What are you selling?

Do you want the codewords of your subculture to join the repertoire of the general [regional/national/global/solar] culture?

Are you a member of a guild?  You know, a craft/workers union, a medical association, a political party, a corporation, a sports club, that sort of thing.

Do you share a set of words solely around something like Earl Grey Tea?

What do I share with the bird pecking on the shagbark hickory tree outside my window?

What do I call the bird?  Do I give it a common name?  A botanical/Latin name?  A list of descriptors?  The sounds that it makes?

Black and white feathers.  Tends to hop up the tree.  Can’t hear what, if any, sounds that it makes from its throat.

Should I say downy woodpecker?  How about Picoides pubescens?

As I drink a cup of water which contains a prepackaged bag of Twinings Classics Earl Grey Tea I zapped together in the microwave oven, what else do I observe that doesn’t necessarily pass by the viewhole-cut-in-the-wall called a window?

Today, I am alive.

Thoughts left over from previous days’ influences vie for my conscious action to record them here.

One to remember: [“Fascism under the guise of democracy is the rule of financial capital itself.” — Laibach], ironically read and recorded from a video on the commercial website, YouTube, along with [“What is art?  Art is the goal and the end of progress.”], “Stop the parahuman” and the fact that art both creates a new mythology and should take the system more seriously than the system takes itself seriously.

Which means a performer like Jimmy Fallon is just another fascist propagandist, if you follow that line of reasoning.

IF, that is, you take art seriously and believe that politics is in the service of theatrical performances.

Global absurdistcynical art means nothing to the bird looking for a few bites to eat on this cool, late winter day.  The larvae and other insects being eaten have no philosophical funny point to make in sacrificing their lives to feed the bird.

Can you protest against a government that provides the roads and education that brought you to the steps of the government building to wave legible signs of protest?

Of course you can.

What is education?  Is it not our way of tricking people of all ages, not just children, into adopting a set of codewords to increase their success when interacting with others who most often use the same codewords; i.e., share the same [sub]culture?

A white breasted nuthatch, Sitta carolinensis, clears out an old nesting hole in the same tree on which the woodpecker was searching a few minutes ago.

How do we train ourselves to observe our codeword sets and our behaviours so we can make changes before we get to the point where we feel our only recourse is to generally protest the system that got us to that point?

How do we enhance our [bio]feedback system to protect ourselves as individuals, giving easily-accessible new routes for those who wish not to perpetuate the codeword set of the [sub]culture in which they/we feel trapped?

In other words, how do we take those who are mostly followers and readily give themselves over to hypnotic leaders, who aren’t interested in promoting more than one subcultural codeword set, and give those followers the ability to break their trances and follow the leaders they are best predisposed to emulate?

Those who can follow themselves, are able to self-hypnotise belief in the power of nonconformance, no matter how much the self is a product of mass hypnosis and thus not completely individualistic/unique, just a unique combination of mass [sub]cultural codewords, we need not worry about, but should still give them the same protection under the law as conforming, hypnotised followers.

No matter how much we adore/abhore the prevailing system of social interactions, we all contribute.  In fact, diversity of beliefs is an inherent part of species survival.

We can still belong to our codeword groups — our clubs, corporations and associations — creating entrance exams and other means of excluding codeword noncompliers, including official denial/rejection codeword sets (“that person is an enemy of our [religious/political] belief system,” “your team sucks,” “you are not qualified to be an official member of our witchdoctor medical practitioners,” etc.), if we wish.

In the end, we are all selling something, ourselves in opposition to or ourselves as part of a system.

How do you/I buy or buy into a system?

That’s a question the birds would understand.  Sometimes, they’re species-specific, mating with others of their kind, and sometimes, they’re members of a bigger flock, taking advantage of numbers, a group of different species gathering to elude a predator and feed upon the fat of the land.  Safety in numbers as prey while the predator simply gets a wider variety of food to choose from.

That’s all we are, too.  You/me/us.

The Way of the Motivational Speech Master

If all is not what it seems — a person is not his/her looks, a policy’s purpose becomes clear only after it’s implemented — then creating an autobiographical sketch is neither more nor less than what its contents imply.

