A Circular Mind

 Well, Hello Universe.


How are all those protons and antiprotons getting along? Ah, not so good, huh? Antimatter can be so rambunctious, can't it? I once read that all the positives and negatives add up to zero.  I'm not saying that's true, just that I read so. It does kinda explain the whole something from nothing theory. After all, it's still zero overall, right? If so, there's got to be an anti universe out there somewhere. What about an anti me and an anti you? And would we be the same or the opposite? Ah, rich, happy, anti me, who probably made better choices. I'd steel those riches, were they not made of antimatter. Touching them might cause a slight problem. Curses, foiled again! You win again this time, Anti Me. Wait. Does that make me the evil counterpart? Like the evil Captain Kirk from 'Mirror Mirror'? Hey, it's not my fault! The Halkans had it coming for not handing over those dilithium crystals to the Terran Empire. Actually, there is this really cool fan made sequel to that episode floating around on the internet called "The Fairest Of Them All." I highly recommend it to any fan of the original series. I kept telling Marsha about it, but I don't think she ever got around to watching it. It's just another bit of unfinished business, I guess. She would have loved it. I know she would have. Damn it. I miss her. See how even my silliest ramblings always come back around to my baby sister again and again and again? And with that, my silly mood vanishes like fog under the midmorning sun. Gone, gone, gone.... Just like her. It is interesting, this mad cocktail of thoughts and emotions swirling around my head. It can be so random, yet themes recur. It's like a remix with some deejay with a double turntable with my heart on the left, my mind on the right, just scratching away. Anyway, after over a year, it looks like Momma's and Marsha's headstones are finally in place. Talk about mixed feelings. The workmanship is beautiful, but it only reminds me of this old and broken heart of mine. Momma's is a double with my Dad's name and birth date on the other side. I'd like to keep my father for as long as I can, so seeing his name on a tombstone is unnerving, to say the least. He's alive, and I want it to stay that way. Marsha and Momma were more than I could stand to lose as it is. Grief really is like a ninja. Sometimes, I think the only reason it eases is so it can jump you from behind again. A couple of weeks ago, It was a song.  Just a random song out of nowhere. Today it was a picture, one I had even been expecting to see. And it is the intensity that always catches me off guard.  Don't expect time to jump in on your side, either. I have learned that time is exactly jack. And you say to yourself, "I'm okay" just before getting your poor behind handed to you again.  I'm kind of a mess tonight for that very reason.  Grief is that ninja. And I understand so much more than I ever thought I did before.  I just wish i could have learned some other way..  Unfortunately, I doubt there are other ways. Some roads are custom made one way streets. You can't just power through them. The best we can do is baby steps. Not that I am even sure I know what I'm talking about anymore. As a side note, I want to reiterate my wholehearted agreement with George Carlin's description of an office temp with a bad attitude when it comes to whatever gods there supposedly are. Very apt indeed. George was, indeed, one of the prophets. Now, this is yet another subject I might want to change before this text turns into a rant: (Feelings never fade, they keep resurfacing) (I'll always love her, I'll always miss her). Clean Cup, clean damn cup, move down, damnit!

Could be that time is even more devious than I thought? It seems we lose a bit of ourselves over the stretch of the years. Or could it just be all of our illusions falling away, one by one? Or maybe this is only in my mind? Could this be one of those Kenobi "point of view" sorta things? I believe that the mind is powerful in shaping our perceived world, but I don't think it's quite THAT powerful. All reality has that basic kernel of the actually observed. I think this is part of that kernel of absolute truth. Thinking is not the sole reason things are so. If it were, then every nuthouse Napoleon would be the real deal. Also, wishes could be granted by simply believing they have already been. If so, those darned leprechauns are late with my pot of gold. You are shameless, Shamus! Where are me gold schillings?! That was one mean leprechaun. Damn, he was one sadistic little bastard, wasn't he? He could peddle the hell out of a tricycle, too. Anyway, getting back on topic, I really feel we lose bits and pieces of ourselves over the course of time. Time's sadism rivals that leprechaun's any day. The only difference? Time kills us much more slowly, even parts of ourselves we never thought could die. We can't really and truly prepare such losses, not even the ones we see coming. I lost my mother bit by bit. Time took her away, little by little. I lost my baby sister all at once in that hospital room. With Momma, I could it see it coming months before it happened. With Marsha, I was blindsided. Both losses were and are extremely painful. But they each hurt differently. I was my mother's firstborn child. She was 24, going on 25, when she gave birth to me. Marsha was her youngest baby, born premature, less than two pounds, filled with determination to win the fight to survive those first few months of her life, a warrior from day one. Marsha was eight years and one week younger than me. I always assumed she'd live at least that much longer than me. Instead, she was 40 when I lost her. Why I'm the one still here baffles the hell out of me. Firstborn, first to go. Youngest, last to go. That should be the natural order. Losing Momma hurts like hell, and I miss her badly. Still, the order of life is that we tend to expect to outlive our parents and for our kids to outlive us, and baby sisters should outlive us too. Momma had the loss of a daughter to bear those last 2 months of her life. I can't imagine what it was like for her, but I well know what it is like for me to have lost them both. Man, why do I find myself here again? It seems that no matter the topic I start with, I find myself back here again. It's like gravity, and even when I try to escape it, even when I am successful, it always pulls me back, forever in orbit. Or maybe I am like Vandal Savage from the Justice League episode, "Hereafter," and I feel I deserve the pain. 30,000 years or one year and nearly three months. Sometimes, I feel like the only one on this planet, and not in any of the good ways. 8 billion others, but I'm the only one. I guess I'm talking in circles again. It also seems that Paul Simon's "Mother And Child Reunion" has taken on a much darker meaning. Maybe because from now on, there is only one way that can happen. Man, the messed-up thoughts that flow through my brain these days. Momma used to say my writings were too morbid when I was a teenager. I wonder what she would say about them now. Would she tell me I need to get on with my life? I think she would indeed. It even sounds like something she would say. I heard that saying about spilled milk a lot when I was a kid. But does that still apply to lost mothers and lost sisters? More milk is only a grocery store away. Momma and Marsha are considerably farther away. They're also right here with me. Never in my life have I had such contradictions in my heart. Not even in 2009, and that was a rough patch in itself, not like 2022, of course, but still pretty bad. I guess fucked up lives make for fucked up minds. My insanity is well earned. I doubt I'll be exiting stage left as the most rational human being that ever lived. Neither Sarek nor Spock would approve. Really, it is my belief that a life totally lived in logic would also be lived in total loneliness. 

