john | Jan. 22, 2025, 12:18 a.m. Uncategorized
What a day; wonderful. Finally did some bureaucratic paperwork. It's impressive how many copies are required. Makes me wonder how large the storage for all this is. Like staring into lavender fields, just observing the process.
The luck I've had is tantamount to anything I could ever imagine. The days seem to start go by faster now, my friends let me know of their kids that are soon to be born. Tranquility is what comes to mind.
It all seems so sensational at times, no? I mean everything seems to continue on as if it was suppose to always continue on. There was heart break, heart ache, heart peace, and heart. With the lack of rhyme or reason, it was even as pleasant as it could be.
The insurmountable amount of fortune that has favored the bold, makes me ponder if I've been bold. It's a type of typography you know. It's also a bold choice of words.
As if I'm glimpsing into the past. No real desire to glimpse into the future. The present does wonders. What would glimpsing into the present entail? Would it entail tranquility, chaos, or worse, fun.
It's said that play is the only way to get away from the anger. It has every element necessary. There was a moment, maybe there will be more, but as the days go bye, I realize they are less likely. The youth has raged into the dying of the light, now maturity takes hold. The risks are simple as the rewards.
With little risk, comes little reward, and that is enough. Why risk it all? Even if you're right, there is that moment in the present when it was all on the line. That makes me smile, I guess because I spent a lifetime on the edge of atrocity, only to realize it was far from atrocity, but a line away from tranquility.
The laughs come, sometimes there nervous. Other times, they are bombastic. It feels like the seasons minutely nudge the spirit into things that can only last seasons. Sometimes life is a season, tragic as that may be, it is still infinitely more than anything that involves nothing.
Surprisingly nothing is one of those things I enjoy pondering. It takes me to the worlds greatest theory, one made up by me. Theories are just that though, unproven. Although, there has been some field research.
Maybe it's the piano playing in the background through the speakers. Breaking the silence, one note at a time. Each note glimmers with gold. There is a lull between sets. The silence expands at the speed of sound, destroying all thoughts in its wake. As it meditates itself into existence.
There must be study to have knowledge. There must be experiment to have results. There must be both study and experiment to have reality. It's interesting how in the world there are those who exist, and those who are simply waiting to not exist.
The beauty of it all at times feels inescapable. There seems to be nothing stopping the thought from expanding into the future. Expanding the future, what a preposterous idea, yet conceptually understandable.
There was once hope that words would be read, but now there is simply hope that all works out as well as it could ever. I pontificated once, that be lucky, you must imagine you are lucky. It's crazy to think that in my 39 years of existence, I've been showered with luck. Only to ponder what else could be done. Did I make it? Did it make me? There is no way to know. There is only hope.
My dog rests on the bed, pondering his universe. He was walked. Was that all he wanted? He knows, I don't. He seems satisfied though. Gives subtle hints of his happiness. Maybe that's it, maybe his 12 lbs of pure love are all that needs to exist.
They seem to know their mortality, it's the only rational explanation as to why they seem to have a concept of happiness that can only be expressed by shear gestures. There are some things that are best never known I suppose. There is a reason dog's don't talk. Despite Charles Darwin's angst towards them, since he called them "The bastardization of evolution", I'd venture to say that sometimes a bastardization is what was needed.
Perfection via imperfection. Maybe that's what the present is, as we stare into the moment. It's not perfect, but in its chaos, it is. Maybe not to the untrained eye. Maybe in a selective reading of the moment we can venture out a bit, say that this perfection we live in could be more perfect, could be less suffering, could be less of all the bad, and more of all the good. But the balance is what gives appreciation. Could you imagine the boredom that would overtake the universe if it all was perfect. No one would be happy, since that is only temporary. There must be time to rest, time to heal, time to smile.
It was not necessary at all, but had to be done. The death of love came with profound realization that the happiness was all mine to begin with. There is a simple phrase that has helped me when wallowing, it seems irrefutable. If you look at the math, it has to be true. Existence is a ridiculous concept. Despite everything and anything, all you can ever truly experience, is you.
You're slate gets chiseled, hardened, softened, and broken as it goes through life, but sooner or later you realize that anything and everything of you has been and always will be. When you wake up tomorrow you are still you, maybe a bit wiser, maybe a bit dumber. The barometer for intelligence is subjective.
Just like one man's trash, is another mans treasure. One man's treasure is only subjective to what he values, why he values it and how he values it. The amplitude of each of those is what determines its worth. Yet the wave they all ride, is one.
There was a point to this, but it was lost in the exploration of the moment. And maybe that's the point, the present is all we know. So why shouldn't it be extraordinary?
There it goes again, silence, spreading at the speed of sound. It's possible to travel faster than the speed of sound, apparently not light though. That its unless you can bend light, portal through it, accelerate or decelerate while you're in it.
But then you would have to be aware of what it is you're doing. Would that ruin it? Probably not, but one can ponder.
The piano keys, come and go. The pianist is the one who controls the melody, he simply doesn't give up. He transfers his thought into notes, those notes shatter the silence, or maybe they just consume it. Hard to say, that requires sound and silence to be understood. Maybe they tango through the journey together, one leading, the other following. But both as deafening.
It's okay, this goes into the abyss knowing it will be but a flicker in a moment, the present. Soon it will be the past, but in the past it will hold the value of the present. It will cause the moment to be relived, it will be the present again. How could it not, each time it's read, it relives. It reignites the embers that are the building blocks of it all. Thought.
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