Speaks The Gimp…

I talk a lot.  Nothing I ever say really means anything but still I talk a lot.  When asked, as I am frequently, to whom I am speaking, I never actually know what to answer.  It’s not me I’m talking to, and if it is, well hell, someone should have clued me in.

There is a void that follows me around.  From battling with it I can sometimes pull beautiful thoughts, and at other times I can fall into the worst of torment.  Although it can sometimes seem so, the source’s change from a positive force to negative space, is rarely a violent switch.  It’s like running out of hot water in the shower.  Sometimes you can play with the faucets to get a few more seconds, maybe a minute… but you just know that it’s not going to be enough to rinse your hair.  Then you’ll be stuck with soap in your eyes, disoriented and freezing.  What can I do though?  Just as I need to shower, I need the void.  By what other means will I find such creativity, than by fighting this vacuum?

Alexander

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If God has a plan for everyone that cannot be wrong, then this plan can never change.  So what is the point of praying?  God’s plan is already written.  He will bless you or condemn according to it.  You cannot sway Him with prayer nor even with actions.  He cannot be swayed because he is perfect and He’s already written His perfect plan.

Alexander

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I used to have a cat that loved to sit in paper bags.  Every once in a while we would hear the sound of someone tripping over her because she would some how move them to the middle of the hallway.  And then my dad would swear.

Alexander

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It is astounding how much of life depends on timing, and how impossible it is for us to change course if we are simply the result of a culmination of events which have preceded us.  It is probable that we are slaves to this; that we have no free will and that we can never escape the cosmic chain of events that make up our lives.  If this is true then all there is for us to do is discern which parts to remember and experience and which parts to ignore and forget.  

This is not to say that our lives have no meaning but rather that they have many.  That each individual moment or collection of subsequent moments, can serve as example of something if we choose to make it so.  Collectively we can form ideals and theories from these moments, and although they may end up being represented for nothing, they could nonetheless still be significant and useful.  Whether we will ever assign any specific importance or reason for all this is unknown, and highly unlikely.  However, in the interest of self-perpetuation (whether existence dwells within the confines of a “Great Cycle” or whether it has never even been in one), it seems as though we must continue to work hard at setting these examples; if not for some omnipotent judge, then for future generations be they man or … armadillo…

While being conscious of this pin-ball like existence, allows us to understand a powerful structure by which we live, it no doubt causes us to get lost in doom as we are unable to escape fate.  However, if we were to forget about fate and consider only the structure, which actually precedes fate, then we may be able to find a way out.  In the pin-ball game, if we could keep track of that which we have struck and the direction in which we are heading, and our speed, we may be able to extrapolate what we might strike next.  Maybe, through this knowledge, we can exert some control over our momentum, even if it is only minute.  Regardless we should act as though we can, just in case.  

I believe that sometimes we have to take time, however unwieldy it may be, and shake it until we can get what we want out of it.  

Alexander

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I dreamt I had a blue eyed son that wasn’t mine. An infant that had imprinted on me, at which I stared in awe. I couldn’t remember who its mother was, and I searched my memory for a friend who had recently been pregnant as if I were trying to remember a word on the tip of my tongue. All I could think was that her eyes must have been just as blue as his. The thought of who the father was, wasn’t even a little bit of a question to me. I didn’t think it was me and therefore I knew it to not be, and that was all that I cared to think on the subject. What held me in awe was the sense of imprinting. This child represented a very real part of me; all my innocence maybe, or the wonder which I used to have when observing the world. However, I remember he was more of a representation of “us” rather than of just me. Whether that “us” was limited to me and his parents, or the entire human race, I have no idea, but it did not diminish the connection I felt towards this being to think the latter…

I still don’t want kids, but the whole experience was slightly refreshing…

Alexander

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I keep finding pennies all over my house.  I group them into bunches here and there so that I may one day bring them to my jar.  It’s all the way upstairs behind my computer; a creamy peanut butter bear jar with a roll of masking tape crowning him like a halo.  There are so many pennies everywhere and the strange thing is that I rarely pick them up.  I feel like I have to group them together because  the trek wouldn’t be worth it for just a single one, but then I can’t decide where to set as the point of extraction.  So I end up leaving them where they are with unrealistic hopes that they may make there own way to a pile on the coffee table or the window sill or the shelf or the counter in the kitchen.  