Despite attempts at illusion, there is no me.

Despite the feeling that the author of this blog is uniquely different than seven billion others capable of interacting with an online interface, difference is relative.

One can align oneself with others who share a subset of similar traits/habits.

One can speak intelligently about the Quaternary extinction event.  One can yell and shout incoherently about one’s favourite sport.

One may fill one’s room with polyester-filled cloth objects one believes resembles living creatures.

One may drive one’s vehicle at speeds most others consider unsafe.

One may order one’s troops to bombard suburban neighbourhoods to quell a rebellion.

One may minimise one’s engagement with one’s immediate surroundings.

And yet, here we are at the end of the day, a species talking to itself.

Rare is the individual of our species that, except for birth, never has contact with another one of us in its lifetime.

We are social beings.

It seems inevitable that we represent our planet in expanding some version of our lifeforms into the solar system and behind.

Make it so.

Does a motivational speaker ask you to question your intended purpose or get you excited to overcome every obstacle to make your intended purpose reality?

Sometimes, the whirls and eddies caused by bumping into others who strongly seek goals or create a purposeful direction in their lives interrupts the author of this blog from moving forward toward achieving the inevitable.

Death is inevitable, too.

Does a set of states of energy have to have as strong an imprint on others as the set’s desire to motivate others to achieve a goal greater than all other goals combined?

As social beings, are we only inspired when we see a social being similar to us in some way encouraging us to embrace a vision we would not normally call our own?

How many inventions are more famous than the inventors?

How many social movements are more famous than their creators?

How many works of art exist separate from the artists?

If you can recall a single judicial decision, can you remember the judges and/or their arguments that led to the decision?

Do you know the name of any one person who was involved in paving the road over which you’ve traveled?

How about the person who packaged a can of food from which you’ve eaten?

In truth, we are isolated from most of the people who have the some of the greatest influences on our daily lives.

Sure, we say our friends and family are most important.

And we should.

However, we owe a large part of our lives to people we’ll never see or know.

I don’t know any of the people who invented the words I’m using here.

I don’t know the people who wrote the code to allow me to type on this notebook computer keyboard and post a blog entry.

I don’t know who designed the desk on which the notebook computer lies or the chair in which I sit.  I don’t know who created the factory in which either was made or the worker who boxed them for shipping to the point where they were purchased.

This set of states of energy, this “I,” does not remember every person, place, thing or idea that influenced the changes to the set of states of energy in the moment.

The eyes wander.

The fingers feel.

The thoughts spark from one synapse to another.

The “I” that existed — its autobiographical sketch — is neither wholly a truth nor wholly a lie.

Just a few remembered points on a curvy path.  Mileposts.  Signs.

Could one not also say that one’s autobiography contains the moments when one opened a door for someone else for no particular reason and let the door slam in front of someone else for the same nonparticular reason?

Is an autobiography the attempt to make our bumping into each other more than coincidental?

A skyscraper looks like it was designed for a particular purpose in mind but its uses change with time and the interpretation of its form moves with social opinion.

We rarely notice change as it happens because we treat most of the objects/people we meet as unchangeable — they are what they are in the moment.

So it is with the idea that we, or our representatives, branch out into the galaxy.

If asked, we’d create a version of the vision of populating outer space that would contain many components shared with others.

Some would want to spread peace.

Some would want to spread war.

Some would want to spread commerce.

Some would want to spread communally shared space.

No single person will get there alone.

We will carry our global cultural heritage with us, including inventions, social movements, art and judicial decisions.

A few people will stand out as strong personalities but most will never be know or will be forgotten who helped get us there.

Here, at the end of this blog, the inevitability of our species exploring the solar system is directly tied to our species’ ability to survive socioecological change on this planet.

Regardless of the reasons for general warming of Earth, the cost to us to adapt to these changes is ever-rising.  In other words, the value of scarce resources makes us increase the careful consideration of the use of those resources — inequality is a hot buzzword right now in many parts of the world.

So, yes, there are millions of starving people, millions more underemployed, and a few thousand who have more resources than they’ll ever be able to use in a lifetime.

