Tag Archives: meditation

I Want To Live

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I’ve decided to take off the clothes that represented the thought “I don’t want to die” and put on the clothes that represent the thought “I want to live.”

Saying “I don’t want to die” was, to me, as much about saying nothing as it was about saying I didn’t want offspring to carry on part of my genetic structure.

Saying “I want to live” is, to me, as much about saying nothing as it is about saying I want offspring to carry on part of my genetic structure.

Am I parroting parody or parodying parody?

Is my tie-dye fit to be tied?

Am I tired of hiding in suburban housing estates?

Does what I have in these thoughts that find their way past the physical barrier of skin stretched across the end of my fingers have any value that could/would/should support progeny in their unprotected infancy/youth?

Do I have the patience to put up with others’ ignorance?

I’m certainly tired of the life of the desk jockey crammed in with a bunch of other self-absorbed cubists.

What other hobbies/occupations provide a way for me to support myself?

After all, playing the stock market is about as exciting as filing my nails.

I simply have no burning desire for hordes of cash or cash equivalents.

My habit is live/observe/write.

Where does a habit like that fit in with the rest of the random socioeconomic interactions?

How do I wrap the pretend bow of ORIGINALITY around something that profits me and others in a future-enhancing method?

How do I maintain an interest in any one subject for very long?

Watch my alma mater go up and down the court…

…then…

watch the weather for a while.

Life goes on.

Patterns in computer monitor dust

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Analysing a thought pattern: “This is a great feeling.  I want more.  I want more.  I want more.  I can’t have more?  You mean I have to get it for myself, the self which has no inherent value? Then I’ll just sit here and virtually beat myself over the head, inducing thought-based sets of pain.”

Self examination is a curious tale.

Is it really situational depression?

Why feel the need to punish myself for pure, unadulterated pleasure, which can be as simple as eating a second cookie, when one was sufficient to fill my need?

What kind of self-control mechanism is that?

At what age did I start fully understanding the thoughts of adult-level aged people?

When did I learn to pretend to be a child with some adults and an adult-like person with other adults?

As an adult now, do I see the young people who are more grownup in thought than most adults around me?

Do philosophers understand particlewave theory/practice?

Do I?

Do you understand the path of least resistance that the intersection of electromagnetic oscillations and neurochemical firings represents?

Have you studied the detriments and benefits of crosstalk?

Have you ever built a lab that contained both shielded and unshielded cable to induce the scientists and lead engineers around you to explain their understanding of theories they themselves do not know they’re talking about?

Is it my destiny to be an average writer stuck in the body of a misunderstanding person?

Are questions the best I can come up with?

Do I truly believe I am just a repeating parrot?

Will something occur 14,290 days from now or have I deceived myself (or myself been deceived)?

Does it matter what these symbols – a, b, c, etc. – originally represented?

Which parts of the fables/myths that we call history are important, if any of them?

William Shatner turns 80 today – in the trailer for Transcendent Man, he said he wants to live as long as he can.

We are the product of our times.  Our bodies and thought sets are programmed for mortality.

We are incapable of seeing the big picture, innovatively turning omnipotence and omniscience into anthropomorphised characters.

Does it make sense to you that Ray Kurzweil would embrace the writings of Ted Kaczynski, just as I have embraced the thought sets of Jared Lee Loughner and Amy Bishop?

To understand what the moment will morph into, one must erase all thoughts of bias/prejudice and try to avoid the temptation to interpret the actions/motivations of others.

It is not easy, let me tell you.

I am opposed to killing, simply because I myself do not want to die.

But there is a difference between not wanting to die and wanting to live.

2011 is the year in which I want to know what the difference is.

I want to live while I wait to die.

What if I discover that the tenets of my moral/ethical training are in conflict with my desire to live?

How do I resolve the conflict?

If I have to choose between wanting to live and not wanting to die, which one will I pick?

The future does not exist so I already have within me an answer to that question, even if I can’t see it or don’t want to admit I know what it is.

I’m glad I’m here by myself because I certainly wouldn’t be having these virtual conversations with myself in public.  It’s almost too embarrassing to admit that I don’t know everything.

The journey of one person is the only journey I know how to take.

I repeat the patterns of those around me because I found it was a safe way to divert their attention so I can focus on the self-journey to which I alone belong.

Despite the fact that I don’t exist.

