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...mostly I am here, inside the walls of my skull orienteering the sponge.

The inside of the head is a grotesque chaos, teeming with childish irresponsibility, insolence, instinct, and indifference. Always ending up with what it wants, one way or another, via actual attainment or bubbling neoroses. Torrid in its putrid love affair with immediate gratification, bending over backwards and every which way to get itself every wish and desire in such uncare - the ingrate!

Our reason, while having been developed masterfully via evolution and now separating us from ape, often no match for such power. And our external, our face to the world? ...oh god...

And what have we? An ironic 'will to power'. A will to power of our spouses, and coworkers, and others; to control our surroundings and all insignificant pieces of our lives; to explain everything, including the universe and its creation; and so on. All while we cannot control ourselves in the slightest. Ha, perhaps the universe IS the more trivial solution.

Still unstable at best, us prizes of evolution.

Knowledge and Probability

So there was the hill. The one we had climbed as children and as teenagers and then as adults. The one that housed our debates and birthed our philosophies and fostered our thought processes, or mine at least. I thought I could get closer to the clouds and moon - no?

And I stood. At the top of the hill. And speaking to only those interested, I said...only that nothing can be known for certain but only with varying degrees of probability. And that all knowledge, then, is unstable to some extent. And rue the day induction was presented to us and then relied upon so heavily.

The sun may rise today...but just today and not tomorrow with any certainty. Adaptability, comfort, and content ended a civilization one day - or it will, I swear.

The Moon and Chaos

I've always loved an oversized summer moon poking through red/orange finger-painted clouds in the late afternoon, while there is still light in the sky. Hanging there seemingly motionless with its imperfections, craters and red tint, so much larger than the setting sun. Full (or near) and beautiful and controlling tides and axis tilt and completely indifferent to its role in keeping us around.

It always made this feel like a planet and me feel a meaningless part of the immenseness of the universe - keeping the ego in check and the thoughts a bit absurd. I stare, picturing the planet from the outside looking in and laughing; deafening fucking laughter.

But mostly, it allowed an appreciation of chaos and how it has paused for us - even just for a bit.

#1

You may think me a waste of time...for I don't know what you consider efficient.
Oh dear. At least I'll always clean up after myself.
I was a whore for your attention, even when I was dancing with you.
Oh dear. What's a man like me supposed to do?

Then I became a little fly on the wall...and you, a pane of glass.
Oh dear. For I saw through you and never looked back.

Ye spineless and grey.

Solitary

It's last week and I am here - in solitary. Have been here a month or longer, or shorter. Have lost comprehension of time, which depends on a changing from dark to light and rhythms of circadia or something...but there is not a single photon in this tomb. And, yet somehow I have convinced myself that my eyes have adjusted and can now see shadows and movement. And even if that is not possible, does it much matter when alone like this? You either actually see them or create them in your head, all the same. Plato?

And there is someone reading Ecclesiastes to me, or at me.

I realize my peripheral vision is better on my right than left and that my hearing is opposite, better on the left. And I can still remember the words to ‘Soup’ - "...you gotta do your best to decorate this dying day..." - and how Shannon Hoon laughs in between God Damn's at the end of 'The Pusher'. And how Mozart leaves that fucking single note hanging above everything and my favorite reaction to a good song, from my boy, "Thank God for this guy". And how 'Gagging Order' left my brother and I like salivating dogs the first time we heard it and, and, and...

I am able to count while listening to the verse while carrying another, separate thought on some unrelated historic detail while holding onto the overarching thought that my mind is doing three (four?) things at once. And I can remember the smell of my wife. Her signature scent.

I am most myself at this instant; have always been when all alone - too weak for otherwise - I think we all are. I always thought time alone healthy for the mind - to think without distraction; distractions created by oneself, to be sure. But this much time alone and inside the head has taken toll. The past and future are running amok in the walls of my skull, as they always have, probably should have an ulcer. I have never actually thought about right now…ever. During zero right nows have I been considering them. And a deep breath down here lasts a day anyway.

...a chasing after the wind.