Sunday Morning Thoughts 11.25.13

Pardon me for my grouchiness. Life has been hard at me for years now and my smoking habit has been making it as tough as possible to catch my breath. It’s not that I can’t, it’s just that these things take a while. History and hindsight recall nothing more than the big moments, but all those little ones in between happen just as much and rightfully deserve as much credit as the rest. Though I must ask, when was the last time that the right person received all of the right kind of credit?

But I’m not a man of the hypothetical, so the questions will be far and few between. I am, or once was and will be again, a man of action. And even Da Vinci himself was a procrastinator. The problem with those trying to explore this reality is that we can sometimes stare off into the nothingness with no regard for the time. Not to compare myself, but I seem to have done so anyway. Intelligence and ability varies in shape and form, after all. Focus is difficult when one wants to do so many things.IMG_1983

I don’t, but I could easily envy those with one track minds that go with their one track lives. I’m sure ignorance is bliss but I’ve never had the luxury of being so blissful. There is guilt in my awareness, as there is in all of us who pay attention here and there.

To absolve myself of such guilt can only be through means of making right what is wrong. So what, I believe this world is cruel and evil and doomed? The willingness to do nothing makes you just as evil. I’m not willing to do nothing, it just happens sometimes. And further, I cannot fix all these things by myself, nor is it my place to. I don’t know how to solve the energy crisis. I don’t know how to fix the global economic standard and heal those who suffer from it. I don’t know how to make this world better but I know of people and ideas who can. And perhaps that is my role, not to fix the issues but rather to help those have the means in fixing themselves.

But how dreadfully preachy all that sounds, right? And I must say, I am no big fan of those who seem to preach and preach alone. You don’t just sign up to gain knowledge, experience and some sort of prominent standing in life and even if you could, it would just be some scam. Like all of those African princes with email accounts and the level of comfort with strangers to ask for checks made out to cash. I feel bad for the African prince who is genuinely stuck in such a jam. Too many people crying wolf will make sure that well is never built in his small village.

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Yet, like every good citizen, I will ignore the plight of others and dwell instead upon how I will pave my way towards success. In which, the main struggle I would seem to be at odds with, is that between my realties and my fantasies. Or the struggle in understanding why the two aren’t the same. Or at least not yet. Now mind you, I am no longer fool enough to believe that specifics will come to be as they were dreamt up. I am just old enough and just young enough to see clearly in both directions and upon each plain, I see the unpredictable nature to all that I am. Which makes sense to you, right?

Still, there are stars I can see from where I live but only because there is no moonlight to add to the light polluted air. Though, the sky really has much more light. This all evidence to my lie though, that this occurred on this Sunday morning as the stars were not out while I was awake then. They are out now, as it is almost Monday which means back to work and back to a life that would be deemed acceptable by the societal standards. For the layman, that means my life of work. For the right kind of philosopher it means my life and as the new kind of involuntary laborer. There are no whips outside of metaphors, though they are there just the same.

It is a temporary condition as everything in my life is. I don’t want immortality, not in the slightest. I only wish to earn a life worth being tired from and the peace that comes with doing all that I could have done.  There is a lot of time for me to do the things that I need to do and I have no doubt I will play my role to the best of my ability. If the past has any merit, I will surely make an impact in my future.

Not matter what, the rocks will watch me come and go. They won’t remember me, or at least probably won’t. Whether they have the capacity or not, it takes a lot of force to convince them of your existence.

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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.17.13

I swear, one of these days this thing will live up to its namesake and occur on a Sunday morning. For now, however, we shall take what we can get and have it around for this evening and most likely leak even further. Though not too far into the wee hours. I shouldn’t keep you kids up too late, though I figure many of ye will go ahead and do that anyway. There are worse things, I suppose.

Actually, I stand in my own current correction. I know what is worse than staying up to all sorts of odd hours, exploring and experiencing all of this life. That, of course, would be wasting away minutes, hours, days, years and entire lives idly accepting fate and feeding a nonspecific existence. Millions being born, living and dying with the belief that they are nothing but a constant victims of circumstances and their own victory need be derived from other points, be it other humans, nations or gods. So many constantly absorbing and regurgitating ancient and archaic values and superfluous pop culture without an utterance to question why. I know this. I know this because Brian knows this.

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But hypocrisy always seems to dance upon my shoulder, though my heart lies true, or something courageously cheesy like that. Still, I would believe that one can and will, no matter how incorrectly, judge thyself based upon one’s own perception. See what you want to see and easily ignore what could be done often and regular in the way of grand gesture towards a brighter future. See only the bad, or the lack of the good. I could have a metaphor right here, but then I’d be as bad as the hipster using a cane in the art museum. I know we all see it, but no one is talking about the elephant being projected into the room.