Giving a voice to the many layers of social interaction available to my thoughts and against which I physically encounter, knowing some of them represent age/maturity levels I encountered as a child and continue to encounter as an adult, is really all I am.

The superficiality attached to the intersection of electromagnetic oscillations and neurochemical firings within a bigger system of electromagnetic oscillations interacting with the particlewave universe we call our own.

If I ever tell myself more than that, I’m lying.

This is today’s mantra.  Rinse and repeat as necessary.

It all comes out in the wash cycle.

Or so they promise in logically misleading adverts.

I don’t want to pretend I know what I’m talking about.

This alternate universe of a blog is as close to reality as I’ll ever get.

Why is this blog’s last entry in October 2010?

Do we always imagine it’s someone else having more fun?

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An evening again, the moon’s illumination competing with the banker’s lamp and the laptop computer screen.

I promised myself I would stay out here in the public eye because I have nothing to hide.

But I lied.

I’m hiding myself from myself, throwing up artificial barriers because I’m afraid of letting go of promises I made to former versions of myself (i.e., talking to myself in previous moments).

I don’t know if I’m afraid or if I’m so well trained I don’t want to ruin people’s personal cocoon of illusions that hides their unrestrained all-consuming love for life.

I would tell my social self to disappear except I don’t know what I’d do with the states of energy absent of the social self.

So, instead, I throw out thanks to folks like Greg Cook and his tax firm, Cook & Co., and the great tax preparer, Chris, for their ability to get us great refunds from the world’s superpower of a government bureaucracy.

And to Papa Dubi’s for the delicious Cajun food at dinner tonight.

The Rave for showing “Limitless”.

Why do I keep asking permission to be alive?

After all, I don’t exist.

Paradox or dilemma?

A vow of poverty and unable to depend on others to completely prop up the helpless me.

Take that back.  Dependent solely on my wife’s loving patience and monetary support to keep me alive and healthy enough to sit here and croak/groan/squeak/type because I can’t trust the system into which I was born to provide long-term sustenance for the species to which I belong.

Able to say anything I please here but using social courtesy to avoid the current version of seditious blasphemy which would permanently get me ostracised or worse.

Despite overwhelming evidence that tries to tell me I know more than I could possibly know, I refuse to believe I have more than the capability of assessing microtrends for entertainment purposes only.

This is all supposed to be a big joke, a grand illusion or comedy, isn’t it, Rick?

I’m pretty sure no one reads these words.  Surely, I make up a reading audience and comments/feedback in order to build a convincing storyline?

I only imagine in conversations that I catch glimpses of other people speaking phrases I’ve written that serendipitously line up with what I’m going to think next.

Living solely in the moment will do that to a person.

I am a monster devouring the old self.

That must be what it is.

A grotesque.

Pushing people away because I fear what I know I’ll see – my true self in the core of other states of energy like me.

That is, there is no core.

There truly only is the moment.

The past and the future really are illusions.

Time is irrelevant.

There is no me that lives or dies.

The power to lift a veil from the imaginary curtain rod of time reveals the absence of all that these states of energy have wound themselves up about.

Meshing/weaving wisdom as fast as one can to stay ahead of information overload.

Debrainwashing and removing false filters.

All for the purpose of repurposing repetitious nothingness.

This body is all I am.

I have nothing to give you, nothing to trade for your openness and kindness except platitudes and fake movie sets.

I am a prop in my own little drama.

Predicting the future is carrying forward seven billion thought trails multiplexed into a few dozen themes woven into the surrounding ecosystem that is just part of the galactic set of states of energy with less and less influence by short wavelengths and slightly more influence by longer wavelengths.

I don’t want to find a way to pay the bills with this knowledge.

I just want to be dead.

Until then, I fill the time between this moment and one set to occur 14,294 days from now.

I can keep lying to myself that long, maybe.

I shouldn’t be here in this mood because deep down I know I don’t like myself anymore, with no future to look forward to, nothing to do but rise up and please those around me when they lay out their dramas before me and ask me to play along.

I am the void.  Empty.  No walls to call a vessel.  Certainly not a vassal.

Tied to a past that doesn’t exist and promises me no future.

Thus, I am dead.

Gone.

As I said, the walking dead.

Another day closer to complete dissolution.

Caught in the trap of the false sense of security.

If the species doesn’t want to save itself from itself anymore than I do when I waste energy in a blog like this, substituting convenience for prudence, then how can I say it’s worth saving?