 I guess I have some crazy hopes, dreams, and goals. Or do I really? They do happen to be based on some very universal human wants and needs. It seems quite normal to me if I'm the right one to ask about that sort of thing. Normality, however, is a waste of a unique existence, in my little opinion. That's what I say. And even if it is supposedly pointless, it gets me through my days, and isn't that point enough? It's crazy enough being brought about as this biological creature with cpu in enough excess of basic survival that I am able to ponder the universe and wonder exactly what in the hell am I doing here. Sometimes, I wonder if it would be a mercy if I could only focus on those basic things. We humans tend to be crazy complicated in our ways of going about even those basics. Civilization beats anarchy, though, no matter how screwed up it is. Sometimes, I wonder about its most insane aspects. Politics especially. Maybe we'd be better off mauling each other like lions. Roar, baby, roar. I'm that big bad lion you've heard so much about. Oh, do settle down, chaps. I won't bite. Why, we hardly know each other! So, what do you think of my jungle? I know, I know, I'm trying to redecorate, but it's hard to get good help out this far these days. Roar, roar, baby, roar.

There are days, this one included, when the world and everything in it seems far away. I am most likely correctly assuming that it is I and not the world that is distant and detached. How can I describe this feeling? Surrounded by a cocoon of invisible static? Covered in a blanket of television snow? Body present, but heart and mind asleep at the wheel? Well, I suppose I'm still here, or at least within arm's reach of here. These are the days when I wish I could coast through on muscle memory and autopilot, dividing the ol brain into two parts: The robot that does my work and the true self and soul living in a dream, thinking random thoughts and yadda yadda Yoda. It's great when I can focus on monotonous, repetitive tasks, but not so good when the higher-ups want to talk shop. As Han Solo once said, "boring conversation anyway."  I live in my head a lot. I have so for all my life, even as a child.  I remember my first grade teacher not liking that very much. Boring conversation indeed, little dreamer meets the real world. I had a serious lack of understanding back then. Maybe in some ways I still do. Maybe that's why I prefer knowing a job well enough to get into what I call the zone, letting the humanoid robot do the work while my mind remains free. When I'm in the zone, I can get some serious work done, rockin' and rollin' the whole day long. I know I have fewer years behind me than I have ahead of me.  I would like to be happy for at least some of that time. Speaking of the whole happiness goal, I have been having this debate within myself whether or not I should give up on certain things. It seems the answer is no, I should not. I may sound dramatic with my reasoning why I shouldn't give it up at all, especially when I think back to some dark moments. See, in many ways, this 'silly' aspect is all I really have left anymore. There have been many days when it has been my only source of happiness (or anything resembling it).  I remember many a bleak morning, sitting in my car, wondering the worth of going on. This 'silliness' was my only motivation for giving such days a try. It's just as messed up and crazy as I myself am, I guess. It is the validation I find within myself that I could never get from the world. If I could step through that looking glass and turn it all upside down and inside out, I most certainly would. As crazy and silly as it may seem, it also seems absolutely correct and feels right in a world full of wrongs. Maybe it's just a state of mind and nothing more, just a mindset that gets me through my days.  Maybe it's an impossible goal, always on the horizon but never closer. Maybe it's just a daydream that I could actually be this person in any aspect besides within my heart and soul. Could it all be an impossible dream? If so, why do I hold onto it with such fierce tenacity? Why do I feel that letting go would mean a slow death of sorts? I tell myself it's silly and impossible, but I can't let it go. I do not even want to. I close my eyes and clearly see who I am. As much as I tell myself it must be a delusion, It sure does not feel like one, nor do I want it to be one. This is what I have wanted for so long.  Another thing I tell myself is I am just too damn old. Maybe, Had I came to this realization when I was much younger, I could have become that person in time. But, now it is far too late to even dream. However, in a life when I honestly feel I have given up on way too many dreams, it seems my heart can't bear the loss of even one more. Why do I live?  Why do I breathe? Why does my heart still beat? And would I really be still living at all, or would I just be this living body walking around when every other aspect of my being has long since shuffled off this living, breathing, walking core? You know, like a zombie without the oozing grossness or the brain diet, yet still quite literally, the walking dead? See the rock and the hard place I find myself in?  And is there any real solution to this predicament? If I were to give up on this 'silly delusion', then there would be very little left to stem the tide of depression.  I don't like my own thoughts when I am in such a state. Don't believe you can frighten yourself? Believe me, when your thoughts get too specific about actually buying the freaking farm,  you can and will scare the hell out of yourself if you have any will to live. And friends, I have that will to live. If nothing more than to make sure my baby sister's memory is preserved digitally for as close to forever as I can save it. That means being around to someday transfer it all to 5D crystal glass. I have a mission to complete before I leave here. It may be my only reason anymore, but one reason is all it takes. Maybe in time there will be more. It could be even that little aspects of the impossible dream turn out to be not so impossible. Like I said, I've been flying blind for a long time now. Who knows how many cliff faces I've narrowly avoided, yet never even knew? Maybe nothing is impossible, but a lot of things are highly unlikely, to say the very least.

