'm sort of highish, I think "fuck, that's not so simple." Is it? I mean, does every story have a beggining? And if so, where is the beggining? Oh man, it's not that cristal clear. I mean take one day, for instance: where is the fucking beggining of a day? When the first ray of sun matches an eye? When my alarm clock beeps? When the minute hand reaches the twelve? Take the minute hand: when can we say it precisely reaches the twelve? I know, I know. You don't care a shit about this shit, and I don't either. But don't tell me then that every story has a beggining, because you will never be able to tell me when.

If you think about it, this is the perfect metaphore of human condition: we have invented so many concepts ("beggining" being one of them) but we know nothing at all. When? No fucking idea, zero, nothing, emptiness inside our skulls. Pure philosphy, pure thought. But alas, thoughts are what we were made to produce, and thoughts we produce. Nothing else matters because nothing else is real. Except for when we make love, and you moan, and I hug you and you embrace me, and a seed is planted inside you, absolutely real, still ignorant of the fact that only more thoughts will come with its growing up into a her or a his.