It’s not fun being me.  I would give these gifts of wordiness to anyone who could more quickly push our species toward whatever it is that my faulty personality is blocking us from reaching a more conscientious living in the moment.

But I don’t know how.

After all, these are just fingers or ends of the armlike extensions of my body playing along with the electrochemical pathways tuned to making pixels light up in stark opposition to shadows cast by the Moon’s reflection of the Sun’s states of energy doing what they do.

What is blocking my thoughts this time?

What am I sensing that I don’t want to let myself know I am blocking again?

Why this subterfuge of literary plot devices?

Why pretend anymore?

I can’t tell you what I know because I don’t know what it is that puts these words here except the culmination of in/formal education.

Lie down and let daydreams and sleep entertain me.

They may not be any more real than anything else but they’re all I have.

I apologise to a certain person for pushing her away but that’s all I know how to do with the strong personalities like you – my ability to hold clever conversations in person is severely limited by my illusion of objectification as a self-defense mechanism.

The training required to get over that illusion requires giving up the illusion that sticking with paradigms of the past is a requirement of my subcultural upbringing and thus a core part of the person called Rick who doesn’t really exist.

Paradox or dilemma?

Yes.

I also have to believe I’m the only one who knows what I’m saying here, aware of the thoughts that aren’t being expressed due to conflicting thought trails crossing over each other, and slower typing speed than pure thought expression will allow.

And the knowledge that no matter what I say, I’m repeating myself and the thought sets of billions of lives before, during and after mine, which at a smaller scale repeat the living patterns of all beings of our molecular makeup.

The same choices we all make.

So why choose?

Good question.  To bed, then!

Kentucky Borderline

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A clean bill of a healthy state of mind.

Thoughts drifting.

Sitting on the elementary schoolyard swing set again, singing “Jeremiah was a bullfrog” with my two schoolmates, Renée and Rita, while we saw who could swing the highest without getting the teacher’s attention.

After recess, returning to the fourth grade classroom and hanging out with the guys who challenged everyone to memorisation games, using pulldown maps of countries, states and land features.

Talking about a new literature one of the guys had discovered, called “science fiction.”

Passing love notes to Renée in class, getting caught and reprimanded by Mrs. Tallman, who threatened to tell my mother, a first-grade teacher in the same school, down in the modern pod section where the open classroom concept was being tested on teachers and students, whether they wanted it or not.

Renée dead a year later from a blood disorder that I assume was leukemia.

Some thoughts repeat themselves, overshadowing memories that might have been important at one time, including spelling, grammar, math, history, social studies and geography.

How many politicians who want to make teaching a minimum-wage job with no benefits have children in public schools?

Could you be convinced to vote for a real person like yourself whose lifestyle matches most of the ones in your voting district and is not tempted by wealth?

That is, if you have the right and privilege to vote, which you exercise, seriously considering the ramifications of your decision.

If such a person would register as a candidate for public office.

Renée’s lively personality left my life when we were ten, 20.8% of my current life.

Now, news of friends’ parents dying is growing common.

In middle age, these are the days of my life.

My parents just called to inform me Mrs Abernathy had died.

John, Carol, Beth and Don – my thoughts and prayers are with you as you begin the grieving process for the death of your mother.  She was a sweet lady, the consummate Mom for all children, loving the neighbourhood kids, church kids, and school kids without showing favourites.

I sit here, remembering her influence on me as I grew up in Colonial Heights – hosting church youth socials in the backyard, supporting Sing Out Kingsport and school musicals – knowing Renée never had the attention from Mrs. Abernathy that I enjoyed throughout my teenage years.

Neither will I have been the type of parent to provide that community support for my children and their friends/schoolmates.

From one end of life to another, death is a constant.

Yet, as much as we know about the whys and wherefores…the loss, the end of forming new memories and absence of wisdom, love and insight from deceased family and friends, young or elderly, change our perspectives.

How does it change my perspective?

Renée has been gone almost 40 years.  Mrs. Abernathy just died.  Mr. Guinn died 10 days ago.  At least one of my schoolmates is dying of metastasised/terminal cancer.

Where is my sense of humour today?

It showed itself in the gift I made for and gave to Dr. Brown this morning, an electronic “Cat of the Year” calendar/video of our cat, Merlin, who has recovered from dental surgery, thanks to the professionalism and joy that Erin and her staff bring to their veterinary occupations.

