The Great Fall

He was falling.
In a moment, he had slipped.
Only before, he had been fine.
He had been walking with everyone else.
The path was clear.
They all knew the chasm was coming,
But they would walk it together...
They knew there was a narrow bridge.
But they would all walk it together,
And they would be fine.

He wandered for only a moment...
He wanted to see what was off the path.
He left the others walking. He would return later.
They were still walking together.
They would be fine.

The path was no longer clear.
He saw only light and shadow.
Thick growth surrounded.
He neither saw them, nor heard them.
That IS what he wanted.
They would be fine.

But in a moment, he had slipped.
The chasm opened up in front of him in the blink of an eye...
And in that moment, he had slipped.
He was falling.

He had slipped away from them.
He had slipped away from their path.
He had slipped out of time itself.
Seconds now passed as months before him.
From the great chasm's mouth, he could see the bridge...
So far away.

They were crossing...together,
And he wished he were with them.
But he had slipped...

From the bridge, one had seen him
And in the next month, she cried "Grab Hold!"
It took a week for his arm to find rockface,
And hours for his fingers to take hold.
When he finally stopped, it was painful.
His body collided with rock.

He hung there, dangling.
The abyss still threatening to swallow him whole.

Time returned.
What would he do now?
What could he do next?
"Climb!", he heard in the distance.
Climb, he thought to himself.

His path was now only upwards.
His path was now only the climb.
In time, he would return to the others,
But for now, they walked as he climbed.
They were still walking together.
And they would be fine.

His journey was now only upwards.
And he would be fine as well.

On Nightmares...

As promised, here is the journal entry I wrote on December 8, 2004 concerning my interpretation of Nightmares. This entry has not been changed, edited or added too as it is very late and my brain is too exhausted to attempt such tomfoolery. Note that this is an extension of the previous blog entry, why not.

I think I have decided what truly makes a nightmare. For in my humble opinion (which in itself will be arguable), it is not always the content or imagery of one's dreams that constitutes a nightmare. When it comes right down to it, all dreams are a little bit frightening.
The constant spatial disorientation.
The unrecognizable or even unknown imagery.
The displacement of friends and family through the unconscious mind's use of symbolism.
All very disconcerting.
It is often the intensity of one's perceived imagery that is regarded as nightmarish. Honestly though, we regularly sleep through most of this intense imagery without even realizing it. And if most dreams deal with fears or unresolved psychological issues through use of this intense imagery, then what am I trying to claim defines the nightmare?
I say it is not the dream at all, but it's conclusion. In other words, how and when one awakens.
I had a dream last night that was...intriguing.
The details and the imagery are unimportant in this instance, as they are not my focus. The dream itself was a very comfortable progression from something quite pleasant into something a shade darker...and significantly more uncomfortable.
I was fully aware, in as much as I could be conscious of it, that it was becoming more uncomfortable and that I did not wish to continue having it.
Yet, I did not awaken.
My mind either forced or allowed me to see the dream through to its awful conclusion, and it was only when I awoke that I realized I had been having a nightmare. When my eyes opened and I saw where I was, safe in my room and not in that horrible other place, I felt such a sense of relief.
It is that relief, strangely enough, that defines the nightmare. The sheer realization that you no longer have to exist in that terrible life (for it does feel like a lifetime despite its span of only a few seconds) gives one the point of comparison necessary to separate a dream from a nightmare.
Without that moment of realization, it's just another collection of intense imagery playing itself out in the unconscious mind.
It goes unrecognized and probably disregarded by the conscious mind.
So in some sense, as regards what I have said here, one must be awake to have a nightmare.

Back to the future (Jan. 23, 2005):
Huh. I wonder if that makes sense...

Analyze this.

I have strange dreams.
Have for a long time.
For the most part, the ones capable of being significantly recalled are both enjoyable and disconcerting.
I know that seems to be a strange polarity, but quite frankly, that is what I find so damned entertaining about my psyche.
It resembles the obligatory train wreck.
I actually wrote up something interesting on nightmares in a previous journal recently and I will try to get that in here tomorrow in regards to this entry. But I digress...
My point was to be however, that to others most of my dream imagery might seem nightmarish. But not to kooky old me.
That does not preclude that I can interpret their meanings easliy, though.
As an example, I offer forth today's unconscious treat, dreamt during a 37 minute nap I had before getting ready to go out tonght.
As most dreams last only seconds, what I remember before returning to consciousness can only be measured in the milliseconds, but here it is anyway...
I am here.
In my room.
I am aware of a small snake in the room.
I am not fearful of any reptiles and recognize this snake to be harmless.
Probably of the garter snake family, I think to myself.
I lose track of it.
My next perception is that it has found its way into my pant leg.
I still am not in a panic, but I do begin to furiously chase its progress in an attempt to remove it.
I catch hold.
I do it with too much force.
In my attempt, I have severed it in half, almost perfectly.
It falls to the floor.
I pick up the end with the head.
I lay it on my computer table. I am neither remorseful nor pleased with my action.
I accept what I have done.
But, it is not dead.
The eyes blink. It scurries to the edge of the table where the table meets the wall and falls through.
It (the head with mere inches of the body) is moving into my closet.
Now, I have become slighty perturbed.
I begin to remove EVERYTHING from the closet in an attempt to find the bastard.
I find it.
I grab hold angrily.