I wonder why people would get upset about someone laughing in a room that echoes. I would figure that it would rightfully inspire an infection of reciprocated and rippled giggles, chuckles and ha-ha’s all about. But nay, they stare and share no sort of view with you, he or she who chooses to let forth any kind of genuine emotion. Such commotion, it would be called as they look so appalled. It’s only thinly disguised jealously though. This I much, I pretend to know. From experience.

But dig, I have yet to get much of anywhere, aside from forcing some literary tricks and wordplay. The focus of this, doesn’t exist. As you would very much expect, if you have ever read anything I’ve typed up. But we shall press on and salvage what we can.

As it has been for awhile now, some serious business is going on in this natural world or ours. In just the last decade, super storms and typhoons, uncontrollable fires raging in the dried and dead vegetation across the continents and miles of ice breaking off and melting into the vast, salty blue. All of this seeming to happen more and more and despite the cries, us small folk can only pick up the pieces of our homes and lives and hope that which is unavoidable doesn’t happen again. And even that much doesn’t affect the lot of us beyond a few synthetic moments of sadness. Then ‘click’ goes the screen and off with it go our minds to die our salesman deaths at the end of salesman lives, if you could be so bold as to call that a life. The theater has taught us that a good heavy bit of delusion is required in order to make any of that seem like the truth.

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But who can talk about people portrayed by those  who historically wear masks and are prone to cross-dressing? I would know, I used to be an actor myself. I probably will be again someday, filling the place where the ‘normies’ would seek therapy. That day, however, is not today and that may be some sort of unconscious action of my own design but since I have yet to fill myself in on the details, I suppose I am not at liberty to divulge. Forgive me, if such a thing exists within your heart.

Yet, I don’t think that’s what I’ve been mad about. As I lean on my cane, I could tell tales of how I used to blog before so many others did. I could sing songs about what I like and what I think I’ve seen. I have already done so, and will do again but I beg of you to see me as different.

Wait a moment, let me confer with myself for a moment.

                Yes?

                Well, I suppose you’re right.

                But do you think… well… I mean…

                You’re right, I can’t believe I let something like that slip.

                Apologies.

                Or something like that.

                I’m still getting back into the swing of it.

                Yes, I’ll tell them.

So without actually taking it away, I want to remove the word beg from anything that I have ever written at any point. Unless it was in fictitious context, but not many of you have seen that. Yet.

Now I know what you’re thinking… well… maybe I don’t, but I’m going ahead and assuming anyway. Why would I spend so much time to type out my insanity when I could have just gone back and deleted that bit that I had already written?

Because no one I have ever looked up to as a writer had the ability to do such a thing. They typed, and there it was. Not digitized and so impermanent. It was there on paper that could only be tossed, torn or burnt to ash in order to make it go. Yes, I could do that with my computer but that could be considered environmentally irresponsible. Unless it’s in another part of the world. Then, who cares? Am I right? Ha, ha… ha… ha…

But nay, I say, because there needs to be a certain weight to the words that we so freely spill and spew.

You see, I used to be an actor but now I’m a writer. Or at the very least, I’m playing one on your computer screen. Or phone, you dirty millennial you. I need to hold a certain standard to what I am trying to do here. That’s why it stopped for so long. I couldn’t find it and not saying that I have again. I just know I need to continue that pursuit. That pursuit that will outlive every other thing in my life, and hell, if I do it right and it all gets that meaning it so savagely craves, it will last much further than this flesh can go about it.

And I know that I talk about mortality a lot, but my confession would be false if I told you that I didn’t think about it. It is the one thing that seems to put that constant stress on us and why we can seem to always justify our dirty, old means and ends to ourselves. It’s why people work their jobs, no matter how shitty or evil or exhausting. It’s why we can defend how we hurt each other on such a regular basis that you’d think that they’d put a schedule up in the station about it.

And I, possibly in high amounts of insanity, think that I can do something about it. Further, I think that I need to and unlike all of you and your deities and voodoo, I know it’s as real as anything anyone could ever believe is real.

Mind you, I’m not saying it is real. I’m just saying that it seems to be more real than anything else. To me. After all, I keep waking up as the same bloke. For the most part.

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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.10.13

 

As the prophecy foretold, I will keep on this path that I had almost abandoned.

