Russians and stuff

I like the Cyrillic alphabet, mix it with enough Greek and Mandarin and it looks like aliens wrote it – and in a sense they did.

❤ 

I am the machine

I sometimes push myself too hard, force of habit I suppose. Had to get some cortisone injections as the result of my pure, cussed stubbornness. 

I’m not really injured. Nooooooo. It’ll be fine. 

Four months later I’m at my sports doc and he’s shaking his head, the same head shake I got when he asked me how I’d run an eleven-fifty-eight mile and a half on a grade two torn hamstring….this time neither of my elbows were working all that well but I’d still managed to keep my day to day rock solid…even if there was some sand pouring out of the joints.

It’s late, and if I can actually wake up on time, I’m going to run a few the early a.m.

Binary

Why bother writing anything down here. It’s digital, there will be no permanent record of these thoughts or the person who thought them. 

They are but ones and zeroes, easily changed, easily  deleted as if they never were. 

As if I, never were. 

The Last Jedi

There will always be darkness in our world, otherwise we’d have no light. The dualities of our existence, at least as we can perceive it, require that each action have an equal and opposite re-action.

Light and dark. Good and evil. Black and white. Matter and antimatter/dark matter. Atmosphere and vacuum. Stars and black holes. Night and day. Predator and prey.

Because of the duality of our world, our lives, our very thoughts, I wonder at the idea of monotheism. Is it simply a function of the mass bombardment of pairs of things that make people want to believe in one unifying force. 

Because whatever you call your God, what you’re really talking about is force: life force, the force to carve a universe from the sheer absence of anything that we can understand. The connectedness of people, of plants and animals of our sky and our ocean. All of our lives are circumscribed by the connected dualities of our planet and our galaxy, our local cluster, our supercluster and on outward until the numbers are so immense that they make little sense to our little minds.

This force is not something you can control without damaging it, you can groom it, you can direct and divert it, but control causes it to break. Look at the damming of big rivers, or watering that cesspool in the desert we call Los Angeles. Broken, dark, ugly. All of it. 

If you try hard enough, if you are truly mindful of your surroundings, you can sense the edges of this force, like glowing strands of thread at the edge of a woven rug, it sounds insane, but the Jedi had it right – the living force is all around you, if you but put down the computers and the television shows and the (excuse me Chuck but I’m using this:) advertising that has you chasing cars and clothes, working jobs you hate, to buy shit you don’t need. 

Simplify, streamline, excise the excess.

Axios.

Last day of an orbit

The day isn’t actually 24 hours long. It’s why we have leap year. You’d think the calendar would be metric.

This year has been intense. In a good way.

I’m still moving forward, still breathing, still fighting.

I am many things, and there are many more things that I am not.

The journey of a life, measured in whatever manner isn’t one that should be considered in space-time but in growth, in that quasi-desperate, quest-for-answers-in-universe-that-offers-only-questions, kind of way.

I still want to know why. But I am getting a bit more comfortable with knowing the what when where and how, only a bit.

Why is always the question. The only one that really matters. Purpose, place – peace, they all come from why.

Some people find their own whys I like those, the idea that you can carve yourself out a bit of peace in this world.

But ever-always lurking in the darkness at the edge of my fire is the eternal why that I want answered.

See you next orbit, millions-year-old-evolved-mammals.

Duality

A great white-golden light
in the sat-feed from the west
the technological wonders of my home glowing bright.

The brighter white stars
of the uncluttered east over my head
as I glance up from the
gee-ar-gee on my
right wrist.

On my left a gee-pee-ess
the blue-force-tracker:
a corded bracelet…

new world and old
encompassed on my flesh
should I but face North.

I find some small solace
in the irony.

Awaken

I find myself,
as if awoken from,
a dream of gilded,
lamps and golden mirrors.

There is steel found here,
this desert,
this sandstormed reality,
of space and time.

The gilded dream is,
programmed, conditioned –
all constructed,
for you.

Only my real ones smell of copper and
cordite; gunpowder and blood.

Awakened,
the colors are a mere shade,
of what I know they should be,
you see, that’s the way…
the way they conditioned,
me.