A Mess of Ideas Defying Expectations

"Hung velvet overtaken me

Dim chandelier awaken me

To a song dissolved in the dawn

The music hall a costly bow

The music all is lost for now

To a muted trumpeter swan

Columnated ruins domino"

- Surf's Up: Brian Wilson & Van Dyke Parks

I have an idea, but it begs the following questions:

Why is it easier to make a mess of some things than to just sort them out in the first place? Why is it harder to achieve greatness than mediocrity? Why is it easier to say 'no' than 'yes'? Why is it easier to go nowhere and do nothing than to set out on an adventure? Why do so many adventures we set out on come up short? Why do things implode with less intensity than they explode?

These are the types of questions equally raised by the hopeful and the hopeless; the dreamers and the depressed. They are part and parcel of the same enigmatic shaded overtones of our existence, and fail to answer what we are supposed to do with it.

Yes, many people have pondered the 'meaning of life'. Some have postulated carefully crafted answers, while others have just posited more conjecture. When members of these two camps of thinking meet, terms like 'primordial soup', 'existentialism' and 'life after death' are slung around like hash on a sizzling griddle. Someone shouts 'you think you know everything!' An incredulous gasp is exfoliated from the lips of the brow beaten. A pregnant pause is enjoyed by all. Some ask for donations.

Pandemonium ensues as more questions are eventually raised. Meanwhile, a mass of masses amass momentarily before going about their business. This throng of the 'tall and the small' are advised to seek sage and solace from:

the clergy and the cleric,

the physicist and the alchemist,

the healer and the savior,

the 'child, father of the man'.

A false prophet steps forward. A hush is heard as a child cries out "but he isn't wearing anything at all!" Stones fly. Am I heretical to ask why we are constantly looking for more than there actually is and why we are not content?

Why do we have to build a better mousetrap? It seems to me in so many ways we are constantly working against ourselves, banging our individual heads against a collective wall. Is it that we don't know what we want, or is it that we know exactly what we want but can't get it? Does all this mental masturbation yield the reality that we might all be hungry sadomasochists?

When we put our best foot forward, we inevitably learn that the other is left behind. The mandate "do your best!" dilutes into "do the best you can", further dissolving into grumblings of "nothing comes from nothing".

We encourage 'stars' to burn brightly, and then just as vehemently we clamor to see them self-destruct, even egging them on. "Jump! Jump!" we plead longing for a train wreck. In this regard, and to answer the age old cosmic conundrum, I guess it's true: a black hole can invariably swallow itself whole.

The sobering reality:

To maintain our sanity and make us 'SMiLE', we are admonished not to sweat the 'little things'. However, in the fabric of time, space and existence we are also reminded that we are all merely specks of dust. It's funny... I'm allergic to dust.

------------------------
PS. Thanks for reading. Do you question your existence or are you just not certain where to stand? Let me know. All roads should lead here.

Suggested Listening:

    


Suggested Reading:

     

My Morning Constitutional

On more than many a morning, I wake to find the silence deafening. I sigh, acknowledging the cliche. All the while, the tension mounts just beyond my window, resonating off people, buildings, technology and wheeled transport - works in progress all. Yes, there are delights unseen awaiting, broiling us in microwaves of undulating currents, modulating the air we choke on.

I've yet to rise, but I'm already on my way. My eye stings, my nose runs, my breath already soured from stale sleep. A short while later, the comfort of breakfast soothes and then bloats.

I am hurried to venture nothing with nothing to gain but the unholy pursuit itself that drives me to distraction. It's a sacred ritual for some; it's death to me. The loss of precious moments, youth, exuberance and creativity.

I think that I am, but perhaps I'm not. Eager to purge this allergen, I scratch, but the irritation persists. There is no ointment for this inflammation. No creams. Not even a poultice or a vapor rub.

Nevertheless, there are only decisions to make: tea or coffee, lemon and honey or another thimble full of a generic brand of Baileys Irish Cream. Seeking inner sanctum, I urinate freely for awhile.

Tuning in, I am then told that unemployment has risen 6.8 per cent. Tell me something I don't know. Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go....

Upon reaching my desk, I am left pondering my morning constitutional and the irony of how I hate going to sleep at night for fear I'll miss something....

“Habit is the beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to live respectfully and unhappy men to live calmly” - George Elliot (Mary Ann Evans)

PS. Thanks for reading. How are your mornings? Let me know.

Suggested Reading:

       


Suggested Listening (mp3):

    

In with the old, out with the new ....

In a conversation with my mom last week, she mentioned that it was easier to talk to me about "wooly things" than "straight things". I asked what she meant by "wooly"; she had no response. It was just one of those sort of non-sequiturs that come along in conversation from time to time. The truth is I knew what she was talking about, even though the conversation's subject matter was anything but "wooly". It was about life and death, the passage of time and friends ... but not so much about the meaning of life. As usual, what you see is not what you get. Yes, such is life.

I hung up on her and put on a cozy wool sweater that was unravelling. Again, such is life. All that we tether to us, eventually tatters and falls away.

Maybe my life would be better spent picking up the pieces of life's daily dander, rather than incessantly scratching the itches of whims that come and go. Maybe not, but then since it's New Year's Eve, it's a good time for pensiveness. That's why I started this blog today. This coming New Year threatens to be a pretty bleak one. Yet, onwards I plod, sparkling wine in hand, surging forward to face it, not unlike a deer caught in a pickup's headlights.

Time for some resolutions:
- Lose weight
- Make money
- Practice guitar one hour a day
- Write a blog
- Figure out what it all means

Being fairly realistic here, don'tcha think? Then again, maybe I'm just pulling the wool over my own eyes again... as usual. At least it's better than sticking my head in the ground. After all, ignorance is bliss, but denial is just plain stupid.

Happy New Year.

PS. Thanks for reading. Some days you get philosophy, some days you get cornbread stuffing recipes. That's just the way it goes.

Suggested Reading:

   

Suggested Listening: