Life after social media and the meandering thought stream of deep consciousness

The Balance

Betwixt The Roiling Walls

The colors shift, and I too am there. Walls are built up in tumbling waves and the sun chitters through like a transmission lost. Darkness encloses and the tumbling ends, serenity at last. A death knell for a kingdom unbuilt, serenity at last. Climbing the unseen rungs, she spirals through a sparkling haze and then she disappears. It is then that I realize, before I, too, spiral down, that she was the city and I too will be. Climbing too high; too fast…only to be pulled back down. Breathless and defeated, never to return. Or will we? I look to the chaos around me and see flickers of life; I am reminded that everything is a cycle. Just as “she” rose and fell, I wonder how many others have come before…and how many others will come after? Who will be me, and who will be her? Will our names be the same, and were they ever before? I feel that to know something, you must know it’s true name. So then I wonder, who am I? Who am I, truly? Ah, but the thought fades as I descend and the walls push in. But as I forget my pleading and reasoning, an inkling of myself returns and I say farewell to the only true names that I truly know. Farewell Sky. Farewell Light. Farewell Light. Farewell Atlantis.


A Speck In A Water Glass

A truth unrecognizable; a truth nevertheless.

A movement of my head and a new thought comes to me. An occular phenomena shown to me through a sharply curved piece of glass. Simple enough, yet, my brain does not reason in simple terms. I begin to think of quantum slit experiments, moving my head slower with each pass. I forget my body and begin to think of myself as a camera, capturing what the eyes have missed. With each sway back and forth, I slow myself and delve deeper into fractions of seconds. Halfs splitting quarters, quarters giving way to eighths. I continue until I am seeing a world never meant for human eyes. Particles shifting, willing themselves to somewhere else. First I see their “thoughts” moving, then shortly after their “body” drags itself across the threshold. For an instant, a single particle exists in two places at once. Then I remember my body and everything comes rushing through me. In some ways, the observer, as well,  exists in two places at once. Strange then, that I put so much weight on the worry; If bits and pieces that make up my existence could be in two places at once…then why can’t I, as a whole, do the same? The thought travels first, the body follows. Perhaps I am already there and my body simply does not know it yet.  Perhaps…


Today I looked back at an old conversation with her. My last conversation with her. I said something in there, somewhat randomly, that I just felt was a complete moment of clarity. At the time, I was pissed off, heartbroken and had really lost my faith in humanity (specifically, with our ability to hope and to dream).

You know, times like this, I feel I understand and can relate to Anakin more than I ever could to Luke. That’s the whole point of Star Wars, it has nothing to do with great battles between rival factions, it’s about looking within yourself and saying “Yeah, we all strive to be Luke, but in the end, we’re human, and humanity looks a lot more like Anakin”. I’ve always had this theory that the original trilogy completely took place in Vaders head, and was his inner turmoil fantasizing about how great of a person he could be. Ultimately, even his inner fantasies, his hopes and dreams, fell apart, because at his core, Anakin was not good. He wanted to believe that he could have been amazing, but we can’t change who we are. We can put up a show for others, play the part and go through the motions, but when it comes time to make a decision, it is who we are at our cores that define the choices we make.

It’s funny how, in the middle of a fight, we can unclench our fists for a moment, to have a soft laugh as we analyze something from the back of our minds. We can find such clarity, such peace, and take all of our anger and cast it out. Fuck it. If it’s done, it’s done. I might as well go out poetically. Take risks, live life. We all end up hurt, in one way or another, might as well take the risks so at least you feel human when you fuck up.

