All of science is new
Anything beyond observable fact is new
And even observable fact
And struggle to make it accepted
But we use these poorly understood ideas
To make our points
As if what we learned
When we were still learning
Hasn’t been debunked
The entrenched voices from everywhere
Even within the scientific community
Would have you believe
What we know is what we know
Not what we believe
What we think
Might be true
Is presented as bedrock
Like what we know isn’t crumbling daily beneath our feet
And only by accepting that what’s true today
Could be false tomorrow
Only by dancing on that razor edge
Do we have the opportunity
To change our hearts
As well as our minds
When true science is exposed to the public
Knowledge because politicized
Because in the publics mind
Once something is this way
Its always this way
Asking a panicked animal to turn away from the cliff
While telling them each time facts change
Just confuses people to whom science
Is a paper mache volcano
Science is a journey of understanding
That keeps accelerating
Now too fast
Leads to that middle school science fair
And in the end
That’s what kills us
That inability to accept that
Knowledge is something that must change
As what we perceive
Gives way to what is true
And what is true
And what’s real
A thousand deep
On the head of a bullet
In the mind there is little but consternation
Looking for that connotation
Knowing that connection
Lays somewhere between correction and creation
Just a few more steps to compilation
Stepping out to combustion
Need that soft eyed capitulation
Pull me under the cavitation
Don’t give in to convention
Give me a taste of your confection
I’ll be your perfect corruption
Take a few more steps
In a future uncertain
A few more licks
In a future unseen
Last dance to the music unheard
Wake me for the final scene
We see the world through the lense of our biases. These ideas about what is that we don’t even know we have.
I used to think that cops were the good guys. Way back in time. Before I saw them drag my neighbor out of his grandmothers house. He lived with her and took care of her. He did the yard work and did the grocery shopping. He was a good grandson.
He also dealt weed. He was a drug dealer. To my parents that was it. The sum total of his character.
They came for him in force. The whole neighborhood cordoned off. They had us move to the back of the house. Just in case bullets started flying.
He wasn’t home. But they sure terrified his grandmother.
They lay in wait for him and scooped him up before he got in his front door.
His grandmother had to sell the house. Collateral damage in the war on ‘drugs’.
Before, I never gave the cops a second thought. After, I never felt safe. Sure in the knowledge that they could snap me out of my life and ruin my family without a care for what’s real.
I used to see America as a promise and an experiment in equality. A grand idea which seamed to be bearing fruit. Leaders in freedom and truth.
But I grew up. And I see the rot built into every 3/5’s compromise. Broken and rotten from the beginning.
A foundation built on blood.
If something doesn’t directly effect you, you get to live in a world that doesn’t exist. You get to live a fantasy. Your bias is built-in. You can’t see what you don’t know.
The first time I dated someone from a different socioeconomic class…my eyes were opened up. I couldn’t not see their struggles. Things I took as simple became hard.
Everyone’s life is living in this bubble reality.
We can be empathetic and see what is happening and determine a course forward that includes us all.
Or we can double down on this false narrative and refuse to see anyone else’s experience. There’s a whole political party that’s into that.
The things you miss
Are never the things they say you will
Not missing family so much
As missing that feeling of belonging
Not missing the food
Or the people who just flew in
So much as the person who was always there
And now isn’t
Won’t ever be again
Just these slow fade memories
These memories trotted out
Which just makes them fade faster
Missing the chances to include my lover
To have her meet my Nana
That central figure who welded us together
we are now at loose ends
The lost opportunities
The never happen
The always almost
I’m that day to day love
That wake you up with a kiss and coffee love
That small things love
That singing songs made up on the spot love
That kiss the palm of your hand love
That working love
That note written in you pocket love
That gives you hope and goosebumps love
That long slow kisses love
That taking care of you fully aware you are strong enough to take care of yourself love
That willing to wait love
That soft gasp half heard over the phone love
That sleeping alone in his bed love
That hopeful broken love
That life spelled out in words love
That missing you love
You ever wonder about the weird things that you find romantic? Like for me, its having the same sleep schedule as me. It seems like something so small but it means that when you get tired, I do and vice-versa. Which means we get ready for bed and go to sleep at the same time. Which means we’re awake and can have time together at the same time.
