"Everything about us, everything around us, everything we know and can know of is composed ultimately of patterns of nothing; that's the bottom line, the final truth." -Ian M. Banks
- Top Story - November 2023
Impossible In Between
I can't recall my first breath. I've not yet experienced my last breath. As long as I write, I must be somewhere in between. Is there a time between the moment the switch is flipped and light surges across space? How long is that moment, where the electrical current can begin its race, to start an even swifter messenger, as the bulb emits countless bright emissaries?
The joy of this book: picking apart, to weave together, the maddening threads, had to end. I think this pushed the author into despair. To be the fatal film, words would have to transcend the real, and tickle endlessly the nucleus accumbens. It could not salve the scars of life.
2001: A Space Odyssey
It is easier to find comfort in the bones of this cold, vast tale of trepidatious exploration. We are like the proto-humans: afraid to touch the monolith. A masterpiece of imagery and technical prowess. We must evolve beyond the struggles of humans and machines to be comfortable in the void.
Actions on the Border of Decency
I arrived home very late last night after a great deal of travel. My life is increasingly shifting into the stage where it is us, the children, taking care of the parents. Both places to which I traveled involved such activities. Everyone is getting older. Infirmity is endemic, though it expresses itself to different degrees in the varied constitutions of the collected grandparents. Still, being of service to them, making efforts to be kind and supportive, seems to have helped my disposition towards practice.
Also sprach das Selbst
Like all children, I was born as a being of curiosity and joy. Though perhaps I had too much kindness and silence in me. Nature called to me. And like all children I had what some thing of as a secret need for love. Perhaps mine was greater than others, as I was never fed quite enough. Thus solitude and sadness lurked at the edges from a young age.
Past Lives In No Particular Order
It seems like we met in college. Not long after it felt like we had met earlier. Many times. Despite our outer differences, despite my judgemental rage and your unflappable calm and kindness, we could sit together and talk. Endlessly. It bothers me when people say they are old souls, because souls have no beginning. It makes more sense to postulate that we may be old friends. Very old. In the endless span of things, none of us started out as friends, and so it is an incalculably valuable gift to run into someone you have seen before, been a friend to before, even if no one in this world can point to easy evidence of such a past. How extraordinary to share a bond that has survived countless deaths. Countless births.