Thoughts
Why are there songs of the day?
Music doesn’t make me remember where I was when I first heard the song. None which makes me feel nostalgic. None that transports me to another time.
Instead, it just makes me feel. Like it opens the locks on long closed doors. And a flood of emotions bears down.
If I want to feel light, then Armin Van Buuren will make me dance in joy. A-Ha’s Take On Me is instant tears and a deep ache in my heart. There is music that makes me feel like running away and music that makes me ready to fight. Music that gives me hope and music that evokes a sense of dark ownership.
In my head, there is always music, whether it be some line or some tune, its always present. Silence is rare and in silence, I will find some new piece and add it to my hearts collection. I don’t allow myself to be mired in the familiar and always seek out the new. Because music is who we are. And allowing ourselves to stagnate, or crystallize, is the path which leads to stagnant thought. To zero change with no ideas making it past what you ‘know’ to be true.
Music is the wedge through which I keep doors open. The battering ram of new ways of thinking. It is everything made beautiful. And I have never felt alone when the music swells.
A yellow wood
I once said, “I have no regrets.”
And meant it
But that all came crashing down one fall night
Then regret became everything
So much so that it eclipsed everything
Until I was nothing
Just an open wound
Pulsing pain
Looking for anyway to feel
And there again I felt no regrets because I was so deep in regret
That nothing felt different
So with no differentiation
Nothing was the name of the game
Eventually, I began to feel again
And I would say that I regretted the things I hadn’t done
The actions I failed to take
So I resolved to risk
To hold forth my heart entire and burn rather than smolder
And I hurt some people
Because I was still hurting
I just kept the thorns turned inward than out
So I began to regret those actions
So actions taken, actions failed to take
And neither safe
So I became mindful
Tried to be honest
Always honest
With myself most of all
And I found myself with even more regret
Not of action or inaction
But instead for being unable to act
Constrained by my word given
Once to let my partner dictate pace
And so unable to make moves for both of our benefit
Once to say that two masters cannot be served
And instantly regretting it
It’s what I thought but if life has taught me anything it’s that new information brings new thought
I wish I had that confidence, that ignorance, of youth
That I could enforce my will and bedamned to all other consequences
If I did, for brief moments, I would be happy
Content
But instead, I wage this long game
Hoping that my choices now will lead us well
And not to regret
I can make anything depressing
I will never be as excited as my cat.
She’s just discovered at 10 years old that she loves going outside. But only with an escort.
So I take her out to the backyard and she munches on grass and looks around. She is so happy. She crys to go out and she almost never crys for anything.
Even when she wants into my bedroom, she’ll just sit calmly out side the door. Quiet as can be. Waiting to be let in.
I’ll never be as excited as her but I get to give her that. It’s the same thing I’d do for anyone I love. Attempt to give them or help them get the thing that makes them most excited. Selfishly. So that I can feel a bit of what they feel. Just for a few minutes.
Too tired to die, too awake to sleep
Doomscrolling is the death of creativity.
It sucks me in. And with my tastes there are a ton of poets saying poet things. And rather than inspired, I feel like I’m not going to be able to write. Because they wrote it better. Their personal journeys. Their blood on the page.
My lukewarm days. My pedantic pedal boat. Moving slowly into the certain uncertain.
I’ve bled and cried. Burned and created. But here I am, a product of doomscrolling and too many days stuck without the people who make life good.
I gave up caffeine. More to do it than for any health benefit. Haven’t seen one 3 months in, to be frank.
My cats receive my attention. For both I am either never enough or always too much. And if that isn’t the echo of all my relationships, I don’t know what is.
My problems are small. Even if they are insurmountable. I have shelter, food, and safety.
What I find I have less and less of, is hope.
I used to believe in the undelible goodness of humanity. That when push came to shove, humanity would choose the brighter path. I can’t believe that anymore.
The trump years proved the overall despicable traits which simmer beneath the surface. And the now times have so far proved that this isn’t going to change.
I know that when things advance, there is a backlash. But this backlash is like a flywheel. By the time it stops, our wounds will be so grievous we will either fall or fury. And everything I’ve seen points to fall.
I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. But I know this world. And I don’t have the means to switch tracks.
No spoons, no funds. Just the endless parade of days. Wishing it were otherwise.
When you love physics but hate math
My creativity feels like a stream of photons being scattershot through a pinhole. Hoping to magically land against photosensitive paper and thus become known.
To leap full formed like Athena from the head of Cronus.
But this pandemic and the life that has been forced on us because of it, bends away the light.
A black hole forcing away a mind used to the sounds of a raging river. Changing to the low hum of the background count.
And each day is a question. Is the cat alive or dead?
Will today be one which makes light?
Or simply a burden which necessitates the digging of a grave.
This slow spin down
Wondering when again I will wander in a direction strange.
