Friday, October 24, 2008
I once knew a young boy obsessed with stuffing the world into his pocket. Yet, the more he seemed to put together relative to the world around him, the less he seemed to understand. Something akin to “The more you tighten your grip, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.” (The truths in SW continue to blow my mind.)
The ‘means’ for ‘sorting’ issues in one’s life is very great. Without a still, turning ‘A’ into ‘B’ simply will not happen; regardless of all the wishful thinking one can muster. Beyond this, person to person stills are nearly unrecognizable. Our boy from above found his in digging about in the dirt much like one’s half mad neighbor woman, Beatrice; yet had that tid-bit not just been reveled, the world would be none the wiser.
At a time, my personal still was black; much of her seemed very mechanical…but she was extraordinarily beautiful. “Beauty is found within,” and I will add, “and without, at least at the beginning of it all” to that bit of historical verbiage.
As with most relationships, yes, there is the ridiculously fast fading immediate attraction for the still; the ‘I must have that now!’ bit of time. Thankfully, this passes or burns out quickly so the real work can begin, or a better mechanism can be found respectively. Mine passed exceedingly quickly, note, passed…did not burn out. At our first meeting we were surrounded and could not get down to brass tacks right off the bat, but after 30 minutes or so we were finally left to our own devices and spent a merry 2 hours together. Oh, the glory of it! It was windy and cold the day we met, but that is just a shadow in the corner of my memory when recalled. I actually think the first batch was brewed just then, between Stoughton and Home; and it was not a bad batch at that.
Jumping ahead to some later point in time, when a grand repoire was already in place, I sat admiring her from afar. She stood across a high, stony plateau. There was a distinct smell of heather stirred with cold, wet, salty sea air hanging between us. The low lying clouds brought ‘the big lands’ almost to a human scale, yet the long view of our world remained interminable. I had never seen her so disheveled, dirty and weather worn; yet she had never been more satisfying to me. (Maybe those old wise men really were wise?) A smile broke across my rough brow. I had asked a good deal of her over the past few weeks and she had sacrificed without protest. She had run on when she was empty, she had shelter me from the driving rain, bearing it upon her own breast, she had taken me to places I had never seen and never will again. Selflessness was her name. All the while she listened to my lamentations, my bitter, muffled sobs. Patiently yet firmly she comforted my heart…she was my cathartic, black smudge, MY precious, cathartic, black smudge. It was a completely inhuman experience. As near as can possibly be, she was the exact plug that my leaky heart required. And loved her.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
...I set about to pay attention to that which has been neglected...namely WaLST...despite my best efforts a legitimate post will have to wait as I have spent all of my time putting together tomorrow's musical drive-thru. Real blergs will be here presently.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
(I will write this vision through the lens of the single person, for at present, I have none other lens to view through. I am well certain that counter statements to this text abound.)
There is a perpetual state in the life of singledom; this state personifies the idea of the rolling stone failing to gather moss. The concept of ‘love at first sight’ is a farce, we will do well to have that out and go forward understanding that it is a thought propagated by the same people that would never tell a dear friend the truth for fear of hurting them. Love, real Love (or as close as we can approach on so fallen a spinning ball), as has been clearly delineated by thinkers far greater than I, is not physically capable of growing within the few parsecs that birth an emotion. Walk with me: a fellow is riding his bicycle down the street, he happens upon a girl at the crosswalk. They make eye contact and a feeling emerges that each reader knows exactly. This feeling says, ‘She is perfect, she is beautiful, I need her or my life will not be ruined.’ Oddly enough, when the light turns green and he peddles off in one direction, she in another; the world continues spinning, gravity continues to operate, and all is well. ‘Falling in like’ is the state that the vast majority of the world around us confuses for Falling in Love; it manifests itself in a myriad of ways, most commonly in the state overestimating one’s attachment to another, a regular changing of the be’liked’ or in the more difficult cases, there is little change with be’liked’ yet they are not a viable candidate.
The great philosopher Ferris Bueller, once stated, “Life moves pretty fast…” If one honestly looks at the face before them in the mirror, whilst repeating the day’s date, this statement will become inevitably, inexplicable real. When high on the natural amphetamine of time, ‘like’ becomes a deranged, tormented, globual of energy. ‘Like’ hopped up on speed will take a casual, passing glance and grow it into a 50-year marriage if not well protected, if not chaste. There is an innate need engrained into the human psyche. There is this need for a woman in a man, and a woman in a man. (Call me a close minded bigot, you will not be the first, nor the last if I guess correctly.) I take the Law to be truth, and therefore I take the word of the Law relative to the creation of women out of the rib of a man to mean completely literal things. Moreover, the master teacher, the master metaphor architect is not of flesh and blood but of spirit that holds the entire universe in perfect balance…if that spirit deemed that women should come from man and they should be united, I am not so bold as to disagree…but by all means, be my guest if…I am certain that each of us will have the opportunity to stand before this Creator and air out if our beefs…if we have the legs to…but I digress. This manifestation of the ‘falling in like’ malady is one of Alice falling down the rabbit hole, there is a blink and it is past; the like has already happened. Giving of ‘the like’ over in one’s mind is akin to saying a word, once it has escaped the lips, there is not way for it to return.