That doesn’t stop the inevitability of populating places outside Earth’s ecosystem, simply changes the motivational speeches we give each other to stay on course, even if we have to tack with the prevailing winds of social change or get caught in temporary eddies.

Time is irrelevant.  Names and numbers on milestones fade, all of us forgotten eventually.

We’re getting there, slowly but surely, one autobiographical sketch piling on top of another like steps leading to our new homes on celestial bodies both natural and artificial in comparison.

Enjoy the journey because the definition of our destination and how long it’ll take to get there changes with each successive generation.

The way it is and the way it’s always been…

Life outside of words

Examining our culture day after day, in small sets and supersets, in knots and patterned weaves.

That’s what I do.

I who do not exist.

This set of states of energy familiar with symbols we use every day but never notice how we use them.

I, who often sees the repetitiveness of my own actions, storylines and written conversations that felt original to me at the time but appear and reappear in culture after culture detailed in literature, politics, sports and everyday, common conversation.

Alone but not lonely.

Happy moments and indescribable moments.

Writing oneself out of the proverbial bag.

Just like the other seven billion of us.

Heartbeats.

Thought patterns.

The beauty of forgetfulness.

Rumours and strange fairy tales.

Reality translatable into a few thousand languages readily.

All the while attacking my body under bacterial/viral attack using over-the-counter medication containing fever reducers, antihistamines and other ingredients designed to address symptoms while the body does what it can to fend off the bacteria/viruses without doing itself in.

If I had one million dollars at my disposal, would I set aside two-hundred thousand dollars for a blast into space?

If I had one billion dollars at my disposal, would I set aside two-hundred million dollars for a trip to space?

Pithy quotes for the day:

  • Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
    Albert Einstein
  • A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.
    Ralph Waldo Emerson
  • Power is not alluring to pure minds.
    Thomas Jefferson
  • Little men with little minds and little imaginations go through life in little ruts, smugly resisting all changes which would jar their little worlds.
    Zig Ziglar
  • Great discoveries and improvements invariably involve the cooperation of many minds. I may be given credit for having blazed the trail, but when I look at the subsequent developments I feel the credit is due to others rather than to myself.
    Alexander Graham Bell
  • How is it they live in such harmony the billions of stars – when most men can barely go a minute without declaring war in their minds about someone they know.
    Thomas Aquinas
  • A dark and terrible side of this sense of community of interests is the fear of a horrible common destiny which in these days of atomic weapons darkens men’s minds all around the globe.
    Emily Greene Balch

Reading down the list of comments from hundreds of friends on facebook or randomly jumping from one blog to another puts me in a frame of thoughts that asks, “Why?”

Why do we use phrases like “little minds,” “pure minds” or “great spirits”?

If all is repetition, then does it matter whether we repeat ourselves on this planet or another celestial body?

Roads, houses, diseases, babies.

Social hierarchies and imaginary universes.

What if the wisest person who ever lived spent an isolated life as an Amazon tribal leader?

Visions haunt me, visions of plenitude and penitence, happiness and remorse, domesticated planets and untamed wilds.

My thoughts struggle between wanting to be a hermit left alone in the woods and a voice for our species that asks us to look up and see this planet and our life on it as putting all our eggs in one basket, begging and pleading to get us to dedicate our species to stretch our imaginations and live outside this comfort zone of a global ecosystem.

Otherwise, to me, all is repetition, numbing, morose.

If we care only to repeat history, then I might as well crawl back into a hole and live inside my imagination.

Small ideas for small thoughts inside a small set of states of energy, back to where I started.

The downside of profiling

Enter two data points that are scary in and of themselves:

Mix them together and what do you get?  Answer: the next generation of “death by suspected terrorist” suicide seekers, upping the former lower level of “death by cop” prevalent among the truly despondent too afraid to kill themselves.

Pebbles in a pond, waves flowing out and causing the Law of Unintended Consequences to create quantum effects one cannot easily compute with the archaic devices we currently call supercomputers.

