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The thing about philosophy is... That it is really not about anything or, in the words of Anton Chigurh: "The point is there ain't no point." (From the Coen brothers movie No Land for Old Men). Of course this opinion in itself, then, is not about anything, either.

So what happens, then, when one talks about something with a language of nothing?

Everything.

This is of course abstract talk about nothing, something I'm always drawn to, somehow. It is easy not to write anything and even easier to write nothing which, arguably, I'm doing right now.

Nonetheless, I'm finding in myself an urge to write about ponies again, with the language of nothing, naturally. Most of the writing I have done in Finnish lately, manely because of the possibility that I get the sentence structure right then - this is something I can't seem to archieve writing English. I'm sorry for that, for whom ever reads this.

So yee, philosophical entries about ponies coming up. Some day.

And I try to finish my latest story in near future, too. The first one (Chaos Acknowledged) seems ready to me, although I dunno how to make that visible in the story itself. But what evs.