Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Monday, February 28, 2005

This is a rather vicious Game.

I've never been on this side of it.

My initial instinct was to call it 'wicked,' but then I shuddered in revulsion. Please, PLEASE don't make anything I think into a Chris Isaak song. Anything but that.

The game goes like this:

Players A and B Go Out. A series of moves are made. Then, Player A unexpectedly plays the Just Be Friends card. By this point, though, Player B has Fallen In Love with Player A. Now the game gets particularly tricky: It's not as if Player A has used Total Rejection, or even It's Not You It's Me, both of which can cause Despondency, but can be more readily deflected by Angry Counter-Rejection or Drinking With Buddies -- occasionally, even by Casual Sex or the Interjection card 'Rebound!'

Player B is trapped between the desire to discard their hand in an effort to draw a Moving On, and the hopes of holding out for either Another Chance or even the hard-to-find Realization of True Love.

Player B's interactions with Player A are rather complicated now. At this point, even if she draws it, Player B will almost certainly lack the Energy to play Moving On. Barring ending the Game by playing the drastic Down With Love!, garnering Interest Points from Player A (or indeed, any other Players) is extremely difficult whilst Despondent. He must have an ample stock of Appearance of Happiness, otherwise Player A may easily counter with You're Too Needy. Unfortunately, Appearance of Happiness is very Energy consuming, which Player B is already in debt of, and causes very high susceptibility to Jealousy. The hardest part for Player B is that Severing of All Contact when at a negative Energy level will lead to almost certain Depression, un-curable by cards such as 'Rebound!' His main source of Energy is still Player A, even under the auspices of Just Be Friends. Therefore, Player B is stuck trying to Just Hang Out with Player A, or resisting, using Flying Solo Tonight, and hoping to avoid pitfalls such as Depressed Lonely Saturday.

I've never been Player B before, and it's a confusing position, to be sure.

P.S. -- There's someone who reads this on occasion who mentioned being Depressed recently themselves. I'd like to talk to them about it, and some of the strategies involved with this Game.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

This is a night when waterfalls defeat intellects.
Pens duel with keys as candles mark their presence,
known over lamplight, quiet warmth and hypnotic gaze.
Soft melodies running in circles, running in circles, into
circles into spirals out of ears, out of ears and back,
through lips and tongue and teeth into,
into my head, into my head, running in circles.

Eyes bid me forget, hot sand and cool sliding,
Muscles protest with pulsing blood,
Reflexes prepare while mind denies.
One is sleeping, the other is green,
One's unaware, but the other, the other,
Crimson through the shuttered spheres,
A single nod -- he knows, he knows!

Pouring through funnels, coursing down runnels,
The shutters are creaking, but the sand, the sand,
Wordless and swift, a glimmer or glimpse
Black within brown within white striped with red
Dissonant chords, they are playing, are playing
Breaking the circles, spilling the smoke
Untethered, it is rising, it is rising; that sound!

Saturday, February 26, 2005

A few remarks from a couple of centuries ago that I feel compelled to mention, in light of a few recent events:

"That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the consent of the governed, -- That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness... But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government."

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble."

"The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."

Emphases mine. You all know where it's from.

It's easy to forget about these things, considering what goes on.

I'd prefer not to.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

A night for restless spirits,

If ever there was one.

I walk the nearly deserted streets, staring with childish, wide-eyed wonder at the brick, mortar, and stone. It's a beautiful night, crisp and clear; my breath forms only the faintest hint of mist as it departs my lips, then fades. Above, the full moon's light slashes through a haze of clouds, unable to restrain the distant, reflected sunlight from the dark side of the world. Even the shadows of the gargoyles I always envision, just out of sight, twist their phantasmal, granite lips into smiles as I pass. 'This way,' they seem to say, as well as 'We have a thing to show you.'

It is a night for restless spirits, and if nothing else I am one.

Tonight, I walk alone; solitude is good for the heart.

But, often, I fantasize about finding a spirit as restless as my own, to wander aimlessly on nights such as these, to find more of what we are searching for simply because the other is there; to appreciate wordlessly each other's presence, to be alone together. Can the veil between dreams and life fall, just for one evening? Can I go to sleep, and forget I have done so? Can I wake up tomorrow, at a mountain, near a stream, though I go to sleep in my own bed?