I wish life was just happiness and bellies full of good food but it doesn’t always turn out that way…sigh…

Candle Wax

The issue then becomes one of explaining to the full range of age groups and belief subsets how every data point, although unique, is made of the same ingredients as the set in total.

“But if we are all the same, how are we all different?”

Well, you see, we are all connected.

“But my subculture is diametrically opposed to yours.  We do not feel connected.”

Emotionally opposed, yes, and thus connected by emotions.

“We would never participate in any of your activities.”

And, therefore, we complement each other, one performing the tasks the other would not.

“It makes no sense.”

Observe the candle.  The wick is not the same as the wax.  However, both react to fire, one feeding off the other, giving light as a heat byproduct.

“Or heat as a light byproduct.”

Precisely.  It is the observation point from which one finds one’s place of understanding.  ‘Who am I?’ becomes ‘I am the collection of states of energy that detects heat and light.’

“Or hot wax.”

Or carbon with which to record symbols that represent your subculture.  You are the stuff of stars.

“I don’t know…  My elders say I am a gift from God.”

Stars.  God.  I am telling you they are the same.

“We do not practice pagan religions.  Stars are not living beings.  Only God can create people.”

Religion I do not know.  I only know states of energy, atoms, molecules and the like.  And their connectedness.  The teachings of your elders are your guide to follow freely as you wish.

“So why am I sitting here with you?”

And I ask myself the same question.  Why do two states of energy such as ourselves choose to interact using sound shaped by our vocal chords and other movements of our states of energy we call bodies?  It is what it is.  Questioning it prolongs the next moment of discovery between us, adding to the wonder of the universe that is us, our states of energy, in momentary synchronisation.

“Are you not wise, then, as they told me you are?”

I am wiser than the trees, they say, and yet I cannot sprout a single leaf.  This hair upon my arm cannot convert sunlight into energy yet, like bark, it provides a modicum of warmth against a winter’s cold.  Wisdom is application of one’s knowledge of one’s ignorance.  What I do not know tells me more about what you and I will say next to each other more than what I know says about what we can say to each other.

“So you can’t tell me if I should eat this bowl of ice cream, Great Uncle?”

A container of frozen cow’s milk and other ingredients… Does it taste good to you?

“My tongue says it does.”

Your tongue is not a separate object.  It is you as much as these words we have left behind.  Including the rest of you, not just your tongue, does the ice cream taste good to you?

“I don’t know.  I’ve never thought about it.”

Precisely.  Look at the object you call a bowl.  Look at the object you call a spoon.  Look at the object you call ice cream.  They are connected, their function and form, their origin and destiny, all one.  In reality, they are not separate objects.  Imagine they and you are all part of the same universe, created, as you say, as a gift from God.  Is the place where the cow came from, how it was raised, how it was milked, how its milk was sanitised and mixed with special ingredients to make ice cream, and how the spoon and bowl came into being also a gift from God?

“Of course.”

Then tell me without putting the ice cream in your mouth, does the ice cream taste good to you?

“Wow!  Uh… that seems like a lot to think about just to decide if I should eat the ice cream.”

But don’t you already have an idea what the ice cream will taste like?  Don’t you already think the ice cream tastes good?

“Yes.”

Then, in the space before you smell the ice cream with your ‘nose’ or place the ice cream on your ‘tongue,’ in that moment when you cannot stop the ice cream from hitting your ‘taste buds,’ I tell you the ice cream will taste like motor oil and burn like hot lava, can your thoughts switch to disliking the ice cream?

“Yes.”

Are you sure.  This moment I describe takes place faster than the speed of light, an imperceptible split second before your thoughts can travel from one neuron to the next.

“Then I guess not.”

Your life is made up of all those imperceptible split seconds.

“Which means…”

Taste is a deception.

“Which means…’

All the imperceptible moments up to now have already determined whether you’re going to eat the ice cream within that bowl, which, by the way, has melted quite a bit since we first started talking.

“And I hate warm ice cream!”

There you go.  You have your answer.

Word

So we “cancel” Greek debt with no hope the Greek government/private sectors will ever pay back what they owed?

Hmm…

What does that tell us about the rest of the EU/world?

