Thought Ninety Four

Us bugs traveling on this rock, hurtling out into nowhere.

IMG_8816I looked into the sky, seeing massive cumulus clouds in exquisite detail. Replanting a mango tree I had grown from a seed into a bigger pot, I felt connected to this plant. Planting it, I became responsible for its life. In this endless life and death cycle. Planets orbit our sun as it circles within the milky way galaxy over a two hundred and twenty five million year period. Again, these galaxies moving outward at unfathomable speeds outward into the ever-expanding black.

We are Don Quixote. Tilting against windmills that we think are dragons. Old yet new, we sit, our armour rusty and dented across time. The dirt gathered under our fingernails, boots worn and damaged with age. IMG_8820We sit on an old stone bench that could have been here when the Romans marched across these lands. Their a leather and armour creaking and clanking, that all lay rusting in death now. As this planet orbits around the sun, within the spinning galaxy that surely heads towards a collision with the andromeda galaxy six to nine billion years from now.

Destruction and reformation.

Something old becomes something new. Yet still, we hurl outward. Life, death, and reformation. Will we remember across these lives that we’ve lived, a thousand million times? Perhaps not, but yes is a possibility. To commemorate the lives well lived and the ones wasted. As this planet spins, staring into a small screen with intensity. The massive cumulus clouds form and dissolve. The sky clear, then not.

Looking into the sky, this bug clinging to a rock looks on and wonders.



Thought Ninety Three

It is interesting listening to the very young, their logic and reasoning. It reminded me of when I was at that age. I remember what I thought and how it felt. It’s kind of strange, but I can remember my thoughts and feelings across many different periods of my life. The storm filled rage of the household that I grew up in. My father, the drunken violent melovolent man that made what should have been a loving home, a pit of despair.

My mother married him at a very young age, because as she said: “He was the first one that asked.” In my opinion, she had a poor self-image because she was a little overweight and wanted to get out into the world. My father was a good looking young man with a daemon inside. He grew up in a home where his mother and father were both alcoholics, the father being a violent one. A match made in hell.

IMG_0088Sitting here in my peaceful home, I think about these things and am grateful. Yesterday was our first anniversary. My beloved is sweet and kind, her children much like her. She makes our life together sweet and beautiful. I feel worthy of this these days. This is kind of a new development. But I do. Just as I realized a couple of days ago, seeing myself in the mirror, that I am a writer novelist. I published my first book a few months ago and am forty thousand words into the next one. Again, I didn’t feel like it before, but I do now.

I hope you get a chance to reach this part of your life.

It was a damn lot of pain and work to get here. And the work never will never end until I do, but that is all part of it. The day to day living is pretty good. At fifty six years old, I am living the life I want to live. There are compromises and corrections, but I am just glad to be here, glad I can write and create as I do.

Us bugs on a rock. Traveling at forty percent of the speed of light as we are hurled out into the ever expanding great unknown. All of this, happening inside of a black hole that contains many other black holes. The small we get, the larger we become.

Alone in the dark, we cling to each other, while the gods walk by us, their echoing laughter heard in the thunder and quaking earth.





Thought Ninety Two

I read an interesting article on Medium. You have to kind of filter through the site as about seventy percent of it, is not worth reading. Perhaps it’s just me seeing such juvenile attitudes.

That could be.

But one of the things that those young writers don’t know (by experience anyway) is that they too will get old. Their attitudes will change; wisdom will perhaps find its way into their minds and hearts.

Maybe anyway.

The article talked about being in survival mode rather than in “made it” mode. That our brain and emotions somewhat trick us, as we have learned always to be in survival mode, rather than only in that mode when we actually need to survive.

That made sense to me.

When I look at myself, I am in an almost constant form of survival mode. Whether it is my work, writing, relationships, or whatever, that is where I find myself. So I decided I would do something different today. Survival mode involves escaping (as in escaping myself). So I am going to engage in nonsurvival behaviors. I realize that I might (might? Most likely!) will find myself uncomfortable doing this.

But all change is uncomfortable.

So, here goes.




Thought Ninety One

IMG_3259 2An older post from a few weeks ago:

Keeping busy keeps you from looking at the miasma that is the emotional content of your mind

Anxiety or fear is a huge driver. No one wants to do this shit alone. Until they realize the crazy compromises that are required of you and that you require of them (your partner). Our eyes fade as our hearing does, so that as we age, we don’t kill each other with each of our madnesses.