Any number of stories I have written to this effect; perhaps soon I shall post some.

To someone who may find this a bit repetitive: Vayas conmigo, mostrame que le miras, permitanos a suenar juntos por un noche solo.

The search is not to find answers.
The path is never at its end.

It is a night for restless spirits.

Sleep, but when you dream:
Search out the corners of your eyes,
The gargoyles will show you the way.
A first person entry.

Emotionally, lately I have found great comfort -- geniune "joie de vivre," not merely a band-aid for the admittedly blue sentiments I'd also been feeling. The best sort of philosophical school this fits into is proably something a little Daoist; but as I considered not only the world for myself, but the actions of those within it, I find it difficult to remain peaceful, calm, and happy.

I have an intense intolerance for intolerance.

I find myself not only angered by, but completely at odds to conceive what prompts many people's thought processes.

An example: You say "I have found a way of life which, while different than your own, makes me happy and satisfied."

I cannot understand saying anything other than "Congratulations," and, perhaps, asking for an explanation if it were a lifestyle foreign to me.

But to know that there are some who will say, rather than words of congratulations, that you are in fact: "part of a new ideology of evil," and describe your lifestyle as offensive to society, "perhaps more insidious and hidden ... against the family and against man."

How would that make you feel?

The quotes I've just referenced are from none other than the Pope.

I am at a loss for further words.

Monday, February 21, 2005

To all those who have freedom,
to live and love as they choose

And yet dream of heaven.

Whosoever longs for days following death,
And asks absolution from breath,

I call them fools.

If you are greeted by the sun each day,
If you can but bid the moon goodnight,

You are already there.

If your heels may still touch the earth,
If your fingers may still caress a smile,

You have found happiness.

Should you falter, do not despair,
Had you no doubt, I would not call you alive.

But when you do, to whomever you pray,
Beg not for things you do not have,

Or to be whom you are not.

Whatever the cause that you are here,
(And I make no claims to know),
You are.

If you want to know the meaning,
If you ask what to do from now,

I can give you no wisdom; I am not wise
I can give you no answers; for none exist.

If you still wish to know,
I will give you a gift:

One drop of water, and one grain of sand

Walk to the sea, if you can
(A river, if not, will serve)

Mix the sand with the shore,
Try to find the grain again.

Pour the water in the sea,
And try to take it back.

Laugh, when you fail.

Take from the ocean two drops of water,
From the shore two grains of sand.

The next time you see discontent,
In another's eyes, heart, voice:

You will have a gift for them.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Having recently read Slaughterhouse Five, as I mentioned before, someone asked me recently if I believed humans truly had free will. My reply went like this:

Free Will,

or,

The One and Only Philosophy on the Passage of Time

What path am I on? Where is it going? The Fates alone know, and I don't want them to tell me a word. Not for anything would I want to know what happens next. If there is one, ONE great blessing of humanity, that allows us to live in and experience each moment, it is the ability to predict the future, but erroneously. The fact that we may be wrong, that which we do not know, is the only comfort we have in this life. Lack of knowledge creates fear, yes, but it also creates hope. Since we do not know with certainty what will come to pass, we can only hope that it will be how we wish it. Without hope we are all doomed, listless, adrift. As modern westerners, most of us like to believe that we are in control of our own destinies. We have free will, we can make choices, and the future is not set. Our conscious, rational decisions will have an impact on the world. Others, in time and history, and some still today believe that true free will is a farce, an illusion, and that we only imagine that we have it. All of our choices, for as long as we shall live, are already made, have always been made, the predestination perspective asserts. To take it farther, some would suggest that time itself is a delusion of the human condition; that because we exist only in one moment of it, we believe the course of things to come is fluid. Time is dangerous as a concept, for its passage is not something we can ever experience; we can never -feel- the flowing past of years, never stop for a moment in time. We cannot sense it. Time is a religion.
Is the course of human history set, for all eternity? Do we have free will? These questions are posed by a plethora of philosophers as a dilemma, a sort of dialectic, as though it were something we could sort through. This is nonsense.
Would you do anything differently if you had free will, or if you did not? If you knew with certainty that you could never change what you had done in the past, and that you cannot effect what happens in your future, would you act any differently?
Some might believe that they would. "If I could not control their fate," you might argue, "I would not bother to -try,- to strive for anything, for it is all written down anyhow, right? Why bother to go to work today, if it will not change anything?" But thinking like this is folly.
You are going to work today, unless, of course, you are not. If free will does not exist, then whether you go to work today or not has already been laid down, and your conscious knowledge of your lack of control cannot influence it. You will go, if you go, and you will not go, if you do not. By its very definition, if you believe in predestination, you know you cannot change this.
And would you act differently if -YOU- were at the helm, if total and complete free will existed, and each person was the master of her their own fate? Well, then, you had better go to work, because if you do not, you may be fired, and you'd prefer to make money next week. Or perhaps, you will not go to work anyway, because you know you can call in sick and have it believed, and you will not be fired and you'll enjoy a day off in the sun. It IS such a nice day today.
But did you make that decision because you had free will? Did you have -control- over making your choice?