Warren Buffett can play guitar, for beginners (or is that starters?).

Telling us we’re all just regular people in one way or another.

Okay…

I agree.

However [scratching head while two cats warm my knees and crawl space crickets sprout after a midwinter rain], it’s not us creditors I mull over.

Which reminds me.  Ever wonder why you can buy cold beer and hot chocolate at an outdoor sports event but not hot fermented beverages?  What about warm, spiced beer at the next football or hockey game, huh?

Anyway, debt is the word.

The question.

The answer.

Cyclical crises are perennial and require perennial solutions, don’t they?

Or do they?

Is Bloomberg still taking programming lessons?

Does the Panic of [1819/1837/1873/1893/1907] have any relevance today, despite nomenclature games that this one has to be different because we’re so much more modern in our economic understanding, etc.?

Change is change even when you end up with no pocket change to speak of.

Next, we’ll go from an anonymous Netizen Manifesto to a Netizen Bill of Rights to a group of people declaring themselves members of no country except the virtual/online one in which they elect their nongeographical solar system representatives.

So, yes, let’s cancel Greek debt but at the same time declare Greece is no longer a real country in the old sense.

A tourist attraction, perhaps.

Other than that, its people are free to join the new Netizenry, subject to crowdsourced laws and regulations, few as they are (governed mainly by gravity and other natural laws).

The cats say it’s time for bed and sleep.

I agree.

G’night.

Sketching some detail into the background image

[Feel free to skip this entry — setting up future entries with some questions]

Two kids, bundled up in the cool north Alabama winter weather, ride by on an ATV.  A father and daughter ride by on their bicycles.

Do you attempt to control the number of people who want to love you or love the people around you?

Do you accept that whoever wants to like you and/or your presence, your mannerisms, your actions, your work, your friends, your ideas, your passions, your dislikes, can and will like all that without your permission?

So, then, what is poverty?

If no one told you you were poor, would you know it?  If you didn’t have all the stuff that nonpoverty purports to provide — telephone, television, motorbikes, automobiles, paved roads, public transit, sanitised water, pasteurised milk, meat byproducts, mass-produced clothing, literacy, manufactured medicine, Internet 24/7 — would you feel any less yourself?

Are you naturally predisposed to move around?  Are you athletically inclined?  Or would you rather sit and minimise your physical movements, passively involved in the world around you?

What are you primary activities?  How do they compare to your subculture and the population at large?

Do you stand more than sit?

Do you sleep more than sit?

Do you spend more time eating while sitting or standing?

Is your physical activity integrated with your primary activities or do you set aside time to “exercise” because your primary activities are mainly sedentary?

Should radio/TV/Internet call-in shows no longer accept calls from drivers using their mobile phones?

What is a hobby?  When does the line blur between hobby and occupation?

On a personal note, why have I, who grew up attending and actively participating in weekly religious rituals, found group-based religious ceremonies fairly uninteresting in my adulthood, no matter how familiarly old-fashioned or modern they have been? [Answer: because none of them allow me to silently meditate upon the solemnity of reason for the process; rather, I am forced to stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down, sing with and listen to others, interrupting my train of meditative thought.]

Poverty of possessions is not a sin or a crime.  A short life expectancy is not, either.

Being organic beings (as opposed to all those inorganic beings out there [wink, wink]), we are subject to the frailty that flesh and blood makes us.

The thousands-of-years-old question: does civilisation make us less or more of what we once were?

A two-story house under construction one street over gives the occupants of the second story a clear view of me sitting in front of the window in my study.

I don’t like being watched.  No particular reason why or, rather, a multitude of reasons why.  First, I like to change my personality frequently and don’t like people watching me during the transition.  Second, I change my chameleon personality to adjust to people around me and when unknown people are watching, I’m unsure what specific traits I should best display.

As a person who likes to record his personalities and observations via the process of writing, I am often wearing the cloak of a personality I’m trying to understand before describing it with words.  Letting strangers watch the intermediate stages of personality development is not something with which I’m comfortable.

In this day and age, I value my privacy during the moments of character development.

Should I?

Is privacy a right best enjoyed in poverty or wealth?

