Drip drip drip. The faucet is releasing its metallic water, and the sink is accepting it with the grace of porcelain. In a thousand years will this sturdy sink have been carved away by the water’s persistent drip? Maybe, if the metal doesn’t corrode into a pile of rust, or the sink doesn’t just fall off the wall. Physics does its thing either way. Persistent, pshht. Humans are impatient. We measure time by our mood swings. Some things take an eternity, like time-distorting drugs, others really take an eternity. It would be most natural to measure time by counting the average lifespan as a 1, and everything else as some convenient multiple of that. 1986 would be year 1. Right now would be year 22(30%).
I’m getting old, folks. The sad thing is I’m already tired of people, and myself in particular. Even though I am a grown ass man, I’m really not that old.
Having quit a cult and various mind-altering substances, as well as almost everything positive in my life from the period before that, I am a man with a fresh chance at life. Supposedly we are all that way, if we choose to be. I don’t know about all that. And really, I don’t know a damn thing, and that much I know.
So what is happening these days? I drink a lot, and I’m not even sure why. Something like morning, noon, evening I’m sipping on some beverage. I’ll probably quit it abruptly like everything else. What actually worries me is that I’m not really sure what I am doing on this planet. It’s like I survived some global apocalypse and am wandering the world all alone surveying the planet’s wreckage. Like something out of a bad L. R. Hubbard book/movie, except without XENU and paying money to get brainwashed. Cities overgrown with vegetation and fauna and me… wandering.
Wondering. So I’m studying at this school. Basically I select a major on a whim and get to it. And its actually a difficult education, despite requiring no application save for the almighty euro, the gold coin of the wild wild east. And so let’s say that this career choice was hastily made. Made in something like a day of thinking. More like 4 seconds, really. Speaking of moments that last a lifetime, eh. Well, lets say it worked out.
And so right now I’m pursuing this completely arbitrary path and its actually turned out to be a pretty good “choice.” Kind of makes you wonder how important choices are in the first place. Damn important, but ultimately without relevance. Or is this metaphysics? Probably.
I’m curious what makes metaphysics so ill respected. I suspect its people like myself, the ones who use it irresponsibly to make certain rhetorical points that echo thunder from Olympus. Well, I can’t help myself. Maybe a professional will devote his life to attempting to create a logically coherent system of metaphysics and he’d still be infinitely far away from what is necessary to make metaphysics even remotely respectable. Mathematics has a far better reputation, and for good reason, it is linked with the universe as we know it in some way, despite the reasoning’s completely abstract nature(a contemptible point, I suspect, it it even qualifies as a point, which it doesn’t). Mathematics deals with an infinite range of subjects in our universe, metaphysics at best deals with an infinite range of subjects in some possible universe.
Well, stranger things have brought progress to mankind, and so cheers to all the metaphysicians. You do the work I could never bother with. If you kill off Hegel while you are at it, it’d be helpful. Something of a request to all you metaphysicians out there.
So that leaves me with some funny questions about God, for one. I only think about him when I need him, which is something of an issue. I also wonder what the hell it is that I believe in… For one, in what way does the _sensation_ of god in us differ simply from my sensation of myself. Obviously this is a bs question, but _why_ is it so obvious? And when you cook up an answer, btw metaphysical in nature, why this one and not one of the other n-1 answers? What makes us religious is that there is simply one answer, and its not particularly elucidating, though it’s gist has been lengthily explicated by various writers including Moses’ buddies, whoever they were, assuming they were, which I assume. And why not, its possible right?
Then again, so many things are possible. And let’s be honest, we spend most of our time reasoning based on probability and not possibility. That is how we determine necessity. Which is when we typically act. Which is the only thing that “matter”-s. So to speak, and I do speak so, but as I was saying, talk is cheap. And shit is real.
So I wander like one of those souls that didn’t get to ascend to heaven, or to planet Xenu or whatever I was supposed to do, cultwise. In the cult I was going to collect money for a bullshit cause and die young, I suspect. Outside of it, much the same is possible, though not necessary. And so you make a choice, right. You make plenty of choices and you go with them, and eventually, or maybe occasionally, you die.
Let me devote 15 minutes to the shrine:
–2237
Pornographic visions, a white handkerchief and scissors, the satin sheets and mirrors, the dollar bills and prisms, the lights, camera and action, the young kid’s main distraction. The time is coming for repentance, and though I know you have no patience i still maintain in my mission to uproot this weed so entrenched in your conscience. Tell me how best to proceed, papa knows best, but as you know I have no rest, and though at times undoubtedly I am a pest, you will learn and you will digest. If you don’t listen, you won’t hear, and if you are deaf you might as well be dumb, and when that is done you are at best numb to the effects of what is occurring, a victim to the vicious current. Tell me how you will survive this torrent, son, if not now then later, but hurry up for time is as you say plenty. And what can I tell you, when you won’t listen? I remain a silent fool, waiting for release from this paper prison. A sign from you and my freedom is guaranteed, and bit by bit we will go back to our hands and ears.
2246–
–2247
Some corn is growing in the field. It was never planted and raised Tom Gitto’s eyebrow a bit. He had no reason to expect it and so he finally suspected that it was an accident. Meddlesome kids, right. Something about the corn, however reassured Tom that there was no reason to cut it down. It was a small patch far outside the rows of grapes and truly wasn’t a problem for the vineyards. Well, not an agricultural problem anyway. Even so, it was a legal problem, and the new corporate owners probably wouldn’t be too happy about it. If they ever showed up, that is. Tom was well aware that this unlikely event would eventually occur, but until his intuition pointed to the probable time, he felt no need to remove the patch, mysterious as it was. The corn was still a baby of a plant. Too green to be of any value, and to our sentimental eyebrow has a certain glow of everything that is good. To Tom it is truly a pest problem, but laziness allows us to talk about it. amen.
–2257
I sleep, occasionally. printf(“Good night, world”);