You have done what you have done, and that is the truth.

You will do tomorrow what you will do tomorrow, and that is the truth.

The "ability to make a different choice" does not exist, and it never does. You walk in time one foot before the other, and you make every choice once, and only once. You cannot go back and do it again. Since this is unarguably so, presuming you wish to interact in the field of human perception as we know it, then free will is irrelevant.

The only way to relevantly exercise free will, perhaps the real definition of it, is to -cause change.- YOU cannot change anything. To change is to undo, whereas you can only DO. There is absolutely no way to get one's hand into the middle of the ocean without first going through it.

You will do what you will do, and whether it is what you CHOOSE to do, or what has been CHOSEN for you to do, changes nothing. You will never know which of these the 'real' explanation is; there is no way to know. You will never see the plans for the future, if they exist, to know they are being carried out. You will never see with certainty what would happen if you chose differently.

Appreciate your hope. Hope, then, that the you will make the right choices, or that the best path has been prepared for you. They are the same.

Be, then, at peace with your place, and your role in time.

To "live in the moment," that often quoted and regularly abused concept, does not mean the abandonment of hope. It does not mean 'resignation.' Rather, it means appreciate this moment, that you are in it; take from it whatever you can. Rejoice, and be happy, be sad, laugh, cry, love, and everything else. You are human.

You cannot defeat the ocean, no matter how great your strength, no matter how resolute your will. Should you try to do so, anyhow, smile broadly as the waves crush you; appreciate the magnificence and be appropriately awestruck by its power. It is the only thing you CAN do.

For a human, for one who has only moments of time to live, like so many grains of sand, know that, for YOU, it will never get old. No moment will ever be the same. Each grain of your sand is similar to, but never exactly like, any other grain that has passed through your fingertips, and you can hold only one at a time. Do not lament for the ones that have dropped back into the sea; for as long as you live, there will always be another, and another. This is the truth.

Friday, February 18, 2005

It feels more like the cinematic version of the end of hypnosis than it does waking up. On the count of three, when I snap my fingers, you're going two wake up. One, two, three. Snap.

My eyes are open, and my breaths slide smoothly, cleanly out of my lungs.

Good morning.

This contradicts everything a twenty-two year old American is expected to do. It's six in the morning, and I'm a college student. Today is Friday, and that means my first class is at eleven thirty. I guarantee you, if I were to tell anyone else on campus that I got up between six and seven in the morning, just because I wanted to, they'd call me crazy. If I were to meet myself as I am now, two years ago, I would've called myself crazy.

Eight hours of sleep isn't just overrated.

It may very well be complete nonsense.

Last night, I was out at a bar, getting home about midnight, and I didn't get to bed until a quarter past two. I feel fine -- great, even. If I had stayed in bed until nine, I know I'd have felt worse. Sleeping past dawn is a drug. We're not wired for it. Every extra hour I sleep just makes me that much more full of grogginess and yawns when I do wake up.

