You Forget the Sun

This is going to be a little different. I'm going to write until I can figure out what it was I was trying to say earlier.


You forget the sun. I mean, you forget what it looked like, what it made you think and feel, when you were young. Flames get stylized, thoughts so large it's like you're an inch away from a giant mural, get realized. They pass you by, but the rush from wind they leave sends you further than you were before. You can feel more. Now it's like novacaine, lost the mystery of the truename to the mundane. My name, in the mouth of someone who loves me, isn't letters, it's better. A brand of magic. It burns through that dull veneer, leaving that trailing mark in the dark and making you say: Everything gleams in here. But it's not. Photo after-images. Retina burn. Those sun spots are facsimile, a sketch of a knife cutting into me. Tasting that apple in a distant memory. It just doesn't feel the same.



I think that worked.

Nobodies Felt Like You

Actions in and of themselves do not produce the most key parts of experience. You can build a bird house, perform the act of sex, arrange notes in time, or any number of other actions, but the mere happening of any of these actions may not lead into expected results. This is a problem with much of human behavior; we have expectations which we expect to achieve through action, and action alone. We're conditioned to believe that certain actions, certain life situations, yield certain results, and to an extent this is true, but there are levels to our experiential self (selves) where the truth of this breaks down.

You can put notes together according to tempo, rhythm, amplitude, dynamic structure, timbre, etc., and according to popular or typically pleasing formats, but

You are not guaranteed to end up with a song that connects you to the world.

You can donate half your income to charities, volunteer in soup kitchens, shelters, support groups, build houses for the homeless, recycle and clean up oil spills, but

You are not guaranteed to then be someone who cares about the world.

You can find someone, get engaged, get married, have kids, raise a family, work hard, retire comfortably, die after 70-80 years still together, but

You are not guaranteed to have lived a happy, fulfilling life.

There's an invisible component, something words can't nail down and describe, that bridges the gap between actions and certain experiential results. It's that 'chemistry' that turns certain arrangements of chords and/or lyrics into soul shivering music/poetry. It's an honesty, which, if you obey it, will lead to actions that are expressive of an existent truth: I care about the world, or, I am truly happy. The actions are very much the result of a truth that is followed, not merely a path towards making something true.

The trouble with this is, what if the actions that result from following your truth are, say, weird, atypical, and/or misunderstood? People might not interpret your actions to mean what they mean for you. So, you might figure, it's safer to perform actions that other people are known to interpret certain ways. That way, through your actions you can persuade them into thinking that you are what you really feel you are (happy, caring, etc.), even though you have to sacrifice your natural impulses, your natural actions. We want to be perceived as what we feel we are, and ironically, we try to achieve that by being things we're not. Does that make sense to you?

The Rite of Spring, a ballet by Stravinsky, when it was first performed in 1913, caused a riot in Paris. It was such a sharp departure from the norms in music at the time, people were upset enough to get into conflicts that devolved into violence. And the baby-boomers think today's rock and roll is a bad influence. But now, I have to wonder, if Stravinsky knew what kind of reaction the public was going to have to his music, or even figured it would have been so bad, there would have been the choice: Write it just like he did, and perform it, or... make it more palatable to the general populace. Something they could understand and enjoy. Something closer to the norm.

Today the Rite of Spring is revered as one of the most amazing pieces of music ever written. A pretty good change from something that inspired a bunch of Frenchmen to beat each other down. Chances are though, that if Stravinsky decided to dumb it down, make it more palatable, it would have been forgotten in a few months. Just another ballet. Not too great, not too dull. The modern music scene suffers greatly from this regurgitation of formula, but not only that - much of our entire lives today is affected by the same ailment: We walk all the familiar paths for fear we will walk away scorned and alone. The result is a sea of bodies, plodding along, not too great, not too dull. Ants, bumping antennae, moving along, to borrow an analogy from a neat little movie I just watched.

Don't Placate, Exacerbate! Commiserate! Steam Doesn't Rise Without Fuel on the Fire and We All Need A Little Rain

I think I've needed to write something for a while now. Problem is, I keep trying to plan it out, to create a structure to adhere to so that I can, you know, have a chance at making some sense. Maybe I should just take the stance that nothing makes sense in an absolute sense and that I should just give it a go, until it makes some sense, somewhere. I just hope one of those somewheres can happen to be my own mind.

A not so bad place to start might be to start real simple. Basic, primal even, and see if it progresses any better from there. I'm livid. Fuckin' pissed. Frustrated. Being shaken down to the end of my rope. Loopy, running in circles. I'm angry because I'm angry, and I have no good reason to be angry, so I can't be angry, so I'm not, but I am, Ireallyneedtobe. Somewhere, somehow, I need someone to understand that, and not try to fix it, like a stain that needs to be treated rightthefuckaway or it will positively never go away.