This affliction becomes more apparent when the afflicted begins to monitor the regularity with which it cycles. The process of ‘FiL’, in the general public, is derived from reading and properly following the directions on shampoo. “Rinse and Repeat” There are only two ways by which the mountain of scar tissue amassed on the average human’s heart can be explained. Either the like and loss on a scale of the holocaust, or a myriad of likes and losses sequentially. The ladder is the model of society.
Yet, not all who participate in this idolatry flippantly jump from one temple to another. There are those that become devout followers of one, these poor souls are the most pathetic, saddest lot, not surprisingly they also form the majority. They ‘Fall deep in like.’ As a rule, the verb of falling in deep like is brilliant. Error occurs when one party falls in deep like with another party that does not even know they exist. If we take our fellow again we can learn another lesson from his troubles. He rides the train to work each day. The train leaves his stop at 7.47a. He sits in the second car everyday. She sits in the second car of the 7.47a train everyday as well. Over the past 10 months he has ’fallen in deep like’ with her 30 glorious minutes at a day, 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year, yet never more than a few glances have been exchanged. This fellow does not know her name, her faith, her family, her background --- she is an utter stranger, yet just by the proximity his mind has constructed, he feels a relationship that is also as much a construct as the moon landing. (had to) The hard truth of this model is this, on a specific Friday our boy happens upon the be’liked’ at a local pub, she is celebrating her recent engagement. He is crushed…yet who is there to blame for the state? Precisely.
__ personal note I had this editorial note in a draft (she doesn’t see him) and do not recall what it means…yet maybe it is poking at this concept ___
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The short list: (remainders)
-Flickr and how if you are a girl you get hits much easier, esp. if you are doing a 365.
-How I hate it when my boss treats me like I am a three year-old.
-How it bugs me that good things happen to bad people. (Clearly, I was getting saltier as the day wore on. I blame said map for acting as a catalyst.)
Since I have more or less completely lost interest in this endeavor and that of the that last three, two are trivial, I am going to enter a brief summation of thoughts on these three so that I can move on to (original text shows a strike through the next three words, but blogger is limited) bigger and better things. I have a ‘writingpad’ (iPhone app that is a must have for any blogger) that is stacked with ‘material’… and frankly I am getting impatient with my continual procrastination.
The lesson to be learned here is, never, ever, under any circumstance, promise a series on one’s blog. If this ever does happen to agree to aforementioned commitment due to water torture, bamboo shoots under the nails, or prolonged, forced Hannah Montana exposure, at the next available time, step in front of a speeding bus.
Onward: Flickr. This one is quite simple. Look at history. Who, generally speaking, spends more time oggling the opposite sex? Do women look at men more then men look at women…sadly for me, no. With this FACT on the table, the outcome of any 365 competition held between a man and a woman is a no brainer, IF the winner is based purely on photostream hits. (If the male participant was 1986 Tom Cruise vs. 2008 Cher…the men may have a chance…may.) Basically, it is sexist. (women have an easier time getting huge flickr hit numbers.) (Rant finished, wasn’t that one short? I told you I would be brief.)
Onwarder: 3 Year-old treatment. Because this blog is public and my boss is web suave enough to find it…I will stop there. (Even shorter…I know right? Scary stuff.)
Onwardest: Good things to bad people. This is a topic that, hopefully, will at some point be revisited because I do not see it as trival. Additionally, I do not really hold this point of view, it was said in a rash moment, but the though is one that I wrestle with. It is very easy as a standard sinful person to say, “Ahhhh, he is such a good guy, man, I wish he would get a break, why does so much bad happen to him?” But we rarely take the opposite tack, the view of, “She is a rotton, horric being, an apple with a bite out of it that reveals a soft core, and half of a worm…yet good things keep happening to her, and that chaps my hid.” Now this is pointing out many things in myself. Pride mainly. I am in some viewpoint to say, X is good and should get good, and Y is bad and should get bad. My faith puts me in a position that tells me all are bad. ‘There is none righteous, no not one, there is none that understandeth, none that seeketh after God.’ Yet in the above thought, we clearly see a god complex, a state of mind that says, I should be calling the shots around here.
Again, I do wish to revisit this sentiment, but for the present I simply apologize to the reader for being out of line.