I just watched that movie, Martin & Lewis, about Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis and the effects of their partnership and what not, but, you know, as much as I enjoyed it, I'm not writing about it. Sean Hayes, most famous for his role as Jack from Will & Grace (which is also the character that made me detest his acting before) really did deliver a convincing Lewis, and this is from a Lewis fan. Don't ask me why I enjoyed Jerry Lewis' comedy.
For no apparent reason to myself, my mind has been turning towards more . . . Broad and heavy matters, as of late. Maybe it's an escape route for my brain to take to prevent me from mulling over temporary and trivial matters, or the snapping of my cerebral capacity when it reached critical mass for emotional stress . . . I don't know, it could be that I've been reading William Faulkner's The Sound and Fury, while studying Frederick Edwin Church's artwork, and had recently watched the Cowboy Bebop movie. Whatever the reason, the affairs predominant in my thought patterns are above and beyond my usual boundaries of scope.
Life: it is why we are here, or is it nothing more than the act of being here? I am not a religious man, and I have my own set of morals and values that I've eked out through experience and observation. It is one of those beliefs that God only gives humanity one blessing: life. Nothing more, nothing else; prayer is futile, for God is, in my eyes, like a strict father who wishes the best for his children, but does not hold their hand due to the knowledge that the best way to learn is trial-and-error via the hard ways. All is a derivative of this ultimate blessing, and it is the core of my adherence to the idea of respecting all life.
None of this answers the nagging query, though: what is the purpose of life? Are we merely puppets by which God sees His own will completed? Are we here to prepare for a greater and higher afterlife? Is what we get on Earth the proverbial it, as the nihilists preach? In the annals of time, all that remains when the Astral clock strikes twelve is dust; time is an illusion driven by deterioration and cyclic existence. When the dark side of the Moon is drained, what is left but death and forgetfulness?
The key to happiness, in my personal world view, is improvement of the self and actualisation of the full amount of potential we are born with and cull in the struggle to survive and make good use of our original tools. Meaning, in short, that the self is the whole of life's worth. Education must be the centre of a child's early life, for it is the basis by which all intelligence is harvested for the rest of his life. If a child is left to his own devices, all you get is the lowest form of human known to Man, the toy-obsessed corporate cog that only knows how to act in accordance to rules and the whims of higher-ups. Artistic avenues must be explored, or the presence of such, at least, must be pointed to and acknowledged. Monetary gain is fruitless, property value is as relevant in reality as it is a rousing game of Monopoly. What I am, when stripped bare, is my mind and soul, the sheen of body is glossy but mere outer display.
So, given all of this, much of what I do on a regular basis becomes menial and acts of folly. I drink my coffee, as my teeth click together in the machinations of chatter, engaged in some conversation of nothingness with an acquaintance that will, most likely, vanish from my life in five, six, seven years. Don't get me wrong, here, I understand that a social life is healthy to emotional development, but people . . . Hmph, to be blunt, do me little good. It's not that I don't care about my friends, it's that I . . . They aren't essential to my progress towards the long-term and omnipresent goal of self-actualisation. Ergh, you have no idea how much I hate the term "self-actualisation," too. Unfortunately, it's a more convenient phrase than "the attainment of every feasible facet of potential in one's self."
What am I doing with my life, with God's truest and richest gift? Am I flitting it away like a fruit fly? I don't want to look back at my life in twenty years and think, "Damn, I sure wish I had done this, instead of that." The proverbial they always instruct us to follow our hearts. How many tragic plays end in disaster and ruin because of some man's heartfelt desire? Am I to answer to my brain or to my heart, am I to seek intellectual stimulation or the warmth imbued by the adoration of a significant other? It's a classic case of career versus marriage, in a way.
Life is to be respected, that's a simple enough concept. And respect is the root of almost all emotions, philosophies, principles, morals, values, beliefs, in my opinion. Honesty, charity, determination, persistence, consideration, selflessness, devotion, education, politics, poetry, literature, art, music, war; in one way or another, respect ties in to the cause and the effect of each of every single one of life's quirks and lessons. Love, though, love . . . Love is above respect, it seems. Love is without logic. This, actually, brings me to something I hadn't thought of writing.
A friend and I came up with this state of mind to explain . . . . Well, why we came up with it is moot, let me just state what we discovered. There exists a mental state that we have christened "mind-numbing confusion." In similar cases to the state of mind, there are scenarios that are "mind-numbingly confusing," on the flip-side of that same coin. The best analogy I could come up with, which I used to explain it to another friend of our's, is you have a puzzle. This puzzle, every piece only almost fits. The jigsaw edges are, inexplicably, rendered slightly deviate from matching. Mind-numbing confusion is the result of repeatedly attempting to fit these puzzle pieces together over and over, without realising, or being able to realise, that they aren't right. After awhile, emotion drains away, you are numb, but you still wish to solve the puzzle, but persistence's only reward is a null and void check for the amount of One (1) Solution. You can't cash a check that's null and void, of course.
I only bring that up because I believe it is the most succinct and precise way to describe the resultant for attempting to fit love into any area of logic, reason, or rationality. Love is it's own section in the library, it's own menu at the restaurant, segregated from all other aspects of human nature. Like a minority in the 50's, it's mistreated and misunderstand, but holds parades and demonstrations until you have to notice it and put it somewhere. So, so . . . So, you let it romp with the other cattle (which, in this case, is in reference to emotions), but it doesn't graze on the grass or low in the field, no – Love preys on, diverges upon, and rips to shreds the other cattle, like a wolf among sheep, a lion among zebra, a bear among salmon. But, you let it in there! You didn't think it would, but it did.