I'm not an angry person. I'm passionate, yes, I really get into the things that are important to me, but I'm not to be generalized. I'm not "a happy person at my base" nor "an angry person at my base." I'm a person, period. Sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am fuckin' pissed. As a human being, my natural state is neutral potential - I am not charged one way or another like some particle. I only ask that people take me as I am in the moment we're both in (can't help but be in).

Right now, as I said, I'm pissed. It might seem that I could potentially be pissed all the time, because the things I'm pissed about are pretty much constant and ubiquitous. That's not the way of it though. Sometimes they piss me off, other times I am legitimately at peace with the fact that they exist in the world. Even see them as fine and necessary. Sometimes, even beautiful! (Ha, it's true, though not right now). Now is not one of those times.

People who lie. The most obvious is the bad liar who just lies about everything because it's a compulsion. Most of these aren't convincing and easy enough to slough off. These kinds of liars are mostly just sad. You shake your head, you move on. These don't really make me angry.

The liars who don't know they're lying, who believe themselves... these are the dangerous ones. These are what draw my ire.

"Those are everywhere! You can't let them get to you!" Yes, yes, I know. All too well. But, there's a hitch. Often, they are people I very truly love. Family, friends, other indefinable relations. Other times, the liars, being 100% convincing to themselves, are 100% convincing to people I truly love. But the truth comes out, inevitably, one way or another (sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes weird). It comes knocking. And people get hurt (why is it painful to find out that the truth was hidden?).

Now my brain tells me: "Getting hurt isn't always a bad thing. You can choose to benefit from trying or even traumatic experiences." I know. I KNOW. "Sometimes it's discomfort or fear that motivates us to make good changes." I KNOW. Fuck, shut up! None of this changes the fact that it is making me angry!

Am I a complete idiot for ever letting anything make me angry? Part of me says yes, others say no. Really, I'm that conflicted. I know that's pretty simple, but a mosquito is a relatively simple organism, and let me tell you, they bug the fuck out of most everybody (no pun intended). It's like holding 1+1=2 and 1+1=3 in your head at the same time, knowing they're both true, but also knowing there's no way in hell they can be.

Maybe that's it. No way in hell. I just need to change locations.

I read it somewhere, I can't recall exactly where. True peace is in the reconciliation of apparent paradoxes. Conflicting dichotomies. Contradictions. Holding them together.

I am angry, and I am not.
That's me.

Why do I favour certain states above being angry? Well, anger isn't really healthy for you. No one really likes it, generally. I don't think it's an unexpected bias. But is it fair?

Catharsis. That's where I'm trying to go. All things in balance, electrons dropping to their proper places, the solution to the equation, the answer to the problem, the destination of the journey. But, like with most journeying, the journey is just as, if not more important than where you arrive.

Maybe I'm just impatient. I want to arrive now.

Am I as stupid as a liar because I'm still a product of the generation of instant-gratification? Part of me says yes, others no. I'm that conflicted. It's understandable, but an understandable stupidity sounds of oxymoron alarms in my head. Must not be stupid. Must not.

Well, maybe I want to be. Yeah, I'll just stop paying attention to my life, and reap the benefits. The instant gratification. The long term confusion, ignorance, and fear.

I wouldn't do that, because I don't believe that people who don't pay attention to their lives are less angry. In fact, it seems to me that they are frustrated, angry and afraid very, very often, and often deal with it in worse ways.

But they have a coping mechanism. An escape. Well, so do I. I have my escapes, but that's not what I'm going after. Right. I'm after catharsis. I want to run through not away.

What would bring me catharsis? I honestly don't know. I spend so much time doing everything I can to avoid conflict (the same thing I detest when other people do it) that I never run that gauntlet. I'm afraid I'll be the only one left on the other side.

I want to erase this, but I won't. I know it's better not to. I hate being trite, cliché and (god forbid) what the I'msomatureandtogether (and yes, that pejorative title often applies to myself) might call 'emo' (what a cute linguistic sign of our times), but being dishonest, I know, is worse. And this is honest. These are some of the conflicts I do experience.

I fear being alone, though I know from experience that I can handle loneliness (enjoy it, even).
I fear becoming angry even though I would forgive it of anyone else.
I fear never being understood, even though when I examine things, it seems I am just going through the same things that everyone does, all the time.
Mostly, I think, I fear the ignorance, the dishonesty of others leading them to unhappy and/or unfulfilled lives. I choose to embroil myself in their turmoil more often than I take solace in the peace that is so owned by other people I know.
I think I choose to so embroil because those in turmoil are those most in need of a friend. Someone there, someone who gets it. If I don't involve myself emotionally, I can't get it, and I can't be there.

I am angry because (some of) you are (sometimes), and I want you to know that you're not alone. And I... I want to know it, too. Nay, not just that, but I want to experience it firsthand, myself.

So come get angry with me. More than likely, I'll be so glad of the company, I won't be able to stay angry. How frustrating!!