Today, with four hours of sleep, I wake up quickly, easily, and start my day. I'll take a nap later on, probably two of them, each about twenty minutes, and then sleep four more hours again tonight. It works better this way.

If you're still stapled to your long-sleep-nights routine, the same thing you've been doing for years, it's time you tried something else.

I had no idea it worked like this, and I'm not suggesting this schedule is what'll work for you. I do know that, as far as psychological studies and journals that I've read, (some, but I'm far from a doctor, or even a psych major) that there are two key factors to sleep that put it all together.

One is dreams, those precious, eye-fluttering moments that keep your mind pieced together, sane. Your body, your musculo-skeletal structure, doesn't need to sleep. Every muscle in your body sleeps when it's not being used, which, thanks to biology, is often enough. Your heart certainly doesn't skip off and take naps. It's this overheating, massive gray matter that makes it all count; gray matter, which, I might add, takes an absurd amount of calories, compared to other life forms to keep on-line.

That, of course, is why I'd recommend exercise -- you're going to need a whole lot of brain fuel to life your life to its fullest, and getting all of that hemoglobin and glucose flowing at the rates you'll need takes a lot of juice. Energy. Power.

The second thing I do know, from a factual standpoint, is that you have several 'phases' of sleep in any continuous multi-hour period. Neurons fire off in clusters and waves; faster waves and slower ones, serving different, arcane purposes. You, o human, are a complex animal. I don't know the details of all of the gamma waves and corresponding electroencephalogram readings or any of that. As I said, I'm not a high-level bio-psychology student. What I've read is that these cycles start of in a shallow phase, very close to consciousness, and drift through progressively deeper levels of sleep, and the whole seems to come in chunks of three and a half, maybe four hours. Wake up midway through one, and you're likely to feel pretty disoriented, tired, and groggy -- you've broken the cycle.

Break the cycle, and you haven't gotten back around to the most useful parts of it: the very, very slow delta waves at the deepest part, and the shallowest part that immediately follows containing REM sleep. I'm sure you all know that equals dreaming.

Since our average westerner hasn't got anywhere near the time to get eight hours of sleep strung together, the way I understand it, once you've gotten through that fourth hour, it may not do you a whole lot of good to bother with the fifth, or the sixth, unless you've got a mind to to go all of the way through until the eighth.

For my own part, anecdotal evidence has borne that out. And it's pretty cool what I can do with an extra two or three hours, every day, that otherwise would have just been spent in the addictive, opium-dream that is wasted sleep.

Give it a go. I'd love to know how it works out for you.

I would caution: any change to your biological habits, those 'circadian rhythms' we get programmed with, takes some time to adapt. Don't confuse the difficulties of breaking habits with something not working for you.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

It seems essential at this point that I quote the full text of the Neruda poem that has had a place in my pocket for the past week, "Puedo Escribir Los Versos Mas Tristes Esta Noche.":

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo "La noche está estrellada,
Y titilan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso no es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
Y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo."

A perfect description, far more eloquent than I could say the same feelings that touch my own heart.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Auditioning for love:

It is not that we tried, but failed.
It is not that we played, and lost.

We simply, in our anticipation, tried too early to take our places on the stage.
And, rightly so, they sent us back, behind the curtain, to await our turn.

Will your number be drawn? And mine?
At once?

Who can know?
Not assuredly, no.
But it certainly may.

Think of this, from time to time.
A day for a sploding heads --


A little while ago, Rachael was telling me about the difficulties of riding a race horse around; how something so trained to go wasn't really very good at stopping, and how this could make life a little dangerous sometimes.

A lot of the times, I can feel the point at which my head is about to start running so fast that I may not be able to make it make it stop when I want it to. This is one of those days. It's not the sensation of a headache, exactly, but a sort of tightness, almost analagous to a muscle, between my temples, accompanied by increased blood pressure, quickening pulse, and all the other things sympathetic nervous system responses you'd expect from a high-activity situation. I know at this point, if I haven't already got things pointed in the right direction, it's probably too late.

Sitting in front of me at the moment (and I don't mean 'things I've read recently, I mean things I'm paging between right now ): Somewhere in all this is my head.