Living different lives
I was having a dream I’ve had before where me and my people were all trapped in our home. A derelict sprawl of a building which was dangerous in multiple ways but ours. A heavy rain was falling that mutated the animal life that got caught in it. The water itself was fine. It was something in the storm.
We were safe inside but the waters were rising and it was flooding the lower levels. And some strange infectious energy was creeping along the walls. Changing things.
I’ve had this dream before and the only way we’d devised to save ourselves was to lock ourselves away and take a pill that slowed our perception of time, and our bodies experience of it. We were gathering the survivors together when something strange(r) happened. The waters froze. They froze solid and we were able to escape.
The dream reelled forward 10 years and I was different. I was alone and had internal cybernetics. I also had a vehicle that had group of AI drones. They each specialized in a variety of energy which were known parts of this world. 2 life based, one dark based, and 2 necrotic. They had offensive and defensive capabilities and I recall having built them. They stayed in the car while I went into a high end restaurant where the owner owed me a favor and I was calling in the marker for a table and a conversation.
I was waiting for my table when my cars proximity alarm went off. I went out to see and it looked like a team of jetpack jackers had descended on the vehicles of this high end parking lot. My drones deployed. First hitting with life energy to push the attacker back while the necrotic drones erected a barrier. At first he was amused by the harmless energy attacks which are street legal if uncommon, but then the dark beam weapon hit him, shutting down all of his optical gear. The drones retreated beyond the dome and he was like WTF, when he saw it was necrotic energy which is both rare and deadly.
The owner came out to watch and said to not worry. That they were imperium protected. And my perspective shifted to the cockpit of some kind of fighter jet, though it was more like a space based plane that was only flyable in high atmosphere. It fired a missile which was headed straight for the guy looking at my shield. The missile was odd. It looked more like a container for something rather than a normal missile.
I heard the ring leader tell his people to bug out, that the imperium was here. But then he switch channels and said, “See you around, flyboys.” He had the scrambler codes for the imperium communications and he used them for something frivolous. He was a spy, a plant in the gang, from the imperium.
The missile hit my shield but nothing happened. Well, the necrotic shield flared and the missile flared with the same energy but my shield held and the missile spent its without effect.
I went to check my car and heap accolades on the AI’s but there was a man sprawled in the seat. He was disoriented and confused. The life bots were quivering with the need to protect but they are not allowed to fire in the confines of the car without permission. I got a look at the man and was shocked. I knew him. From the compound, from before.
He saw me and was relieved. I was not. The last time I saw him he had died. He was fighting imperium forces and they killed him.
He said he was happy to see me but he had to get back.
Back where, I asked.
To the Imperium, he replied. Looking at me like I was a quizling.
“Why would you go back to those monsters”, I said, my voice rising.
He looked me square in the eye and said, “they aren’t monsters. We were wrong. I’ll take you to them and you’ll find out.”
A local security guy came around and said that the restaurant would be pressing charges on all trespassers and looked pointedly at my old friend.
My bots took the opportunity to act on the perceived kidnapping threat and pushed my old friend out of the car. He got up, unperturbed and walked to a clear area. He setup a homing square for interdimensional transport. A risky method of long distance travel for any organics.
Then I woke up
Begin at the beginning
I can feel myself slipping into depression. There’s this deep uncomprehensible sadness that looms just out of view. I’ve just eaten my favorite dish, watching a show I like. I am restless and want to do something. But nothing sounds good…no,that’s not right. There are things that I know, if I started, I would enjoy. But I can’t work up the will to do anything.
So I lay in bed. Isolated from anyone who might check on me. And I hope that sleep will find me, before the crippling self doubt. Before my brain starts whispering lies. I write this in the brief calm before the storm. Because on some level I’m trying to reach out. Even though I won’t send it to anyone. At least not immediately. Maybe I don’t want help. Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe I’m too late. Maybe I always will be
To be a blade
I’m a book nerd and I have an admitted love for a turn of phrase.
One of the phrases that always makes me happy is “the old pacts will be honored”
It always gives me a thrill that the old ways will be honored. That the compacts made in the early days will still be in force and that others hold their word sacrosanct.
I hold within myself several such compacts. Oaths sworn that I will not break. And to see that reflected in fiction gives me a thrill.
Like the first time I saw a pansexual person(David Rose) on television, seeing myself on screen.
Though, in the case of a former, I do wish I saw the same amongst reality.
It makes me feel a bit isolated and alone that this is not the case. And I know that there are honest people.
But that’s not the same. Holding yourself to a high standard, never breaking your word. That’s a rarity bordering on the mythic, in my experience.
So I love when I see it in fiction, though my mind turns and, always with a wistful sadness, sees the world.
Something to ponder
When what was once fantasy becomes truth do we then lose the fantasy or can truth be equal to the fantasy?
I had thought to dive into this idea and make it into a post. And it seems like a good one. But the answer here is, I don’t know. I can’t come to a conclusion either for or against so I’m just left with the ponder.