Humour is an outlet for pain, among other expressions of relief from daily concerns, frustrations and ennui, including relief that pain/worry has ended.

Humour is what I pretend to believe that defines a separation of me from everything else (although I know I am a combination of everything that has passed through this dense set of states of energy called me in this moment).

Merlin ran out of the cage when we got home and looked for dry food to eat, the sign to me he was ready to get away from wet food after a week of healing sore gums.

Debbie and Neal plan to be grandparents in June.

Our oldest nephew marries in July.

Chestney graduates from high school soon.

Our days are numbered – we count up because we never know when to start the countdown.

Renée died at a point that I called 100% of my life up till then.  When I die, I will have lived 100% of my life.

Math.

I will have died somewhere.

Geography.

I will have lived with others in a specific time period.

History.

My name will be recorded in both official birth and death certificates.

Spelling.

I might get an obituary to go along with my birth announcement.

Grammar.

I contributed to sub/cultures during my life and learned from others’ sub/cultural clues.

Social studies.

That’s all I know.

All I need to know.

The rest is a joke waiting to be told from a curious perspective while walking down that Blue Highway I call my life.

Championship Rings

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On a solar scale.

I can’t help but think about the film “Akira” today.  I know many of you have.

I’m not a manga fan, picking the film up last year at a going-out-of-business sale by a local video rental store that lost out to the redbox business plan.

I may have heard of “Akira” once or twice before by some of my former employees who were into niche markets exemplified by Comic-Con, Dragon*Con, Trekkie conferences, offroad/4×4 events and ham radio swap fests.

Meanwhile, the Chargers savour another win while preparing for the next game.

I must decide about moments yet to be.

Is there a place for me in our socioeconomic system, either on the micro or macro scale?  Or both?

If I do not exist, does it matter what these states of energy do with themselves?

Although thoughts from many walks of life flow through me, I am a relatively simple guy.

Is there a place for simple in today’s economy?

“Noisemakers are not allowed,” the loud announcer said noisily over the PA system.  What?

To what am I sensitised today?  Usually, I feel a level of tension build up and then assign an event that serves as the relief valve.

All of us are motivated by something.

I think and I write.

Maybe it’s time to move from “I” to “i” to encourage movement along the path of absence of self.

Otherwise, vanity will get the best of me.

It’s easy to talk about states of energy being absent of good and evil when one has a solid sense of one’s comfortable set of moral and ethical boundaries provided by subcultural guidance and natural/genetic propensity of some sort.

I am a member of my species, not another, although i contain close to 100% of the same genetic material as many other combined states of energy we call separate species, whether they/we are directly codependent or indirectly tied to me through the global ecosystem.

Imagine the impossible and then make the impossible practical.

As my accountant said, there are many people with 100 patents in their names but few of them are earning a living off their inventions.

I hope Jennifer Hudson is not taking uppers or other “dietetic” supplements to push her weight down.

I before e, except after c.

Mixing formality informally.

Asking because i don’t know or need/want to know everything.

I forget what I told myself to do, repeating, repeating because I can’t remember I was once i before.

What’s next for me?

Is simply observing enough?

The universe is vaster than my readily-available thought set but it doesn’t stop me from adding new memories, neither punishing nor rewarding myself for recognising I’ve regained lost memories or lost them forever because I know these states of energy like to demonstrate the concepts of inertia and entropy for no other reason than to play a joke on themselves.

I fade away slowly.  i guess that’s simple enough for now.

You Can Run But You Can’t Hide Your Running Hose

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This time of year, at least in this part of the country, nasal/chest congestion complaints fill the air.

So, with that in mind, I’m moving my imaginary international troops into Libya and declaring a global free-trade zone; also, sending UN troops to Bahrain to protect against invading Saudi forces.

Oh wait.  I’m sorry, skip that last part.  I forgot I eliminated political borders in this realm.  Everything goes, doesn’t it?

Let’s fight Saudi forces with U.S. forces and pit American fighting weaponry against itself.  I’m sure the Iranian leaders would love to see that!  I’d love to see it spill over into Iranian airspace, a simple excuse for taking care of paramilitary cyberwarriors hiding behind computer screens.

Are we a behind-the-times species acting like it’s still a few packs of primates running from large predators?