Our madness is what largely drives us. Our fuckup crazy emotionally damaged inner lives. Some drink and drug to escape it, but there is no escape. The only way around it, is through it. To wrestle with the maddeningly damaged creatures that we are. Sometime’s a minute at a time, sometimes longer. But time doesn’t really exist, so you get to make up the measurement. So build your own world and how you wish to see it. Make it as beautiful as you wish. Or a war torn dystopia with violence at every edge and place. I am building mine. It’s fucked up, but that’s me, fucked up, broken and just a hair trigger away from pulling on the ejection handles. Not that it would do any good. It just a worthless reset through the river of sleep. Start over for the billionth time.
This must be why the gods are mad. If they experience pain and madness in unimaginable levels, how could we expect sanity? Sanity and quantum physics don’t go together at all. The smaller the particles get, the more we realize how nothing is what it seems at all.

Sentience is overrated.


Thought Ninety

In a strange way that I can’t explain (but may in quantum physics I can see things. The end of life for some expressed as a number, sometimes more. I felt sad about that recently, realizing that. I wish it would never end, but then this wouldn’t be the opportunity it is to learn, become sentient, and remember.

Perhaps this is why we don’t remember life to life, because we lack clear sentience. It File Sep 11, 09 57 32makes sense to me. Life after life of reincarnation, doing the same stupid things we always do as the gods implacable are not interested at all.

Does a cat remember?

The good feelings, the fear, anger. Maybe, I think probably. But sentient thought, not likely. Us either. We don’t remember because we actively choose not to be sentient or thinking. We spend our time caught up in feeling, bodily need, or at least received that way (food, sex, comfort, anger, etc.).

No wonder the gods are bored.

Boredom indicates sadness (as in feelings).

We live in a magnificent place and time (movement). I am sitting in my garage before I start this day. Enjoying a hot cup of black coffee and an Arturo Fuentes cigar as is my want. We are here to think. To experience wonder. To love deeply and become unbound from our anxieties, worries, and the other garbage that drags us down into the deep like an anchor chain.

Don’t let anything matter except what you decide matters. Look into the sky and enjoy the complex and ever changing scenery of the clouds dancing across the sky. The water of the beach lapping at your toes. The feel of wet green grass under your feet. The subtle and complex taste of a black cup of coffee, the fine smoke of a good cigar.

Then think.


Thought Eighty Nine

Scale, IMG_3243 2

is an interesting thing. It all depends on your view. Something large can appear small and something small can appear quite large. 

Obvious you would think?

Maybe. When it comes to human communication, scale becomes a factor.

I learned something important yesterday in a discussion. In my broken universe, where the god’s rumble and destroy on vast scales across many a thousand million years, my reactions to people, opportunities and pretty much everything else, is in minutes. Yes, minutes. Not days, or weeks, or even months. Minutes.

Sounds pretty painful? It is.

Relatively healthy people react to situations, communications, etc. on a longer timeline. Perhaps healthy is a misnomer. Balanced may be a more accurate description.  For instance, someone sends you an email or text asking about something you think is important. A healthy person may think about it and then respond. An unhealthy/balance deficient person would look at it from a threatened point of view. This would in all likelihood produce anxiety. This anxiety might facilitate the person responding from a somewhat reduced vision viewpoint. If the unhealthy/balance deficient person chose to expand the scale of their response from three minutes to three hours or the next day, the response becomes less based on anxiety or fear. Perhaps instead based on thoughtful consideration. Anxiety and fear create a short functional timeline. Again it is about scale.

“It’s like juggling sphincters, your hands are going to get shitty” quote Robert Day 6/18/2019

IMG_3255 2

I have observed in my past life, persons practicing exactly that, although not well mind you. Choosing to make decisions after 24 hours of thought (Although if I am honest, it was more likely non-thought). Perhaps this is a good thing. However, our lives are lived in this moment. So we would be required to live our lives on a delay. In the hyper-awareness of the scale I currently live in, this would be a radical change.

How to do this and still keep up with the thousand million pop-ups that demand our attention each day? Something to think about or meditate on perhaps. Or I will anyway. For a least twentyfour hours or perhaps even three weeks as I attempt to change the scale.

Three steps forward, four steps back. The end is as old and bitter as an old cigar, long dried up.



Thought Eighty Eight

I am broken.

I walk through this world knowing that I am. There isn’t much I can do about this, but love the people around me in the ways that I can. For I am broken. Crazy, perhaps, broken, absolutely. I love Manya as if there is no tomorrow, for there is not. I accept the crazy stupidity that is me at times, for I know I am broken.

The dark gods that look at us and watch us impassionately know this to be true. Don’t destroy me for I am love. That is who I am in this and every other moment, but if you do, I will live in this moment forever. So say a prayer to whatever dark gods you pray too, I will beseech them as well. Walking along this dark path, we shall find things we never thought that we could dream and make them so. For we are the gods within our time.

Stay frosty my friends,