And, it's here that I pull away and realise none of this makes sense.
Adios.
Won't You Give Me An Algorithm For Living?
For no apparent reason to myself, my mind has been turning towards more . . . Broad and heavy matters, as of late. Maybe it's an escape route for my brain to take to prevent me from mulling over temporary and trivial matters, or the snapping of my cerebral capacity when it reached critical mass for emotional stress . . . I don't know, it could be that I've been reading William Faulkner's The Sound and Fury, while studying Frederick Edwin Church's artwork, and had recently watched the Cowboy Bebop movie. Whatever the reason, the affairs predominant in my thought patterns are above and beyond my usual boundaries of scope.
Life: it is why we are here, or is it nothing more than the act of being here? I am not a religious man, and I have my own set of morals and values that I've eked out through experience and observation. It is one of those beliefs that God only gives humanity one blessing: life. Nothing more, nothing else; prayer is futile, for God is, in my eyes, like a strict father who wishes the best for his children, but does not hold their hand due to the knowledge that the best way to learn is trial-and-error via the hard ways. All is a derivative of this ultimate blessing, and it is the core of my adherence to the idea of respecting all life.
None of this answers the nagging query, though: what is the purpose of life? Are we merely puppets by which God sees His own will completed? Are we here to prepare for a greater and higher afterlife? Is what we get on Earth the proverbial it, as the nihilists preach? In the annals of time, all that remains when the Astral clock strikes twelve is dust; time is an illusion driven by deterioration and cyclic existence. When the dark side of the Moon is drained, what is left but death and forgetfulness?
The key to happiness, in my personal world view, is improvement of the self and actualisation of the full amount of potential we are born with and cull in the struggle to survive and make good use of our original tools. Meaning, in short, that the self is the whole of life's worth. Education must be the centre of a child's early life, for it is the basis by which all intelligence is harvested for the rest of his life. If a child is left to his own devices, all you get is the lowest form of human known to Man, the toy-obsessed corporate cog that only knows how to act in accordance to rules and the whims of higher-ups. Artistic avenues must be explored, or the presence of such, at least, must be pointed to and acknowledged. Monetary gain is fruitless, property value is as relevant in reality as it is a rousing game of Monopoly. What I am, when stripped bare, is my mind and soul, the sheen of body is glossy but mere outer display.
So, given all of this, much of what I do on a regular basis becomes menial and acts of folly. I drink my coffee, as my teeth click together in the machinations of chatter, engaged in some conversation of nothingness with an acquaintance that will, most likely, vanish from my life in five, six, seven years. Don't get me wrong, here, I understand that a social life is healthy to emotional development, but people . . . Hmph, to be blunt, do me little good. It's not that I don't care about my friends, it's that I . . . They aren't essential to my progress towards the long-term and omnipresent goal of self-actualisation. Ergh, you have no idea how much I hate the term "self-actualisation," too. Unfortunately, it's a more convenient phrase than "the attainment of every feasible facet of potential in one's self."
What am I doing with my life, with God's truest and richest gift? Am I flitting it away like a fruit fly? I don't want to look back at my life in twenty years and think, "Damn, I sure wish I had done this, instead of that." The proverbial they always instruct us to follow our hearts. How many tragic plays end in disaster and ruin because of some man's heartfelt desire? Am I to answer to my brain or to my heart, am I to seek intellectual stimulation or the warmth imbued by the adoration of a significant other? It's a classic case of career versus marriage, in a way.
Life is to be respected, that's a simple enough concept. And respect is the root of almost all emotions, philosophies, principles, morals, values, beliefs, in my opinion. Honesty, charity, determination, persistence, consideration, selflessness, devotion, education, politics, poetry, literature, art, music, war; in one way or another, respect ties in to the cause and the effect of each of every single one of life's quirks and lessons. Love, though, love . . . Love is above respect, it seems. Love is without logic. This, actually, brings me to something I hadn't thought of writing.
A friend and I came up with this state of mind to explain . . . . Well, why we came up with it is moot, let me just state what we discovered. There exists a mental state that we have christened "mind-numbing confusion." In similar cases to the state of mind, there are scenarios that are "mind-numbingly confusing," on the flip-side of that same coin. The best analogy I could come up with, which I used to explain it to another friend of our's, is you have a puzzle. This puzzle, every piece only almost fits. The jigsaw edges are, inexplicably, rendered slightly deviate from matching. Mind-numbing confusion is the result of repeatedly attempting to fit these puzzle pieces together over and over, without realising, or being able to realise, that they aren't right. After awhile, emotion drains away, you are numb, but you still wish to solve the puzzle, but persistence's only reward is a null and void check for the amount of One (1) Solution. You can't cash a check that's null and void, of course.
I only bring that up because I believe it is the most succinct and precise way to describe the resultant for attempting to fit love into any area of logic, reason, or rationality. Love is it's own section in the library, it's own menu at the restaurant, segregated from all other aspects of human nature. Like a minority in the 50's, it's mistreated and misunderstand, but holds parades and demonstrations until you have to notice it and put it somewhere. So, so . . . So, you let it romp with the other cattle (which, in this case, is in reference to emotions), but it doesn't graze on the grass or low in the field, no – Love preys on, diverges upon, and rips to shreds the other cattle, like a wolf among sheep, a lion among zebra, a bear among salmon. But, you let it in there! You didn't think it would, but it did.
And, it's here that I pull away and realise none of this makes sense.
Adios.
EOF
posted by c.Jay Wrong at
12:10 AM
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