I wake up.

There you go. Just a taste of EVERY SINGLE sleep-state for me. This one was fairly reserved.
Enjoy.

Dumb-founded

I mentioned that I would provide further explanation as to the 5-day abscence on my own blog.
So without further delay, here 'tis. Short and sweet. No fancy language, no drawn out treatise or exposition...
Creative folk are an inherently unstable bunch. Our lives are puncuated by moments of wonderful, beautiful, exhausting
Inspiration.
But what happens inbetween the punctuation?
Diddley-shit.
Nothing.
Nada.
Void.
I myself would never resort to using this blog as some trite, banal, TIRED excuse to convey how "good" or "bad" my day was.
If I am going to type on this damn thing, I am going ot type on this damn thing when I have something to SAY.
I want myself and whomever else lays eyes upon this to THINK when they read it. To consider. To ruminate. To have a revelation of consciousness, no matter how insignificant.
But that does not happen every day.
Some days, I just feel stupid.
Dumb.
Uninspired.
Disconnected.
During such lapses, there will therefore be only silence.

Talk amongst yourselves.

My bad.

Yes, yes. It has been several days since I have done this. And I will explore why within the next few posts, but today's entry is more frivolous.
IT SNOWED TODAY!!! Our first snow of the season!!!
For almost four hours, white frozen joy plummeted to Earth and transformed Wednesday's average duldrum into Wednesday's
Winter Wonderland. Yes, I am aware that 'Winter Wonderland' is a trite, perhaps even banal expression, but I wanted to use alliteration ever so badly, so...GET OFFF MY BACK!
It still inspires me to see what even the smallest accumulation of snow does to those who are not accustomed to it. Children can be heard shrieking with amusement across vast distances, as if the falling flakes themselves are carrying their excitement and intrigue on the wind. But age...Age is no barrier in a snow-covered world. From the youngest of us to the oldest, eyes brighten; smiles widen; and somehow, for some reason, the connectedness of our spirits grows deeper. Why, I even got to help a lovely old woman back to her apartment, after having somehow gotten herself to the apartment mailboxes.
She reached for my hand and took hold as any grandmother might hold her child's child's and together we walked in the falling snow as she relayed years of her life in only a few minutes. Tomorrow is to be her 80th birthday.

Under snow, under nothng more than frozen precipitaiton...
The world is more serene.
More peaceful.
More pure.
More inspiring.

As is all things in life, however, it is transitory.
The snow melts...
But the memories of today will serve the hearts of thousands for years to come.

A line that has got to be applicable at some point...

"Welcome Swingers! Pull up a groove and Get Fabulous!!!"
Calculon-Futurama, Bender Should not be Allowed on TV

I blame Paris Hilton.