 

That’s a scary thing to admit but it is quite true. I struggled for such a time with whether to further pursue this little thought experiment that was started over three years ago now. Time, that tricky devil, can fill the mind with such doubts in itself. Though it may really have more to do with man than time itself.

 

But how far it seems I have come and yet how far it is to go. The crushing weight of impermanence pressed down on I and all those I know and love. Mortality of our ideas and thoughts is just as real as that of the flesh. We squishy beings seem to all struggle to grasp an idea of meaning or identity. Whether it be carved from our own experiences or conditioned to be, maintaining true to those core mentalities get no relief from strain.

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I claim weariness and build my pile of dissatisfaction to keep all out, or maybe just me in. I suppose we all do, but I really shouldn’t speak for anyone besides myself. Either way, this claim is weak and unjust and should not be tolerated. I’m tired of all my own excuses and crave to find new catchphrases. I fear being irrelevant too much to let my laziness continue.

 

At this point, it could be very easy to reflect upon all that had been and say something like, “golly, it’s been a hell of a trip” and pat myself on the back for how far I have come and curse that universe that fills my memory with regret, follies and foma. Even the beautiful catastrophes can no longer be used to prolong the present further into the future.

 

I thought earlier, that I might publically damn the future tense and the comfortable insecurity its use provides. To hell with saying that this or that ‘will’ be, or ‘can’ be or even more grotesquely, ‘should’ be. Damn the promises of the past and only believe in what ‘is’.

 

It was going to be a whole big ordeal to go into but I realize now that it would only perpetuate the problem. Complaints in the direction of the future are exclusively the product to the lazy irresponsibility of the present, which is something I’m only beginning to see now. I could blame it on the past but that would only be further creating issue.

 

In fact, the only parts of the past that are so grand are so simply because they were allowed to happen because of my lack of intention. They happened and captivated me further because they were things my then limited capacity for understanding was perplexed to the point of viciously infectious interest.

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The truth is that all the past is a paradigm and whether it truly is right or wrong matters not. It is most likely neither. Each moment in these years I’ve lived have been different then the last and the beauty has remained the same. I just have more words and other actions in which to describe this beauty that I see.

 

Now I could go on a rant damning the glass put in between paintings and people in art museums, and all other things we put in place to separate ourselves from a aesthetically crafted depiction of a specific perspective. But I won’t. I could rant about destruction, pain and violence, and how greed is somehow, in some way, at the root of it all. But I won’t. I could analyze and condemn humanity as a whole for not being able to get it together long enough to make sure that everyone gets to eat dinner. I could, but I won’t.

 

For you must dig, my friend, that in order for this thought experiment of mine to survive, it most certainly must adapt. All living things have to and I consider this to be very much alive. The idea within itself is an adaptation. It was, and is, a benchmark for the constant progression towards the future. Sure, this may only seem like my ideas being spelt out but I can assure you that it’s much more. It is now yours as well.

 

Don’t believe me? Well you shouldn’t have read this much then. Whether you’re going to admit it or not, this voice is now in your head. My voice, my perspective is now part of yours, no matter how invalid you may want to believe it to be. Why you allowed such a thing to occur is your business. Again, this is a one way transmission for the most part. ‘Tis just I expressing outwardly to you, with your say having no effect on what has been done here. I would say now but realistically, my mind will be off into something else by the time you bring this back to life. It could be minutes, or hours, days, etc. but its immortality is brought about by you.

 

And I suppose that is the only way that you can live forever. It can certainly go much further than your biological lifeline, but it can only live as that idea. Be it as vague as a memory or as spelled out and specific as this bit right here, it is only that idea that lives. As each word is typed, so it dies in this world. In this reality, if that’s what you choose to call it.

 

So then question becomes, why? Though I suppose why is always the question, when you break it down bare enough. So we’ll dodge that bullet and ask why would someone want their ideas to have such permanence? Seems like a rather ego-maniacal behavior, no? Selfish at the very least and yet those whose ideas live never seem to come across that way. Usually, they emerge in brilliantly decorated modesty, despite what their importance may be.

 

Perhaps that is what this idea of truth is. When someone’s projected perspective is able to ignite something in the minds of all, or at least most, of the people who get experience whatever that might be. Art, science, literature, technology- the classification matters not. There still has to be made a division between that which is nourishing and that which is parasitic but that may be for another post.

 

For now, I check out. Only until next week though kids. We’re back on the air.

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A False Requiem for my Youth and an Ode to Joanne

The hiatus ends now. It has to be like pulling off a bandage. I won’t go into all of the failed attempts up to now. I’ll just march forward, as I did the first time.