My network demonstrated its power in Chile, China, New Zealand, and Japan.  Time to stir up the sands of the Middle East and show how fleeting oil power really is, isn’t it?  One scientist suggested twisting the magnetic poles out of shape a little faster, breaking apart the mantle and sucking raw oil reserves down into the core.

Is there not another planet to play with?  Is Carlos Slim the best the world has to offer?

This, there, another.

Word trails trailing off into infinity…

Infernal internal combustion engines.

The shadow of a car making an outline of the Penn State Litany Nylon logo.

A mother in-law needing emotional support more than a cat needs dental work.

Ants roaming the house while the yard gets soaked with rain.

Giving over to randomness to prove that randomness is the variation in predictable patterns.

Watching family members insist the mother/grandmother must give up her way of life for their love and support (and their convenience, coincidentally), not the other way around.

Hearing so many others in nursing homes tell the same story – “my [family relation] felt it was in my best interest to move closer to him/her.”

I want to die where I was most comfortable, not where it was convenient for those taking care of me who’ll end up inevitably extending my life in strange surroundings which I’ll never enjoy as much as I enjoyed my comfort zone.  Do us both a favour – put me in a wheelchair and push me into the woods behind my house on a cold winter’s night, with a beer in one hand and a tall glass of whiskey in the other.

Bumper sticker on Honda CR-V near Alabama A&M campus – “My karma ran over your dogma.”

I can’t imagine having to worry about a slow decline or sudden weakness in my old age and afraid to tell my family relations I don’t feel well, knowing they’re just waiting for an excuse to move me to their comfort zone, thinking little of what “home” means to me, not them.

I gave in to temptation today.  Yes, my flesh is weak.  I bought my wife and me six, count them, SIX cupcakes decorated in green and white for St. Patrick’s Day, courtesy of Publix and David (customer service team leader) and Nathan, bagger supreme.

During a walk up and down the street, I played chase with a neighbour’s little boxer puppy and had fun like a kid again.

Do you manage the IT department of your company?  If so, do you read or have an employee read/scan the emails of employees/executives for company security purposes?  Do you archive IM sessions and SMS text messages sent from company smartphones?  Do you monitor IP traffic passing through the airwaves of company property?  Do you use GPS trackers in company cars and company credit cards?  Are you part of a larger network paid to keep tabs on specific individuals for a purpose that may or may not coincide with company policy?  Do you secretly pay car rental companies to provide tracking data and private investigators, when off-the-books recordkeeping is absolutely necessary?

Thank goodness, no one wants to keep me alive for his/her sake, except my wife, of course, most days, anyway. 😉

Otherwise, as my sister says, it’ll just be a matter of managing my monetary resources to stretch them as much as possible to provide me the comfort and care that is as humane as I would choose to treat my aging pets.

Vanna, I’m glad you still have that smile.

Claire, sorry to hear about your transportation vehicle.

Holding seven billion people and the supporting global ecosystem in my hand, I ask myself what tearing down and rebuilding the system to my specifications (with guidance by the Committee, as always) will bring to future generations unaware of invisible hands directing their ancestors’ actions.

Thank goodness, I’m not the only one.

It’s all about the paradigm of the network in today’s pallid parlour parleying parlance.

If you can’t harness the Sun, then grab le règne by the horns.

My worst torture – being the eldest male at a funeral and filling up my thoughts with more and more new comedy sketches about the dead but mentally shutting down and going into automaton mode while having to play the part of the serious wise elder, not the wise guy.

Celebrate living by having fun – there’s plenty of time to be dead serious.

Most of us grew up some place we call local and probably “home.”  Don’t feel sorry for everyone else – just treat them like good family members, with a little love and gentle humour to help lighten the burden of daily living.

Besides, Earth is home to all of us, no matter how we treat it or each other.

Hard to believe the Bristol race track is as old as I am.  My father says he took me not long after I was born so the speedway is just about my oldest memory other than my parents’ loving faces.  Let’s go racing, shall we?

Glad the Kingsport track is running.

Time to put Claire Lynch back on my Internet tunes and swing to her sweet bluegrass voice.

2011 is not the worst year in my life (or my species) but it sure is a big one.  Good thing I know all about the big picture and the circles, cycles and spirals that make everything new all over again.

Mike “Aww Shucks” A. Bee

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When life hands you lemons, plant an orchard and start a citrus import/export business.

We continue the experiment on time/heat-released dissoluble, transdermal patches built into athletic socks and that control biorhythms.