The Hours

Some nights I find it hard to sleep. I lay awake listening to the silence, interrupted ever so often by the pops and creaks of an old house. I lie in the dark, my eyes adjusted, trying to make out familiar shapes amidst the greys and blacks. I feel the stillness of the air against my skin, and the warmth of an occupied bed. All the while, listening to the silence. I feel as though those late night, or early morning hours, depending on how you look at it, carry a certain power with them. So often is it that we find ourselves surrounded by sounds, lights, colors, feelings, temperatures, and so on, that we forget what it’s like to be surrounded by nothing at all. To my mind, it’s at these times that our brain starts to function differently. We think differently. We feel different….maybe we really are different. Maybe it’s at those times that we become someone else. Not so different to be unrecognizable, but different enough that if we could see in the dark and gaze into a mirror that we may not recognize ourselves. Strange then, that at such a moment of oddness we could see with such clarity. I find myself looking within when the external world is clouded from me. I find my thoughts to be more grandiose, more unique; and stranger. Maybe it’s not the sleep that brings our dreams, but the absence of everything. Maybe it is at those strange and special hours that our mind can dream, whether we are fast asleep or awake in bed. I would like to think that there is some kind of magic hidden just out of our sight, that only works on us at those special times. For a few hours, we are given the chance to be as human as possible. The night was made for us, and in the night we may find our true calling.

The open road still softly calls

Sometimes I catch myself in thought, lost in memories of times long since passed. There is always that longing to return to the places we’ve been, if for nothing else but to see them in a new light. Memories are strange like that, because no matter how you felt at the time, it’s how you remember them that sticks with you. Over time, those feelings can change, and so too does the memory. Sometimes I find myself at odds with the good times, because I know them now for what they truly were; fluff pieces. It’s not the laughter, or the friends or the high that sticks with you, it’s the little things. Something pure and honest that would have otherwise been completely lost had you not turned your head at the right moment. The way the cheeks creased on that girl you never met when she smiled. The way the wind ruffled the curtains as it blew in through the open bedroom window. The pop in that record that seemed, for that brief instant, perfect. You lose those things in the moment, only to remember them in a moment of clarity. Like a particle of dust dancing through a light beam, flickering into existence from a seemingly empty space. Like a hidden world that you’ve stumbled upon by chance, you’re given a brief glimpse of something that nobody else saw. For those brief moments, you and the universe are sharing a joke, telling a secret. You laugh with your eyes and let only the slightest grin escape you, so as to not draw attention; for these things can not be described to others who had not had that moment. The inside joke never to be repeated. It’s strange, though, that those little, tiny, seemingly insignificant moments, truly are the most significant. You find yourself shaped more by that speck of dust than by a hundred million parties; all the worlds parties. A hundred million friends. A hundred million memories. They blow away like smoke from lungs, and what you are left with is a speck of dust forever engrained in you. Carl Sagan once referred to the nomadic nature of humans by saying “The open road still softly calls”. Maybe it’s not the millions of miles of highway, the vast plains and tundras, nor the great expanse of space that calls us, but rather the tiny, fleeting moments that we will find along the way. The road less traveled is still but a road, and when you least expect it you may be shown a glimpse of a dream you forgot you had long, long ago.

The Rapidly Expanding & Shrinking Distance To The Horizon

I always seem to forget the feeling, as it’s rarely ever there. Like a constant nagging telling you that you will die if you don’t know everything. You worry, you fret and you find yourself getting upset over nothing at all. You either feel sick to your stomach with doubt or full to the brim with desire, passion and hope. You feel jealousy, hate and envy to anyone who intervenes. You want nothing more than to be there, but you beat yourself up thinking you would make a fool of yourself. You cower at taking such a leap of faith, but that’s why it’s called a “leap of faith” and not a “short, easy step of faith”, isn’t it? You dream so big, you think of the future, you make plans and you find yourself lost in thought over it. Then some miniscule, insignificant detail comes into the little world you’ve built up and threatens to topple your built up dreams over. You look that detail square in the face, and tell it to fuck off, because the only other option is failure. Extremes, they go hand-in-hand with dreams.


I want to chase the dream; to see the hills and the trees echo something beautiful; to see the face when I close my eyes, and embrace it completely. I hope the dream is real, and I hope the dream knows I am there. But how can I know without letting loose of everything and racing after it? Pray the sun doesn’t burn away the hills and the trees, evaporating the mist and disintegrating the dream. Let the light envelop and heighten everything I am and everything I want.