December 1, 2011

In my favorite spot at the house i inhabit for most of the last two years, i'm hearing waves of inadequacy and helplessness washing towards me with a limping crescendo.

To be more specific: the kind of feeling that comes as lull moments in your existence, giving the hash function of various things like,

that somebody else can do more with the resources you have,

that some years ago you made an extremely misguided move you cannot take back or repair the damage caused by it,

that time is going forward and you are stuck neither in past nor present but the fine line between(à la The Langoliers),

that even your vain search for constant peer-validation will not be enough for the resident hole in your psyche,

that your experiences from past mistakes won't be statistically significant in any crossroad you'll encounter,

that some crucial part will always go awry,

that any time now you can end up dead by some trillion means and should be very, very afraid of it,

that the DeLorean is orbiting a moon right now because they didn't thought about Earth's movement through time-space,

that you should do something about this aggregate of particles that is (unfortunately) your tête.

This bundle hits the spot with shocking precision and leaves me non-functional for a spell, bringing an intense need for lobotomy and consequent installation of debian into your frontal lobe.

It arrives without words, but in the company of a bit of olfactory (the plant compost of the botanical station nearby and basso profundo aroma of black earth), a melodic interval(d#2-c2-b1-a1-c2), and a taste(leftover wine and a trace of dentist's pen-like stainless steel mirror). A slap of Jung's love-child, collective unconcious, chilling the side dish of my monkey-appetite.

After the first contact, when I've regained my composure, i unleash a counter-attack, including but not limited to numbness, misdirection, lies, a presentation (titled "my life is great and how can i make it better? - an analysis based on real life facts and recent UNDP surveys"), oral administration of cocoa solids/assorted ethanol solutions and as one of the fail-safes: booty calls.

Following various successful skirmishes, insurgents are rounded up, found guilty, beheaded, buried in unmarked graves, having their unmarked graves trampled by a legion of valiant horsemen thinking themselves as heroes- doing something great for their nation.

As shown in the music video of the hit song "Thriller" and numerous scriptures, there will be a-reckoning, judgement day, long-dead-but-neither-forgiven-nor-forgotten remnants.

But yeah, a'right, okay, for this time they ain't goin' to cause you no more trouble. They swear it.

I was reading an article in TGQ earlier about nostalgia. It used the old tale of the scorpion and the squirrel trying to cross some water as a metaphor for nostalgia. It said that even when we make it across the water, not falling to drug abuse, sadness, or madness, we will find more dangers on the other shore. I wondered what they are, because I know I haven't gotten that far, yet. I've lived for a while imagining that I'm already too old, that life is passing me by at breakneck speed, and that it's too late for so many things. This doesn't spur me on to accomplish more; rather, it tends to sap my strength to do what I usually would. (If my life has been empty so far, I can't know that living on will make a difference.) Other times, when my spirit has more fire, I want to leave behind some kind of legacy. Not a legacy of a mortal soul - I don't care about carrying on my father's name or accomplishing some great conquest of women or land or money... I want to influence others, bend them to my same thoughts. Spread my madness like wildfire, blight, to infest the world. In this era, the greatest power lies in the entertainment media. Masses are too smart to believe in the propaganda of dictators, and even fewer are brainwashed by large religions. Through things I produce that others consume of their own free will, I can spread my belief far beyond myself, as the closest thing to preserving a consciousness. It occurred to me that, while it initially seemed very silly for a gaming magazine to discuss heady philosophical matters, it makes perfect sense demographically. This is where the true messages lie. This is the Word. In our time, the people who will shape the world must trade messages hidden in games, movies, comics, novels, and songs. The places that others will least expect, that they will scoff at and shun. We have to hide the truth in playthings.

I wish I had that hungry fire of the spirit more often. Even so, it's an impulse without much planning. I've done my best without much knowledge of how to proceed, but progress feels very slow. I'll need to meet others, collaborate with them to build my own skills. It's unfortunate that I can't share my thoughts or vision with them. I know that so many people have had the same idea as me, but they word it in ways that sound innocuous to the masses. They have to understate the true power of their influence. If they are remembered across two or three generations, through populations of maybe just a few million, well, imagine the energy their thoughts have been rewarded! Only a few years ago, guitarists were idolized as "gods", and maybe it was truer that anyone wanted to believe. Literature from centuries and even millenia ago continues to shape our thoughts at a fundamental level. Old Greeks still impact how we interpret the world. If Socrates were immortal, surviving to see this very day, would his power be palpable, manifested literally in physical space? Would he be able to directly manipulate reality with his will, simply for having affected so many billions of minds? (If he were immortal, the answer seems obviously in the affirmative.)

I've said too much already. I have faith that one day underlings will join me in this quest, one day before the Earth has changed and this truth is more evident to others. We have to start early if we want to succeed. Join me! Who knows what reward awaits us?