I just need to work a bit more on getting it pointed in the right direction before times like this happen, otherwise, thoughts get so out of order and crash into one another so many times that it all crashes down before I can build something interesting with it.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Days like this, all dullness from life is sharpened away. Nights like these, the moon is not flat, nor round -- it is a blade. Days like this, looking up through glass and brick, past tree branch and cloud, towards sky and stars and the comforting expanse of infinity, I know the meaning of life. It is no pity that I cannot tell it to you; it would not mean the same thing from my lips as from your own. My words to describe it would seem a pale, unworthy echo of that which I speak, were you one who has seen it, or they would be the idle fancies of a lost dreamer, if you have not.

Today is a day of Seymour Glass, of Billy Pilgrim, and perhaps tonight is one of Pablo Neruda.

"There was nothing I could do about it. As an earthling, I had to believe whatever clocks said -- and calendars." -- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five .

Monday, February 14, 2005

Martial discipline as we know it has changed dramatically.

I'm no soldier, in anyone's army, and right now I wouldn't be interested in fighting for the so-called freedoms that our current administration claims to support at any price. The closest I've ever come to violence has been in a video game, the closest to martial discipline: a martial arts class. Even so. For some reason, this seemed a surprising enough change that I felt I'd share it.

The United States Army began rolling out its new uniforms this week, consisting of a far more effective "digital" camouflage pattern compared to the rather dramatic, ineffective "woodland" style used for the past twenty years. Pixellated blocks of color blend into one another, allowing the soldier to simply 'lose resolution' as he becomes more distant, standing out far less than the sharp, curved lines of the old pattern. Removed entirely from the design was the color black, in all situations deemed too noticeable. In keeping with this modification came the change that I refer to about martial discipline.

The new uniforms have tan-colored suede boots.

Tan suede.

What does that matter? You don't polish tan suede. The boots are no-polish. If there is one act that I associate with the soldier, across the times and ages, it is the polishing of his boots. He may be dead the next day, in hostile territory, cold and starving and whatever other evils come from war, but his boots would be shined, polished, and well-kept. Historians throughout the years have said one could tell the quality of an army's equipment and training simply by glancing at their boots. I remember stories from my army friends about having a spare pair of boots for inspections, stored under their bunks, not only polished but with Mop-N-Glow freshly applied. The last thing you would want, they explained, was to be caught with dull boots.

Many things change with time, but a few essential ones stay the same. Not this one.

Friday, February 11, 2005

I asked you why, but the tears clogged your eyes, and you could not speak but a word
Thus muted, instead, you lifted your head, and softly sang this verse:

"Y ahora, me dejo de aqui sola,
No se donde fue mi'alegredad
Quizas, persigue tu sonrisa,
Si es verdad, deciria 'Que le encuentre,'
Cuando me ha ido,
nuestra cuento se acaba.
De donde ire, nunca puedo volver,
De donde ire, nunca puedo volver"

You kissed my cheek then, my tears met with yours, and we held a final embrace
May you find what you seek, -- you deserve no worse.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

The battle against superstition -

Sitting at a coffee shop, studying for an Economics class, a rather straight-laced man walks in and sits down at the table beside me. He must be about thirty-five, but his manners seem decidedly middle aged in their routine. He sets down a battered brown leather book bag next to his chair, and a book sits on the table near his sandwich and his bag of chips. He's dressed all in blue, his attire entirely unremarkable: light blue jeans, a darker, zippered blue fleece, and a bluish-gray polo shirt underneath. I barely notice him.

Then, he does something that most coffee shop patrons do not. Opening the sandwich and resting it in front of him on the table, he proceeds to fold his hands and stare off into space for a few moments. Then, he taps his outstretched fingers on his forehead, his chest, his left shoulder, and his right. Again, a few strange seconds of silence, only this time his lips move in some sort of sub-vocal recitation. Once more, he repeats the gesture with his fingers. Forehead, chest, shoulder, shoulder. Then he grabs holds of the sandwich and bites into it aggressively.