Let's talk for just a moment, and I do mean a moment, about the perceptual differences between Want and Need. I have no desire to delve into this topic to it's fullest potential, as that would lead into a lengthy and quite dull philosophical debate. What I want to address is the 21st century perception of said states (or do I NEED to address it? Oooooooo).
Our culture is one one of immediate gratification. Our access to virtually any kind of luxury (within a given budget) has confused our sensibilities. It has convinced us that much of what we want, we actually feel we NEED. My generation and the one just below me are most guilty of this crime, as we are the Microwave Generation. We do not wait for anything. Like, could there BEEEEEE anything more heinous than patience? It like, totally wastes my time. Gaw!
But to a certain extent, all of American culture breeds these ideas. We know we need food. But we want to super-size it. We know we need clothing. But we want Hilfiger and Prada. We know we need shelter. But we want a 41 room mansion with a gym and tanning machine so we can look GREAT sitting with champagne in our jacuzzi after already swimming in a pool that's heated, well, for the hell of it.
It confuses our sensibilities.
And this confusion is dangerous. Why? Lots of reasons. But tonight's reason is DEPENDENCE. Dependence on things. Things which are ephemeral. Things which are replaceable. Things that are making us stupider as a species as they continue to isolate us behinds walls of materialistic junk. Walls that isolate us from each other as we feed our INDIVDUAL "needs". "I don't care about Joe Blow, I need this!"
To get off subject a little, I bring all of this up in an unrelated fashion. I got very angry with myself today. I lost the internet for several hours (turned out to be some kind of f'ed up font conflict, so whatever. Still love ya' Macintosh!), but I while I was disconnected, I started to think about how much I thought I needed the Internet... and my computer...and my car...and the flushing toilet...and the TV... and the microwave... and electricity to run all of it! I lost the Internet for a few hours and felt helpless! Disconnected. Out of touch with the rest of the world. The God-damned Internet!!! When did this happen?! When did my dependency become so severe? When did I lose sight of a life without all this junk?
What the hell would this world, and specifically this society, do if we were to lose all of this?
Dependency makes an individual weak. It clouds judgement. It makes one susceptible to compromise and self-destruction.
If that is its effect on the individual...
What does it do to a culture?


Ah, well. I'm sure we'll be fine.

From today's "I Guess You had to be There" Category

If you decided one day that you needed alot of cheese puffs,
I mean, ALOT of fluffy, delicious, cheesy cheese puffs,
How many do you think you would buy to satiate this desire?
Would you think about it by the bag?
Or by the container?

What if you had the opportunity to think about it in terms
of individual puffs? And you could consider them into the thousands?
What if I offered it to you in a Five (5!) gallon drum?

This is standard fare at the consumerist circus that is Sam's Club.
And for most, close to 2,000 cheese puffs in a five gallon drum would...
well, probably suffice.

But not her. Not this woman. Only God knows why, to what ultimate
purpose she had in mind, but this night she felt the need to buy 6 (SIX!!!)
FIVE GALLON DRUMS FOR A POTENTIAL GRAND TOTAL OF CLOSE TO
TWELVE THOUSAND (12,000) CHEESY POOFS!!!

GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!!!!

I have no futher comment.

Catharsis in a plain, brown wrapper.

To whomsoever may read this,
besides myself and my friend Rebecca...

It should ne noted forthwith that I am an over-thinker. I tend to remain inside of decisions, moments, circumstances, whathaveyou; and I analyze and then re-analyze my re-analyzations. All and all, it generally tends to manifest a good deal of over-analyzation. I have read, and I have learned things. Ideas, Ideaologies, Idealizations, whathaveyou. And these things have allowed me to step through SO many new conceptual doors. I can truly say, with both joy and hestitation in my soul, that these things which I have learned have set me on a path of creation, the end result of which will be a wholly unique and hopefully beneficial perspective on this universe. Me. The end result of Me.
And for this I must be happy. And I must be patient.
But I don't do either very well these days and that is because of the price. The price of the things I have learned. Remember the doors I got to step through, the conceptual ones?... As it turns out, they kind of lock from the inside. Once one walks out...it's almost impossible to walk back in. So, the price you pay (outside of the side effect of over-analysis), is in simply accepting the new perspective. Because with that knowledge gained, with new doors in front of you and an old one closed, you must accept the loss of the old door. For anything gained, it is a virtual inevitability that something be lost.
Sometimes, that's really hard to live with.
Sometimes, you don't want to see the world the way you do.
Sometimes, you want to go back to what's lost.
Sometimes, you feel like you know less for having learned.
Take human relationships for example, specifically Romantic human relationships. Now, I capitalize Romantic because I know Romance to be an abstract, one inside of love. And an abstract has a life of its own, outside of petty human concerns. Like Truth or Jealousy or Equality or even Love itself, it spins and twists and twines through our conscious lives. Uniting us and separating us all at the same time. It's one of the millions of conceptual revelations that mankind has achieved in its short history that help us to define our lives with each other.
As an over-analyst, abstracts sure do make life hell just as much as they make life worth living, though.
Romance in particular is a keen example. Only a self-aware species could be capable of making something so fundamentally simple so unbelievably complicated. From a strictly reductionist perspective, love is a necessary physiological response whose sole intent is procreation of the species. But abstraction has made it so much more.
With our ability to manifest and UNDERSTAND feelings like love and romance, we are able to share those feelings outside of the end result of mere copulation.
And throughout our lives, it will be wonderful to love.
And it will be inspiring to love.
And it will be inevitable to love.
But it will also be hard to love sometimes.
And it will hurt to love...
And it will be inevitable that it will hurt.
So why do we do it? Procreation is possible with out it. Why create such height and such depth in an emotion?
Because consciousness makes us lonely.
Consciousness connects us to an entire universe if we want to see it. It connects us to everyone else EVERYWHERE.
But in the same horrifying breaths, it isolates us. Into One. Single. Individual.
And that single realization, that single thought inside of billions, is what makes us NEED to love.
Because once we understand just how big this universe is, and just how infintesimal one is inside of it...
You want nothing more than to take someone else's hand...
And hold on together.
Then, it doesn't matter how big the universe is.
Or how hard life can be.
Or how short life is...
Because you have each other.
That's all I want. I just want someone who can make the universe...
Not seem so big.
I want to be able to look into her eyes and say,
"This is it.
This is life.
And I'm in love with you...
And I don't want to waste any more of my life without you in it."