A nod to the painted faces last night – great team support by fans!

As 2011 progresses, I ask myself what I am to do with myself.

Past the skin barrier, where does self end?

Or, for that matter, where does self start?

Am I a self-starter?

Every generation thinks it’s the first and the last.

I know better because I do not exist.

Therefore, although it would be a hearty suggestion, I’m not going to go around convincing subdivisions/housing estates to erect art sculptures at every entrance in order to help support “thinking outside the box” that art is supposed to start.

I just watch and listen.

Let the shepherds have their sheep.

On galactic scales, we’ll disappear soon enough.

Life has become so much more enjoyable after I let myself accept I’ll be dead and forgotten but giving care and attention to those I can without making extraordinary effort (“do until others undo you”):

Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy. — Joseph Campbell [Read more: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/j/joseph_campbell.html#ixzz1Gb5ZsTJt]

Our yard is my homage to the natural world, including invasive, nonnative species competing with native species to capture my attention, especially in spring, with crocuses, daffodils, vinca, marsh marigold, trillium and violet blooms in full display; squirrels, chipmunks, chickadees, hawks, crows, cardinals, snails, lizards, spiders, roaches, lichen, moss, and mushrooms at work/play.

I am neither peacenik nor warhawk, I repeat, but troubleshooter and solution seeker.

Like Hermann Hesse, I don’t know which of the many doors in the Magic Theatre to walk through.  Life is a series of macabre, as well as normal-looking, opportunities for decisionmaking.

A temporary conflux, I am here to represent the universal that flows through me (like it flows through all of us as states of energy within the current version of the universe that we see it in this moment together).

I will not compete with what others call their visions for the future.

All I can do is follow the path that hindsight/foresight reveals to me in real-time.

Go with the flow.

Let private property rights’ opponents, both in ownership and in disagreement over the right of private property, work out their differences.

After all, I don’t own the universe nor it me.  I type words in my thoughts that somehow make a little bit of sense on the electronic display in front of me.

If the environment in which I exist is not conducive to healthy thought patterns, is there a conducive environment and  do I have the fortitude/energy to move into that shared space?

If temptation is an illusion of subcultural training (i.e., a byproduct or negative consequence of a subculture’s preferred behaviour set), then what are the behaviours I prefer to nurture within the states of energy that are me, knowing I am a product of a mixture of subcultures because none of us live in a vacuum (although some are fairly well isolated socioculturally)?

If sanity is an illusion based on unwritten formulae for group normality conformity, and I care little about the definition of normality because it does not exist, why do I find a fairly benign public persona to project to others socially?

I have nothing to hide/protect although I care about comfortable companionship with others.

A chameleon confirming others’ beliefs, letting them keep their illusions intact.

Some days I want to expose the illusions and some days I enjoy playing along.

I neither hate nor love my subcultural training – my states of energy are in their shared condition because of my background/upbringing – I will neither condemn nor praise my past, illusionary though it may be.

Stick to the moment because my memory is false and filtered like official historical tales.

The alternate universe of a blog is, to remind myself, a manipulable entity to help me discover what it’s truly like to be part of a universe at play in the moment; that way, I never have to care about the difference between imagining what’s real and what’s not real.

This moment passes and then the next moment passes.  That’s as real as it gets these days.

The person with the most toys lost

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By having trillions at my disposal, I have nothing.

I got what I asked for.

I wanted nothing for myself and now I am happily free of want for myself.

Although my wife and family have needs that I meet.

It is the only way one can truly rule a universe, gaining absolutely nothing for oneself.

It is not easy.

Resisting temptation has its day baking me dry in the sun, making me parched and willing to drink anything to stay alive.

The last of my wants – to stay alive – is the most difficult to overcome.

Billions of cells preprogrammed to seek life, sometimes at odds with fleeting thoughts asking why being alive is such a big deal.

If social anxiety is truly a form of hidden strength, then is wondering what I’m doing while I’m alive the secret to giving life to a universe of states of energy?

It appears to be so in this moment.

How much do I give myself over to a pure path of poverty in order to help those who can only find their way on a path of prosperity?

What, then, is prosperity?

How much is enough?

How do we plant seeds in billions of parents that sprout into many ways of teaching their children to appreciate moderation, accommodating myriad sub/cultures?

The strong personality that insists the path of excess is the one true path is also part of the whole picture.

How do I deal with that?