Now, maybe that’s weird but my sleep schedule is a split one. I tend to sleep at about 8-10pm for about 4 hours. Then I wake up for a few hours then sleep for 2-3 hours. It works for me but its odd.
If someone were to have the same sleep schedule it would open up whole worlds. We could go exercise together. We could watch a movie or read or play a game. Because those small hours between sleep seem like stolen ones. Like they exist outside of the normal day to day and can be used for things that aren’t normal. Those hours exist in a gray area and can be used for whimsy rather than normal.
Existing outside the standard day diurnal cycle is hard. Maybe I just find those hours lonely and wany to share it.
That first step
Getting into bed
So comfortable but
My mind draws me out instead
Won’t simply rest
Reminding me that sleep
Might as well be dead
But life has its moments
Those times when extreme comfort combine
Talking about having to go to work
And my brain
Instead of the sleep I know will help
Instead throws out these things like reading
Like playing games
Like taking apart my fan to clean the motor
All to keep the anxiety at bay
Worst coping mechanism
It causes me harm to follow its prescribed treatment
So why am I still awake
Instead of drifting
Can’t sleep when tomorrows just a few hours
I miss the days when I knew that by waking up and going to work I’d be with someone I loved
Not because I miss the relationship
But that balm of sleeping, in a rush to get to the next day
I miss that
I have tomorrow
Another day without succor
Another day without you
I am not a teams person. By this I mean that I do not take pride in things that I did not have a hand in accomplishing. I may be proud of a person or group for their accomplishments but I don’t have that personal feeling as if it were my accomplishment.
This also means that I don’t feel shame for things that other people or groups have done when I have not taken part in those things. I may feel anger directed at individuals who take those actions but I am divorced from the feeling of shame that may accompany such.
This has an odd affect in that I widely regard actions as that of the individual alone while only at an emotional distance understanding the larger societal cause of those actions.
This means that unless I pause and think through the actions, I do not understand why a person may act or think a certain way. Because at the instinctual level of emotion those baseline emotions are not present for me.
Emotionally I only feel a part of a those groups in which I am an active participant. All others exist only at an intellectual level not a visceral one.
So wide statements as to my inclusion in groups as if I were an active participant hits me in ways many might consider to be congruent with the denial that said group is wrong. However, it is that I only see individuals first on an emotional level and only after that filters through conscious thought do I see them as something other than a human taking individual actions.
The way we(humanity) react first will always be at the emotional level and the way our emotions are constructed will always effect our behavior and relationships with each other. And when emotions are not consistent across groups, we find that understanding becomes quite difficult. Because at the base level we don’t understand and only at the intellectual remove do we see.
This is one of the reasons emotional introspection is so important. Because without the understanding of the what and why we feel, we cannot understand the how another feels. Emotional intelligence is not just understanding yourself. But it must start there.
I made the realization that it isn’t lack of motivation or will which holds me back from writing. It’s a desire to not think. To not form conscious thought.
And I can see the parallels to the burnout that I experienced years ago. Burnout that I came out the other side of, scarred but enlightened.
But it’s not something I care to experience again.
However, many of my release mechanisms no longer exist.
Going to the bar with friends, not gonna happen with Covid.
Going out to dinner at my favorite restaurant? Can’t. They closed down. They’d been open for the majority of my life but couldn’t sustain during covid shutdowns. It’s understandable as their food didn’t travel well but it was amazing and I’ll never have it again.
I used to eat a meal then sit in their parking lot watching these giant trees wave in the breeze. Just getting lost in the moment.
I used to eat a weekly lunch with 2 of my best friends. We’d talk about our lives and it was extremely important to me. But covid ended that.
I have other means that help but it’s not enough.
I don’t know what to do. I recognize the problem. But those were relationships that took years to build. Took years to feel comfortable with.
And I just don’t know.