So dig.

The time has passed between the last update and what a long bit of time that has seemed to be. Then again, here is this moment and it only looks like a few short leaps away from where I started. Then again, I suppose that depends on your definition of leaps, and how far you’re willing to look back.

Jump a year back, you have one thing. Jump two, something else. Jump back three, holy shit. Four, what the fuck? Five? Ten? Fifteen? Though I suppose that is my limit, for now.

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It’s strange how that works though. I used to think, and maybe you did too, that when I would be the age that I am now that all of my issues would be dissolved away and there I would sit, on my pinnacle of pride and success, gleaming down upon the life I have led. I always thought I would have everything all figured out. And I really banked on how cool I’d be.

From where it stands now, I would never claim that to be the case. Listen to the quake of my trembling knees as I stare down this slipping world, with the rope of promises tied around my waist. The dirt around my feet caves in as the weight grows and grows and my resistance seems more and more strained. Me, and my full time job, sinking to the bottom of this ocean called society. My dreams slipping like bubbles from my mouth as the mounting pressure collapses my skull.

They say drowning is a peaceful way to die. They would most likely be the kids I went to Junior High with. Hell of a lot they know. Who has ever had the chance to explain the sensation of drowning after the fact? After all, facts are hard. As is breathing underwater.

But I’m lying to you, or at least not telling the truth. For you see, my imagination as a lad could have never created the fantastic spectacle that has been my life. For all its ups, downs, lefts, diagonals and loops were, and are all, I have. I’m a creature of linear time, and I feast on beginnings and endings, despite pretty much everything in existence lying in the space between those two. Where tomorrow goes is such a mystery to me that I’d never dare admit how terrified I am of it. Other than now, on the internet.

Speaking of which, good job Earth. That’s all you’ll get but the partially Anonymous and Occupy organized ‘Million Mask March’ has shown up in news sites that even the sheep of society would deem credible. And, as far as I’ve heard, not many were arrested and none were killed in all of these gatherings across all hemispheres. What this may end up meaning in the scale of things is yet to be seen, but I can easily say that it could have gone much worse.

Still, this world of ours is at the same level, if not sloping upwards, in its usual catastrophe. A New Jersey mall had a young man who scared a whole bunch of people before making a much more public suicide than he would have managed otherwise, while Net Neutrality flushes down the drain. The pleas of the Pakistani whose lives have been decimated by the flying, killer robots of America went virtually unheard. Five members of Congress were present in the place taxes pay them to work, according to one article. In my quick search, I couldn’t find one that listed any more of them.

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But this is all business that you already know, right? You, that well informed and important member of this society, you already heard about all of these things and are taking the steps necessary to fix it, right? Right? RIGHT?

Of course you’re not. Or at the very least you’re like me, and are not doing nearly as much as I could and a vast amount less than what I need to do. I may know better than most. I’m still talking much larger than I’ve been able to walk.

And so ceases my whimpers for this episode. It’s viciously selfish that I’ve done this much already. There are those who deal with more hardship that I can even begin to comprehend. I know a few of those people, and I love them dearly. I only hope that I can have the strength and perseverance that they’ve had facing such traumatic occurrences.

Which brings me to the true point of all of this.

A promise. It’s a promise I made to someone the last time I saw them, though at the time I thought I’d be seeing them again. ‘Twas that glorious woman who was one of the first fans of these ramblings that I choose to share with the world. She always told me that I had a gift and I would always thank her politely while never believing the talent she had seen in me. In a stern tone that I am glad she had been able to take with me, told me to never stop writing. I promised her that I never would.

She’s gone from this place now and despite my disbelief in afterlives, I hope she has found the peace and company that she truly deserves. But as for me, still stuck in this life, my work is only beginning and now it holds an extra bit of importance. Though she may never see the results, the last strand of my moral integrity cannot allow me to let her hope be for naught. She trusted me with this and if there is any hope left for my raggedy old soul, I cannot let her down.

So this is my promise to you, where ever it is you are now, even if that is nowhere: I will keep writing. I will force all of this thought, in both goodness and darkness, from my mind and soul in the elegance that I have already invested countless hours into refining. I will share these words with the world, in the hope that it will allow some grand and larger beauty to grow from the ashes of loss and tragedy.

It is the least I can do, for all that you had done for me and the vast amount more you’d done for my closest friend, to whom I owe my entire world. I promise I’ll keep writing. And I hope we can meet again someday, but if not, I will always keep your memory inside my mind.

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