If people want to like or love me even when I’m wrapped up in a new character coming to life, should I stop them or let them see what they want, despite the incomplete message they may receive (and I’m all about projecting a message, or the semistereotype that most of us, as characters in our own drama/comedy, display on a daily basis)?

I am behind in my thanks, including to: Stain/Miranda at Beauregard’s (now back in business); Jordan at Publix; Mr. Donut; China Cook; Joe, Harold and Jenn at KCDC; Taylor at Krystal; Tuesday Morning; Michael’s; multiple Internet service providers and Web content developers; Richard J. Quintana of Missing Link Records (thanks for selling me a box of Deutsche Grammophon records for $10); Fred Bread.

Letting the Waters Rush Past

In this moment am I,
Alone with quiet sounds of a nearly deserted house,
Influenced mainly by my thoughts only,
Letting neurons of old memories fire at will,
Wondering about the falsity of history,
The noisemakers who’d want my attention if I paid it willingly…

Prose.  Prize.  Reprisal.  Appraisal.

Sounds evoking images the way they do.

Letting go of phrases.

“We all create reasons to justify our innate/trained behaviour patterns.”

“I” is a unique combination of nothing new, sharing traits with intersecting subsets.

Letting go of me.

Bowing out.

Happy in my anonymity, happy with momentary friendships, instant companions.

Au revoir.

Until we meet again…

This — a dance of words — a kind way of saying nothing.

A rock in a river, slowly rubbed smooth in the temporary meeting of a particlewave energy exchange.

With no ears to hear in the sedimentary substance, what effect does the noise of the rushing water have on the rock?

Balsa Struts and Tissue Paper

Have you ever created a reason to walk door-to-door, meeting your neighbours, greeting strangers who have internal imagery that defines their perfect center of the universe in domiciles that may or may not define domestic bliss?

In my door-to-door adventures, I asked for Halloween candy; have sold: raffle tickets for junior high school sock hops, desk lamps and other catalog items for Cub/Boy Scout projects, candles and oranges for high school marching band trips, mini-encyclopedias for college spending money; delivered free telephone books; taken survey information for the 2010 U.S. Census.

In the forty or so years of these face-to-face encounters, I have seen houses full of African violets, mobile homes full of marijuana plants, dog/cat feces all over the floor, spotlessly-clean living rooms (implying there was little in the way of living going on in them), ethnic diversity in areas where homogeneity was most coveted, souvenir dinner plates covering walls, people answering the door in a variety of [un]dress and people being as quiet as they can, refusing to open the door.

Do you know the official history of the spot where you call home, even if it’s a carpark where your Travelers’ caravan sits temporarily?

I am a vagabond of thought patterns, meandering from place to place, committed neither to one thought pattern nor another, aware of the vanity that goes with believing any one thought set is a permanent solution to anything in particular.

I have a childhood drawing with three names on the bottom: Rick Hill, Jeff Garwood and Suzanne Trimble.  I guess the drawing was made sometime between the third and sixth year of primary school.

I know the first person very well, have lost touch with the second person and the third person is about to spend seven months in Germany for reasons unknown to me.

However, these three people well represent the types of people I met in my door-to-door wanderings as a child encouraged to impress himself upon his neighbours to exchange labour credits/money for goods/services.

I painted houses, mowed lawns, raked leaves and helped friends in their newspaper delivery routes to provide myself the economic power to participate in the local marketplace during my teenage years.

I suppose children are still providing these services to put spending money in their pockets and deposits in their bank accounts, a few of them buying stamps, comic books, dolls or other collectibles and/or government savings bonds and company stock for investments.

Broken-balsa-wood-and-torn-tissue-paper windup-rubber-band-powered airplanes sit atop dusty stacks of books around me.

A rusty model rocket launch pad rod sticks up out of shopping bag labeled “CIRCUSWORLD TOY & VIDEO CENTER.”

A telescope points toward the ground.

On a pile next to me rests a wire kitchen strainer once used as a parabolic wireless network signal concentrator/reflector.

These items serve as keys or bookmarks for memory locations inside my body.

