resurrection and expression

When I started this blog, it was like a little puppy. It was fun at first, then quickly became a chore. I’m here to say, from here out it will be different. My aim is three things: 1. an outlet for my poetry of which I’ve recently started writing again 2. an outlet for my political views and 3. a way for me to say to anyone listening ‘Here is some news I think is important’. The reason I’m starting this new approach is the inspiration I’ve gotten recently from Iranians. Social media is our voice, and no one can silence it; not even an oppressive fascist government. I am a blogger, here me I roar.

A couple nights ago, I was thinking about how I’ve lost some measure of wonderment when it comes to the simple things in life. Here is the result:

Bouncy Ball

A small sphere an inch in diameter
Fell onto the sidewalk
As it made contact it displaced a million particles of dust
Millions of particles dancing in the air
Searching for a new home
But before they could settle
They found themselves joined by a million more
As the ball again struck the concrete with great force
While these 2 million particles were floating about
Flying to their new destinations
A very peculiar thing happened
The ball did not strike the concrete again

It found its way into a forest of small green blades
As it fell between the blades
They bent to and fro
Accommodating the bulbous alien
Directing it along a path
You see, blades of grass are most considerate hosts
And you will find this true
If you ever rest your body on a Nation of them
They brought their honored guest to a stop
In front of their most prized beauty
A green stalk rising high above the blades

At the top of the stalk
Four white streamers of vibrancy and life
Shot out in opposite directions
And in the middle of them
Laid a small patch of yellow

Also, regarding Iran. There is allot of unrest right now, and allot of things are up in the air. I don’t feel the need to go into a full update, but here are some highlights I’ve come across whilst sifting through Twitter feeds:

This article compares Tehran to Tianaman Square
A valuable Picasa pic feed
I’ve found

Idealism

By now, if anyone is still reading this it must be apparent to you that this little corner of the web is for me. It is only a byproduct of the nature of this blog system that you are able to view what I post. You are welcome to it, but know that it is at it’s core mine.

Idealism. It’s the big ‘what if’. What is it that prevents our ideal situations from being reality? Is there some external force that blocks what it is we wish was so, or is it internal; a doubt that lingers deep within and stands as a relentless iron wall deflecting our dreams with its integritous composition? Why can’t we have our cake and eat it too? Why do some live in comfort while others suffer? Do we dream of the impossible, or is this idea of utopia in our heads because it is what we were truly destined for? All these and more on the next episode of Jerry Springer, right? Ok, seriously.

One of the greatest debates in science of our time is the origin of life. Note that the debate is not whether or not there was an origin, but what that origin is. Everyone recognizes that everything ahs an origin. So if that is true, what is the origin of the idea of idealism or utopia? Is it not true that an action causes a reaction; that the makeup of reality is affects of a handful of events?  Where then is the origin of utopia? What gave birth to this idea, and what perpetuates it through generations?

One observation 29 years of life has brought me to is that people bet their entire lives on the repeated predictable outcome of events. I think this is a barrier to utopia. I say this because there are always anomalies; that is to say not everything will have the expected (or intended) outcome. “If I’m nice to everyone, then everyone will take advantage of me”. The only way to find out if that statement is true or not is to be nice to everyone. Certainly your theory will be proven wrong; it’s just a matter of probability, simple mathematics that dictates not every person will react the same way. So when I ask myself why my grandest dreams can’t come true, why life can’t be the way I imagine it, then who is to blame when I think I can’t make it so? My own doubt and past failures prevent forward motion. But if I’m willing to step outside of that and take a chance, the possibilities are endless. And perhaps it will be revealed to me that the outcome (which is ideal) was better than I could have imagined.

But if it’s better than I could have imagined, then is what I imagined truly ideal? Again, doubt stands in the way. Doubt is so powerful that it prevents even the imagining of the ideal. Its reach far extends what we can see, into the depths of our minds and the darkest recesses of our imagination, and it permeates in such a way that we once it has wrapped itself around our being it is impossible to tell where it ends and we begin. It is the harbinger of death to our innocence and stands in the way of our progress, nimbly checking it at every turn while it disguises itself as reason. Reason would look at the statistics and know that something must change eventually. Doubt has no spine, and therefore cannot lift it’s head to see the peaks, it only relays what it sees in the valleys.