None of this should be too much…

Alexander

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A lot of motivation tonight has brought me to realize where I am in my life and in the world. This is just a passing thought, but what lingers is the idea of where all of my friends are. Our discussions are such brilliant mixtures of caliber that it becomes extremely evident that we really do represent a fine generation.

Lately I’ve been toying with the idea that all the philosophers of the world were right when they first started their musings. Hell, “I think therefore I am” doesn’t sound too crazy at all. It’s just that, at one point the their analysis of all the facets of their theories become digressions and begin to contradict themselves. That’s where everyone gets lost. Further evidence to support this theory appears when considering the works of other great people throughout existence; artists, writers (who are also artist) and scientists and so on. Hemingway could never re-write the stories his wife lost, and until the day he died he swore that he had never written even phrase that was better.

Now this could mean that we are all doomed to only be great at our careers for a brief moment at the beginning of them, but I don’t think so. There are people who have managed to maintain a level of excellence throughout their run. Sure sometimes they phoned it in, but it was always made up for the next moment when they created something really amazing, or thought of something completely new. What I think this means, is that each venture we make, either as individuals or as groups, should be singular if we want to ensure their greatness as well as their coherence.

But I don’t really know what I’m talking about so hey…

Alexander

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Some times I feel like I am on the verge of being very smart, but then I usually get tired and decide to do something immensely stupid.

Alexander

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If I lie to myself long enough, maybe it will become the truth, but would that then justify the lie?

I wonder how I will see this past year when it is so far away; when my mind will be in a different state, and my existence will be more calm.  Will I remember the good times then?  Sure I can think of a bunch now, but they don’t seem as great as they should be.  They lack the shine they require to be great.  So, will I remember the amazing moments of two-thousand and seven when I’m happy, or will I create wholly new ones to fill in the gaps?   Can my mind really re-write history after the war?

Alexander

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My father told me that my life lay in the future last night.  He was trying to impart wisdom in hopes to ease my frustration with my boss and those at school with whom I have to interact.  He told me not to get stuck in their lives; to see things the way they do and understand the different positions in which we all are, but not to let their problems become my own.

My mother told me not to lose to the struggle and not to let my patients wane.  To understand that these times of difficulty will be many throughout my life and if I am to lose patients now I will find it almost impossible to regain when I am wiser and want it back.

My sister told me to sober up and to treat myself as if depressed.   I don’t know if I am depressed, sometimes I think I am but then I remember that I’m exhausted and that’s probably why I don’t care about anything.  This does not stand as a rebuttal…

I used to have courage, and discipline to back it up; I would do anything I had my mind set to do.  I find hard to set my mind on any one task now though, and to call one thing a concrete milestone which I must reach.  I’m losing myself as I slow down with no direction; too many directions… and not many of them appeal to me.  I’m trying to find purpose and understand the benefits of mortality, but I still can’t.  I keep telling myself that I’m not ready to face the subject because my mind isn’t clear or I’m out to lunch with so many other issues.

I understand though.  I used to adhere to all of those words of advice and I lived free of any fear except that of death.  It was easy for me to empathize with a man in the midst of crisis or people far too politically correct for their own good.  I used to appreciate the times spent in waiting while I always knew of the slippery slope that was the alternative.  One summer a long time ago I made a decision to stop seeking happiness by losing sobriety, along the way I fell off a few times but each time it just affirmed my resolution.  However, I have no resolve now.  I lack the courage I once had to make such strong declarations and head such powerful charges.  I fear my mistakes will haunt me if I make any really bad ones, but I don’t know why…  maybe it’s because those small ones which I have made have already caused repercussions which far out weigh the initial errors themselves, and that I am constantly beset by them.  Each time I feel as if I may be able to do some good, chance makes a phone call and I am reminded of what I have done wrong, and worse: that which I have merely done and was only seen as wrong.  So even those fine decisions which I have made become errors and serve as evidence for my prosecution….

But still… Where did my courage go?

Alexander

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