Questions form their own answer.

Happiness, Rick, stay on that path.

The species can be saved from itself by itself if it has the right tools and technology to facilitate full comprehension of future impact of one’s actions in the moment.

Finding fun ways to be serious.

T’eories, Theories and Kyrie

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On the personal Internet music station today:

Songs composed by Claude Goudimel and his contemporaries.

Did I not tell myself 2011 would be a difficult year for me?

Where in the cycles of repetition do I place the inconstant self?

A man of the cloth told me that all the answers to life can be found in the work of holy religious writing.

I’ve read many a religious text and found they usually pose more questions than answers, leaving a space between the silence for the unanswerable to give meaning to individual lives that seek meaning.

For those who do not seek, ready paths have been trailblazed, beaten and clearly marked for easy passage.

There is no right answer.

John Cleese once found meaning in the form of income for entertaining those in the business realm.

Can I give myself such meaning, too, and feel unique knowing that I am bringing my self’s sense of humour, although repetitious like any other, to those who may not have heard and/but/or may appreciate the comic approach to learning more in the world of modern barter exchange?

Beef up dry presentations with humour-tinted insight?

All I’m going to do is die.

Every one of us has a fun side that may seem extraordinarily quirky but is the same as others who are just as reticent to speak their “crazy” thoughts.

Otherwise, we wouldn’t have comic strips, late-night comedy talk shows, stations on the tellie dedicated to humour or websites galore expounding on serious but funny subjects.

These blogs are my textual comic strips, twisting philosophy and religion into satirical braids, leading us toward a future wrought with uncertainty but having fun running blind and headstrong into the unknown, no matter how laid-back or high-strung we may fear we be.

At almost 49, my biological clock is beating me over the head.

The path branches here in 2011 and I must choose.

Follow the loops that are long enough to make me forget I’ve commented on the same scenery repeatedly, or…

Step onto a path covered with undergrowth that hides a layer of ice on which I must tread and never know if it is too thin to hold me up or thick enough to stomp upon when I feel like making a scene.

Meanwhile, asking myself why I fear that I will stop being myself in making a new choice although I have never stopped being myself, even when I have immersed myself in the waters dancing to someone else’s tune.

This is the year of my 25th wedding anniversary and it appears a large portion of the money set aside for an anniversary celebration will be spent improving the health of a 12-1/2 year old cat.

Sure, my wife has a job but, by not touching my retirement savings, I am essentially flat broke, having sworn a private oath of poverty in 2007 in order to spend years clearing my thoughts of 45 years of unusable, accumulated civil dust and debris, working an odds-and-ends job once a year to make a little money (e.g., census taker, teacher, technology tester and website creator).

The Ides of March are upon us, in this, my pivotal year of 2011.

You’ll never know how many of these words are real and how many are figments of your imagination.

In other words, these words are the future.

All I can do is continue being me, composing jazzy bluegrass riffs and odes to Renaissance melodies.

The game show “Jeopardy” upped the stakes – the clues will now reference previous clues, both for current shows in progress and previous shows.

“Kris, it’s your turn.”

“‘Step to the Right’ for $2000, please, Alex.”

“In the first round, third column, ‘Time Warp Again,’ the $400 level, the fifth word in the answer is an anagram for this question.”

“I don’t remember.”

“‘What is “nag a ram”?’ The word anagram was actually part of the answer, if you remember.

Kris, it’s still your turn.”

“‘Jump to the Left’ for $1600.”

“On July 16th, 2003, the Final Jeopardy answer was Anna Magdalena Bach.  Name the only person who got the answer right.  For a $5000 bonus, name the total amount of daily winnings for all three participants.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry you don’t remember, Kris.  After all, you were voted ‘most likely to succeed’ by the Jeopardy Fan Club Forum.  Anyone else?  No?  The answer is ‘What if there was no winner because that day’s last five minutes was lost due to a video glitch?’  It’s the only day that ever happened, famous to most Jeopardy fans watching today’s show, I’m sure.

A little nervous, Kris, aren’t you?  Bet the fans at home are filling the forum with posts giving you a new nickname you’ll never forget.  Fame is fleeting, Kris, so enjoy whatever they’re saying about you now because, with time, they’ll forget about you.

Few people can tell you the name of the host of the original Jeopardy.  I’ll be forgotten soon myself but enjoyed the ride as a spy and propagandist for the Canadian government.”