Sarcasm as an art

I’m not sure who’s still reading this, but I felt guilty when I saw that I still have a few hits a day. Maybe you’re a robot, maybe you’re a friend hanging on by a shred. Either way, as a reward for hanging in through the long dry spell I’ve subjected you to, here’s a tidbit I wrote recently. I’m going to start writing here again, so for now enjoy!

 

The restrictions placed on me by the physical world are complicated in such a way that makes them difficult for me to express to others without a certain degree of misunderstanding. When left unexplained, this conundrum leads to many people first underestimating, then misunderstanding me when I communicate face to face. Coupled with my affinity for sarcasm, and my flawless execution thereof, it has proved very difficult for me to maintain relationships past casual conversation. The repression of my sarcasm only leads to the revealing of it later in the relationship, leading my acquaintance with the impression that either I have made a sudden turn (which usually results in them trying to ‘fix’ me), or that I was faking interest in them in order to get close to unfold some ulterior motive.

Complicated as this may seem, even more complicated is the root of my affinity for sarcasm, which I am still exploring. Either it comes from deep bitterness, or cynicism. At least, that is what sarcasm is perceived as by most people. I find it to be a mysterious art perfected by those of the highest of intellect and most grandiose daringness.

My outlook provides two catalysts for friendship. The first is that those who have no tolerance for sarcasm are immediately repelled. In some cases, other interests re-attract and they eventually come to an understanding of who I am, but in most cases I’m written off as a jerk. The second is that it makes it very apparent when like minded people are in my midst, which is in my opinion a much greater reward than fleeting relationships with people based on purely superficial terms. In my world, I have traded having a large pool of casual acquaintances for the smaller circle of like minded individuals with whom I connect on a much deeper level. This may seem at first anti-social, but given my limited capacity for deep relationships, I’ve found it to be a very useful mechanism.

Re:flections

I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to be on this bus, typing my thoughts out wondering if I’m going to get mugged. I don’t want to think about people that way. I want to see them as creatures I should love, other entities swirling around in the great chasm of society, just as lost, just as sure, and just as self aware as I. I don’t want to smell them, I want to see into their souls. I don’t want to judge them, I want to know them. The urge to suppress this desire drowns the ease by which it meanders in. Myths ingrained through a lifetime of self preservation and safety win. My battery drains and my thoughts spill out leaving my head empty and my fingers numb.

Clouds cover half the sky as he prepares for his nightly leave, his golden arms stretched thin, seemingly spinning us along our axis. The last rays of ultraviolet energy disappear until the morning, turning over watch to the mistress moon. She will hang high, her soft silver hair draping over the mountains and valleys.

What’s that smell? I know what it is. It’s not laziness, or spite. It’s poverty. It dances in the air and wafts my nostrils. Middle class paychecks pave roads to comfort zones; six figures even beyond. I don’t smell of poverty, but here I sit in the cheapest air conditioned seat downtown. Am I cheap, or am I daringly crossing social boundaries, refusing to acknowledge the line drawn by hierarchies? To be honest, I’m cheap. Cheap, and slightly socially aware. At least enough to make me uncomfortable wherever I go. The inconvenience of riding the bus is a lesser evil than the emptying of my bank account into the seemingly endless pit of my American designed, Mexican manufactured gas tank. I never rode the bus until gas prices shot up so high. How is everyone else doing it? Why am I the only middle class person on this bus? Am I really middle class, if I don’t travel on the road to comfort? Would a decrease in gas price put me back on that paved road? Or would I continue as a patron of public transportation?

The sun is even lower now. His arms cast a perfect amount of shine on the other side of the clouds. They glow shades of white and gold around their edges. In the middle they are thick and grey, nobly hanging in the sky, ushering a star filled canvas that draws the gaze of all who can see it.

In the moment

William Manchester once said “Like all people at all times, they were confronted each day by the present, which always arrives in a promiscuous rush, with the significant, the trivial, the profound, and the fatuous all tangled together” (A World Lit Only By Fire). Sometimes it seems like life moves me through time, and I don’t realize I’ve gone anywhere until I look around and see that I’m in a different place. After noticing my new surroundings I try to think back to how I got to where I am, but all I can see is where I am and the path in front of me. Until recently, that is. For the first time I have a bit of clarity on the road ahead. I still don’t know where I’ll end up, but I can see I’m in motion and I can see just behind me. Life is beginning to be illuminated at a capacity I’ve not previously experienced. I feel like I can see 6 months down the road. This is a stability I’m not used to, and it scares me slightly. I’m not talking cognitive premonition, but more of a calculation of velocity and direction. What will come of this? Time will tell.