There is this meme going around about always being tired and broke when all you do is work and sleep. I totally resemble that remark. As Smoky sang, I second that emotion. That's the majority of my life, working and sleeping, and I'm probably dreaming of work while I'm sleeping. Not to mention dreaming about sleep while I'm working. I fantasize about being able to sleep in the same way I probably long ago thought about sex. Talk about taking the whole idea of sleeping with someone way too literally. Hey baby, wanna konk out for a few hours? There's you a pick-up line. Granted, the right person could still probably keep me awake for a good while. And if memory serves, that particular latter sleep was always the best, most restful sleep ever. A heartbeat makes for the best lullaby. Ah, but that's a long ago story for another time. Ancient history. Kinda like that song by Bob Segar, Night Moves. Second of two, second and last. Wherever in this world she is, I hope she's doing well. As for my 2020s self, I've long ago given up on relationships and yadda yadda Yoda. The second of two will most likely remain the second and last who sure put  the first and first to shame. It was like comparing a stale glass of water to the finest vintage wine. No, they're most definitely not all the same. Ah, the more you know. And when you know, you know. Now, how about another clean cup move down subject change before this gets too awkward? Yeah, maybe that mad hatter is a bit more sane and rational than we all thought. Clean Cup, move down!

Speaking sort of Borg, there is this dude at work I have been starting to refer to as Locutus of Borg. The dude is always connected to the collective via Bluetooth. He's always chatting with his fellow drones. I have a theory when it comes to the Borg. They're just earth people from the future wired in to the iPhone 9000. Sometimes, I have to wonder about our future. I really do. You will all become one with the Borg. You will all become one with the Borg. Your resistance is hopeless, Number One. My response? Mr. Worf, fire! Now, while I must admit to enjoying my computer time, I am nowhere near as wired into my phone as the people around me seem to be borgified into theirs. Maybe it is because I find real computers to be superior. Maybe it is because I believe in real programs and not all these so-called apps. In short, I'm the quintessential old school computer nerd. Most of my favorite programs and games were made for this thing called MS-DOS. The rest? Why Win95 to XP and 7. I just happen to be an old technology rock and roller. I like keyboards and mice, thank-ya-very-much! Keys good, touchscreens bad. Remember the southpark Ice Man from 1996? Yep, that's pretty darned close. I am most certainly a time capsule of some sort. My digital collection, even more so than me. That's right, future space cadets. If you wanna know what cool is, bring some blank memory crystals and come see me. Actually, I hope 5D crystal glass makes its way down to the consumer level before I'm gone from here. Beyond all of that, the cool digital stuff, there are also a lot of important memories I want to be etched for the ages. Consider it also a digital pyramid to honor my sister. Her image, her voice, her writings, her thoughts, and the characters she created for the Sims. All of this etched for the ages, to long outlive me, to hopefully find a new caretaker. Together again, carved in stone, etched in crystal, displaying on a futuristic screen. I know nothing lasts forever, not even a memory. But, you know? I'd love to see this last longer than most. I'll go a lot easier and a lot happier, believing so. Even if this might be the only endeavor of mine not to end in disaster. One pays for all. To come back to the beginning of this wall of text, even with the universe, even with time and space,  it all adds up back to the starting point. It eventually comes back around. If so, I only hope that in whatever alternate realities there may be, I will do better next time. She's counting on you, alternate future me. Don't let her down.