I'll admit: I'm a little befuddled by these strange gestures. It's said that the ancestors of America, since the days before its colonization, have practiced this sort of ritual as a part of their mythology, some sort of superstitious warding off of evil. In an Age of not only Enlightenment, but the microchip and the Internet, I wonder why such superstitions are so pernicious. I can come to no satisfactory answer. It is equally strange, then, that such a large element of popular culture supports, even glorifies, this sort of superstition. Surely, you have known people who will not walk beneath a ladder! Yet even they must chuckle at themselves.

I've been asked countless times if I believe in God. I've never had a great way to answer that inevitably loaded question until today. Of course I do. It's impossible not to. Simply by the utterance of the word "GOD," its existence as a concept is proved.

GOD, in the context I'm asked whether I believe in or no, is an especially vague construct centered around one thing: the creation of the world.

If you were to ask me if I believed in Zeus, I would say, 'Probably not.' Zeus has the fortune of being personified. I mean, the guy's a character! Throwing lightning bolts, fits of rage, and a legendary promiscuity, a deity like that would pop down from Olympus from time to time if he existed. Heck, he's arrogant enough he'd probably keep a website going, and occasionally answer e-mails. I'm sure Hephaestus would hook him up.

But the word GOD, in this context, is also a reference to a particular 'entity'. It's funny. It's not simply a god we're talking about but the god, who has, as I understand it, a few special properties, among which are Omniscience, Omnipresence, and Omnipotence. Since I believe that I am here, 'Cogito Ergo Sum' and all of that jazz, and that the world I experience is NOT a myth in of itself, then I have no choice but to 'believe' in 'god.' God is everything, everywhere, and has the ability to do anything. Since you've defined something that has all the knowledge and all the power in the universe, the often described 'supreme being,' it can be the only version of this ultimate power in existence, and encompasses all of reality.

You with me?

To deny the existence of god in such a vague, literally all-encompassing context is to deny EXISTENCE.

Here's the funny part.

By corollary, believing in God doesn't really mean ANYTHING. It's just a word for all of the forces in existence. To conceive 'GOD' in this complete form would be envisioning all reality. Being human, natrually, I cannot do that, except as an extremely distant abstration. Once any attributes are assigned to God, any at all, it ceases to be 'omni-' anything. So the existence of God doesn't prove, nor does it disprove, the existence of Zeus, for instance. I think that a certain mythology, when describing this God, says, "Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me." Because you CAN'T. There can only be one version of everything. Another version of infinity is simply infinity. They all describe all possible things that could fall into such a set, whether numbers or religions. Infinity, plus one, minus one, is infinity. But infinity, plus one, minus two, is also infinity. Infinity can never be diminished, it can never be reduced, it simply is. Infinity is the God of mathematics. Asking whether I believe in infinity is the same thing as asking if I believe in God, I've discovered. Yes, of course. You can never create an equation which will divide infinity into two, nor arrive at it, and then leave. Any SET OF ALL THINGS is like this!

So, the existence of God neither endorses nor rejects any particular religion. If you're a member of religion believing in God by one name, and you encounter another group that believes in an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent entity, you'd have to conclude that you were talking with different words about the same being, because there can only be one EVERYTHING.

How, then, does this apply to anything? What does an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent entity WANT? Clearly, everything that is. Otherwise, it would be ... some other way, and not this way.

I could go on, but it's pointless, really. Reality, existence, infinity, and God, are all just words we use to describe what IS.

And there you have it. The existence of existence is safe for another day.

Now, will everyone please, PLEASE stop using that as a justification for war, or intolerance, or anything else?

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

"The Shins: Pink Bullets", if you were wondering.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Winter's chill


sg - nixon - Ice Queen 02
Originally uploaded by argentius1000.
"You are never as alone as you are in the winter, or as hungry, or as heartbroken. Winter is like a magnifying glass you turn on yourself. Walk away from the lights and into the long January night, and you could be the only person left in the world. Just the swirl of your breath in the air and the soft cracking of snow underfoot to distract you from the fact that, for once, you can really hear yourself think.

Here's to the cold places inside and out- to the bitter wind that comes when the fire dies down, the hours right before sunrise, and the months when everything sleeps. To loves lost and paths that drifted apart in the fog.

Sometimes you need to be alone. But that doesn't make it any warmer."

-- Nixon, (suicidegirls.com)