Êðîìå òîãî, â òâîåé ñõåìå îãðàíè÷åíèé âîîáùå íåò - îãðàíè÷åíèÿ èçâíå òåáå íå íðàâÿòñÿ (÷òî ìíå ïîíÿòíî è ñ ÷åì ÿ, â ñóùíîñòè, ñîãëàñåí), à òâîå ìèðîâîççðåíèå îãðàíè÷åíèé íå ïðåäóñìàòðèâàåò. Âîò è ñëàâíî, òðàì-ïàì-ïàì. Êîãäà êîëè÷åñòâî ïîêàëå÷åííûõ è/èëè ïðåäàííûõ â ïîëüçó ñîâîêóïíîñòè îáñòîÿòåëüñòâ îêðóæàþùèõ ïðåâçîéäåò íåêóþ êðèòè÷åñêóþ òî÷êó, ìîæåò îáíàðóæèòüñÿ, ÷òî ãäå-òî â ýëåêòðîöåïî÷êå ìèðîâîççðåíèå-ìîòèâàöèÿ-æåëàíèÿ-äåéñòâèÿ ÷òî-òî çàìêíóëî äàâíî, òîëüêî çàìåòèòü áûëî íåêîìó.
Òàêîå âîò íàáëþäåíèå.
Èç current music (Pink Floyd, Animals) -
Dogs (Waters, Gilmour) 17:06
You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need. You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street, You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed. And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight, You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.
And after a while, you can work on points for style. Like the club tie, and the firm handshake, A certain look in the eye and an easy smile. You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to, So that when they turn their backs on you, You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder. You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older. And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south, Hide your head in the sand, Just another sad old man, All alone and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown. And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone. And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around. So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone, Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused. Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used. Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise. If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend. And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner And everything's done under the sun, And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain. Who was trained not to spit in the fan. Who was told what to do by the man. Who was broken by trained personnel. Who was fitted with collar and chain. Who was given a seat in the stand. Who was breaking away from the pack. Who was only a stranger at home. Who was ground down in the end. Who was found dead on the phone. Who was dragged down by the stone.
õì
Date: 2002-03-14 04:00 am (UTC)Re: õì
Date: 2002-03-14 05:24 am (UTC)Re: õì
Îíà òî äà, åñòü, êàê îïûò, íàïðèìåð.
Õîòÿ è óäîâîëüñòâèå, äà, íàïðèìåð, îò òîãî ÷òî ñïðàâèëñÿ ñ ñèòóàöèåé.
Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-14 08:07 am (UTC)À èçâëå÷åíèå ïîëüçû èç âñåãî ÷òî-òî ìíå ïîäîçðèòåëüíî íàïîìèíàåò...
Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-14 11:52 am (UTC)×òî êàñàåòñÿ èçâëå÷åíèÿ ïîëüçû èç âñåãî, òî èçâëåêàòü èç âñåãî âðåä íè÷óòü íå ëó÷øå.  èòîãå âñå ñâîäèòñÿ ê ïîíèìàíèþ ïîëüçû è âðåäà.
Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-14 11:52 pm (UTC)Íàñ÷åò òîãî, ÷òî âñå âîîáùå ê ÷åìó-òî ñâîäèòñÿ - áîëüøîé âîïðîñ.
Ê ïîíèìàíèþ òî÷íî íå ñâîäèòñÿ íè÷åãî, ñâîäèòñÿ ê ïðèìåíåíèþ. Íàïðèìåð, ðàçáèòü êîìó-íèáóäü íà óëèöå ãîëîâó è âçÿòü ó íåãî êîøåëåê - âçÿâøåìó ïîëüçà, à ñäîõøåìó - âðåä. ×òî íå îñòàíàâëèâàåò âçÿâøåãî è íå ïîìîãàåò ñäîõøåìó. Ïîíèìàíèå áûëî ó îáîèõ àïðèîðè.
Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-15 12:02 am (UTC)Åñëè ìû íà÷èíàåì ðàññìàòðèâàòü êðàéíèé ñëó÷àé: óáèéñòâî, òî âñå óïèðàåòñÿ â ðåëèãèîçíûå êîíöåïöèè èëè èõ îòñóòñòâèå, ïîñêîëüêó ïîíèìàíèå ìåñòà æèçíè, ñóùíîñòè ñìåðòè è ò.ï. ïîíÿòèé íàñòîëüêî ðàçëè÷àåòñÿ â ðàçíûõ êîíöåïöèÿõ, ÷òî ãîâîðèòü î ñìåðòè âíå êîíòåêñòà ñòàíîâèòñÿ áåññìûñëåííî.
Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-15 12:14 am (UTC)Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-15 12:22 am (UTC)Ìîòèâàöèÿ îïðåäåëÿåòñÿ ìèðîâîççðåíèåì, èç ìîòèâàöèè âûòåêàþò æåëàíèÿ, à èç æåëàíèé äåéñòâèÿ. Òàêèì îáðàçîì âñå ñâîäèòñÿ ê ìèðîâîççðåíèþ. À âíåøíèå îãðàíè÷åíèÿ, íå âûòåêàþùèå èç ìèðîâîççðåíèÿ íà ìîé âçãëÿä ðåäêîñòíàÿ äðÿíü. Îñîáåííî åñëè ÷åëîâåê íàêëàäûâàåò èõ ñàì íà ñåáÿ. Î÷åíü íàïîìèíàåò óíòåð-îôèöåðñêóþ âäîâó.
Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-15 01:02 am (UTC)Êðîìå òîãî, â òâîåé ñõåìå îãðàíè÷åíèé âîîáùå íåò - îãðàíè÷åíèÿ èçâíå òåáå íå íðàâÿòñÿ (÷òî ìíå ïîíÿòíî è ñ ÷åì ÿ, â ñóùíîñòè, ñîãëàñåí), à òâîå ìèðîâîççðåíèå îãðàíè÷åíèé íå ïðåäóñìàòðèâàåò. Âîò è ñëàâíî, òðàì-ïàì-ïàì. Êîãäà êîëè÷åñòâî ïîêàëå÷åííûõ è/èëè ïðåäàííûõ â ïîëüçó ñîâîêóïíîñòè îáñòîÿòåëüñòâ îêðóæàþùèõ ïðåâçîéäåò íåêóþ êðèòè÷åñêóþ òî÷êó, ìîæåò îáíàðóæèòüñÿ, ÷òî ãäå-òî â ýëåêòðîöåïî÷êå ìèðîâîççðåíèå-ìîòèâàöèÿ-æåëàíèÿ-äåéñòâèÿ ÷òî-òî çàìêíóëî äàâíî, òîëüêî çàìåòèòü áûëî íåêîìó.
Òàêîå âîò íàáëþäåíèå.
Èç current music (Pink Floyd, Animals) -
Dogs (Waters, Gilmour) 17:06
You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.
And after a while, you can work on points for style.
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
So that when they turn their backs on you,
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you
get older.
And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand,
Just another sad old man,
All alone and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw
around.
So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone,
Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this
maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everything's done under the sun,
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain.
Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
Who was told what to do by the man.
Who was broken by trained personnel.
Who was fitted with collar and chain.
Who was given a seat in the stand.
Who was breaking away from the pack.
Who was only a stranger at home.
Who was ground down in the end.
Who was found dead on the phone.
Who was dragged down by the stone.
Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-15 02:06 am (UTC)Re: Ñïîðíî
Date: 2002-03-15 02:56 am (UTC)Ïîïðîáóé ïðåäïîëîæèòü, ÷òî ÿ íå îçàáî÷åí âîïðîñîì òîãî, áóäåò ëè òåáå îòäà÷à, îòêóäà, è êàêàÿ. È ïîëàãàåòñÿ ëè âîîáùå.