The generic brick-and-mortar, vinyl-sided, stacked-box objects we call home serve as memory locations for inhabitants, too.

A cave or a bamboo hut.

An adobe hacienda or stone castle.

We are rarely aware of the network of memory locations within us that are triggered by external objects like our homes and their contents.

Is your home rich with memories, both good and bad?

Or, like some of the sterile environments I observed when going door-to-door, is your home mostly unused, filled with objects about which you have little memory recall, the TV and computer serving more as an extension of your thought set than the furniture and facsimile paintings on the walls?

A fellow blogger posted that her friends find her boring.  It’s a matter of perspective.  How imaginative is the thought set of the blogger?  How rich are her memories of growing up?

The Internet has opened the gates that once allowed only the most persistent, imaginative people to appear in mass media.

Now, everyone with a computing device (computer, tablet or mobile phone) can appear in a one-person off-Broadway autobiographical show — a slice of life with no beginning or end, no plot, no climax, just a character carrying on about whatever it is that character wants to put on display.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité.  E pluribus unum.

On a side note, is it just me or does the US FTC (Federal Trade Commission) emblem look like the mask that some of the global protestors have been wearing?:

Warwalking

When you let go of stereotypes, question the assertions of those who claim authoritative positions, and accept yourself for who you are (no matter how much the “you” is uniquely unaligned with the subculture and cultural influences around you), what do you have?

If you are simply the intersection of waveforms, does a “you” exist?

I can say my skin is aging because, although I lose lots of skin cells every day, there is a consistency, a continuity, that goes with the concept of a substance that loses its flexibility and thickness with time, showing flaws, defects and indications of previous incidents that do not go away and, in fact, lead to a partial deterioration of this somewhat hairy divide between myself and the rest of the universe.

Have you ever walked through your neighbourhood and surreptitiously collected the source points of wireless computing signals by wearing a backpack which hides an electronic data collector inside?

Are locks, firewalls and passwords a warning or a challenge to you (and sometimes both)?

Other than gravity, entropy and other currently immutable laws, to what do you owe your existence?  Social rules, both overt and implied?

Are we all just the result of previous beings successfully reproducing themselves?

Do you have a well-trained habit of saying “a group of things is” or the grammatical slip of “a group of things are” in your literary repertoire?

Do you know who Dale Earnhardt, Jr, is?  How about Dr. Grigori Perelman?

Can you ignore all labels and let waveforms pass through you without using a sieve or filter to interpret them?

Have you ever tasted organic chai tea?  Do you know if such a word as “chai” exists and, if so, how it is normally pronounced or correctly spelled/written in its native language?

Do you take (swallow, inject, rub on, drop in, etc.) any prescribed medication and, if so, the etymology of the words that describe what you take?

Daily, I ask myself what I’m doing here, listening to the echoes of the labels that bounce against me from the nearest [sub]culture, restricting myself to the use of a few thousand words, punctuation marks and writing rules to record my place in the universe even though I don’t exist.

We are all disrupters in the flow of time.  Condensed waveform intersections.

I do not exist.  The Book of the Future, which does not exist, either, is a device which reflects waveform intersections that are bound to happen.

A tree cannot see itself as a book, a table or a pencil.

We do not see what we will become, only what we know we can become: intersecting, reflecting waveforms.

Did my red hair, or people’s comment about what red hair means, contribute to my fits of uncontrolled rage when I was a kid?  Is it just me or, when I’m aggressively happy, I, as a male, want to have sex, not romance, to quench my thirst for aggressiveness?

I, this list of labels, am an ordinary guy whose skin shows the scars of UV radiation and entropy.

I have achieved all my dreams and goals.  I am happy to live and ready to die.  This “I” has no need of time or social recognitions/obligations.  “To be” is sufficient to describe me now and in the not-now.

Happiness is a condition of intersecting waveforms, not a goal, or a journey, or an object.

The laws of nature and social rules define the temporary restricted waveform intersections that look like me here.

Remove the labels of “laws of nature” and “social rules” and there is no me.

Time to not be me away from this social phenomenon called a blog.

The meditation session is over.