I didn't write that. I stole it from 'Garden State'. I'm not entirely sure where I was going with all of this, so...

Goonight, Love.
Don't be a stranger.

Ohhhhhhhh, fudge.

I understand poker.
I ENJOY poker.
I appreciate the elusive possiblities of (seemingly) random chance.
I like drinking.

Why can't I win poker?
I really just want my five dollars back.

Hah, Money again.

Images of an Insomniac-1:55 AM

Outside is quiet.
The wooden deck betrays my approach.
My car sits below,
Bathed under the spotlight of artificial day.
The wind rends night out of silence...
Leaves rustle. Dead, they fall.
Windchimes begin an unwritten melody.
Cigarette smoke dances as the tune plays out...
And is done.
A cat moves out of the shadows.
Stopping in the fluorescent sun,
It stares back into the void from which it came.
And is gone.
I look down at my cigarette.
This one is almost finished.


The moon isn't out.

Papa needs a new pair of shoes...

Let's be as clear as possible right now, right here: I HATE MONEY. I hate the exchange of it. I hate the need for it. I hate the greed it causes. I hate the envy it incites in people. At it's very core, it is a distasteful self-repeating system of more versus less that creates a desire quotient that could NEVER be satisfied by even the "richest" humans on this planet. But above all of that, above all of the complaints from a person who will never have alot of money, there is one thing about it that I hate over all the rest: It is inescapable. And I loathe what that does to me as a person. Everyday, I have to live (and be content) with participating in a system I find revolting. I have to abide everyday with the duplicity and spiritual incongruity of BEING in a materialistic, consumeristic, self-satisfying, selfish, greedy, unrelenting, bloated, capitalist wasteland. And I have no other choice. I am neither a victim or a victor. I am not 'poor' and I am not 'rich'. I am simply stuck, like an insect in amber, in an economic purgatory, always wondering about "the next dollar". I am tired. I am tired of feeling the guilt of participation. I will not live without it. I condone its continuation EVERY GODDAMN day. I am tired of the inconsistency. I have asked my friends before in discussion to consider in one day how often the decisions they make that day involve money on some level. I became nasueated when I did it. The bulk of my thought processes end with the involvement of money.
I am tired.Tired of these thoughts. Tired of knowing how much longer, how many more YEARS, these thoughts will pervade.
I need to find a job in this new place.
I just bought a DVD.
Isn't life an orchestrated irony?

p.s. I promise I will try not to be so continually depressing. But no promises...

Today was actually a very beautiful day.

Life, the Universe and Everything

This pretty much makes it official. I have now allowed the 21st century to consume my soul. After YEARS of successfully avoiding the Intra-web and Cell-u-lur Audio Mobile Car Phones and TeeVooo, there is nothing that remains of my 20th century mortal coil. I am, in every conceivable way, as guilty of being a cyber-essence as anyone else now.
That is fine, though. It echoes where I am in my life. Lost in an unceasing, unviewable void. Knowing not where I am going or exactly why. But I go on. I am but a spirit searching desperately to return to a body. For now, I am only light and electrons. And so I go on.
I feel as though I am Descartes' Dream. If sensory experience and our memory of it is reality as we define it, then I feel as though I can no longer tell where the dream ends and life begins. I am a continuous series of thoughts, ideas and memories bound to Earth only by my name and the perceptions of others. And so I go on.
Bound, but not yet broken.
Searching, but not yet wholly lost.
I turn at this point in my life to a re-exploration of writing. Man's greatest source of cathartic realease. I turn to it as an anchor. A method by which I might stay grounded, while learning not to be afraid of where the wind may take me.
And so it begins. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Happy New Year.