Randomness to Follow

Delicate intertwinings between intention and outcome, with god's eyes on the final victory, the score tied between what we meant and what we did, with villages burned and hearts loved weighing in the balance.

What tears may be shed for eternity? In the thousands of turns our galaxy takes in the blink of an eye, as the stars themselves grow cold and dwindle, and eternity passes twice, and infinity becomes boring, where do we stand?

We have eternity to decide what we shall do.

Do our dances compare with unthinking form of the spheres, can our minds surpass the greatest of God's creations? Beauty, truth are fickle things, apt to change with the slightest change in perspective, swing a giant lever across the paradigms of our worlds, where trash not only another's treasure, but is both to a third, and gophers to the fourth.

All is flux, unchanging, the hold is loose- all things come apart.
Mere chaos is loose upon the world
How should we command the sands to stay?

Sand the color of tarnished silver
(Common object, defining a setting) (Color used to determine mood, provide a unique feel and flavor)

Grow up, get a job, get married, have kids, die.
(Routine)

We can observe the dominant patterns in our lives, and find most of us powerless to change them. There are no alternatives presented to us, in our society. Artists, vagrants, primitives, all of them tossed in the bin labelled "Failure" with nary a second glance, no mourning the terrible loss of Other and New and Different. But who cares? Nothing lasts forever. A cold comfort, hm?

If buddhism and nihilsm both equal a third thing, are they equal to each other?

Caught in the tides and pulls of a system understood to be far more powerful than an atomic blast, more consuming and encompassing most spend their lives unaware of it, and feeling powerless to do a single lonesome thing about it, but blessed with insight to do anything he can see?
An infinity of poses present themselves to my eyes, each distinct, with triumphs and losses, a full life each, to rival anyone who ever lived, and to die in no less a significant way than any other. No one will ever die more deeply or more really than I will, and no more real than any who came before or after.
With this in mind, how can my course of action be a surprise?
Almost- but not quite- no action at all. With the small variations so insignificant as to be overlooked, the van der waals force of personality. But they hold all the distinction of my mind against its backdrop, now.

I do not work. I do not study. I play some unremarkable games. I have no plans. I have no one "special" in my life. No passion. No drive. I am... pushing myself closer to the baseline, a sort of template from which anything may spring. Purposely increasing the tension in my heart, knowing that soon, soon, it will snap. I will break. I have dammed up and dammed, holding back all these things, with a preserve of rationality, restraining things with logic and fear, embarrasement, pain. Dealing with these things in the only way I know how, closing my eyes, and walking backwards, waiting until the situation makes itself such that my decisions are made for me, that my course is made clear.
A study in hypocrisy, of trying to contain and equalise two opposite forces, my primal and ingrained drives, and my aware intent-action system, my inhibitions.

Every time I hear within "I might like to do that", every time I feel a spark of an urge, it is held back by any number of obstacles, almost purposely, hoping to find the spark, sifting through my impulses for something sustaining, a drive or a calling. Yet I am fairly sure that the "drive" present in others, the calling or purpose they can happily dedicate their lives to, is almsot random. A small tipping of the balances of the chemistry of personality.

People can become playthings, to me. I watch them get excited about something, lay somethign out, see them discourse on a topic, a plan, an idea, a dream. I laugh at dreams. They are jokes, small things to forget and spurn. I see with painful clarity the multiplicity of possibilities with a course of action, how one thing merges into another, how dreams can fail, and also succeed, the rough probabilities, the needed motivation. Sometimes I insert myself into these discussions, or explanations, using my questions as levers, or hooks, pulling their dream apart, exposing their hopes for what they are. Sadly, I only usually do this when I feel they are being false or foolish. It gives me some small pleasure to make people experience something like what I feel, knowing it is painful. Tangling up certainties with questions, perspective, complications, taking thigns away from them, destroying their actions, removing possibilities, creating others. Playing my part in the small but ineffable forces of development in a person, to be there, but usually forgotten, the unconcious effects always present if miniscule.

My sense of humor is either black or innocent, finding the darkest and most death's-hand jokes wonderful, giving the finger to fate. But, not so gone...Ooh, flattery, you whore, get lost. Fuck you. I won't masturbate here for your benefit.

I am quieting all the other voices in my mind. Trying to simplify my life in the best way I can.
Kyle once told me that it was impossible to find the same effect of monasticsm and contemplation in our environment, that it was not possible to live here and have thwe same benefit. I think he was both right and wrong. We may live here, but we don't have to live in the same world. There are thousands to choose from, just walking down the street. Billions of people we never have to know, places we never have to see, thigns we never have to experience, if we can sated in something of our choosing. This si naturally easier, or perhaps more easily seen, in the city, with its massive parallel lives. A thousand social networks, with some small common nodes, but ultimately never overlapping, networks which each can hold many passing generations, blending and spawning, changing and losing boundaries, only with retrospect able to see the new ones leap out of the page of memory, more obvious than they ever were in situ.

My own world need have none that I do not want, in the significant sense. But to do so, poses a larger question- how little I really know of what I want.

I feel like I stand on a plain, surrounded by thousands of other people, all the faces I have ever known, all people who have their lives, who have eyes, but all of whom are curiously blind, lids shut lookign only at the dirt, when I have looked up, and see ... Universes. Beauties and sorrows, experiences without counting, possibilities unconcioused by the many quiet hordes around me, and I say to them, "look at the stars", and they tell me "the stars are not important, the dirt is important"
All my certainty in this situation is gone. All my previous experience has been of dirt.
My life has been dirt, mud, something I have been wallowing in since before I was born, and my weight marked down on a chart, my sonogram beginning its enwrapment of my life into a certain channel.
I was dirt, and now I am made of stars and sight. Through will, I create my universe.
I know I am not alone, but it can be difficult to meet the eyes of others.

My mind is now rarely straightforward.
Thoughts and decisions are like waves to me now, they pass, and lap, and I am the sea, and I move with unstoppable force when I wish. Thoughts pass like ships in the night and my best decisions are made without any thought at all. I hold myself open like a hand spread open, feeling the wind of life pass over me. The whole of my law is "do as thou wilt". I never believed it could be possible to work that way, but it is.

Burn the World

"Tear it all down! Burn the old world! Death to it! Start over! We can make a new world, where we will find love, and have meaning, and everything will be perfect again""

"Why?"

"I dunno, why not?"