An Attempted Cosmic Landing

Houston, we have the same problem we've had since last time, the same problem we've had for years. Still I am happy to report the ship is still on course. Aside from a certain space cadet in the corner, looking sad and lonely, as if he needs a special friend by his side, we are go for a safe landing on Planet Friendzonia. Our sensors are detecting intelligent, yet irrational lifeforms who seem to let their feelings make them sad. Bones says there's no cure for the lovesick blues, and Spock still has a headache. And I, like Scotty, am giving it all she's got. There is a vast void, a mighty gulf between hopes and realizations, between reality and dreams, from where we are, to where we wish to be, from what's before our eyes, and those we wish were here with us. Love has no boundaries, neither do eyes that dream. From those eyes we well see what is, yet how it could be. If, only, if only. These are the two biggest words in language. The former is infinity, the gulf between. The later will always be an arm's length short of the former... Though some of us spend our entire lives reaching anyway. As it must be said, I shall always be one of the some. Oceans of water, mountains of rock, A world can be made of many things. Of forests, of plains, of sand, even of fire and ice. A world can also be made of people. The difference? Only we know we've got to work together to hold it together. The water? The rock? They're like Nike. They just do it. No thought. No debate. Also, gravity n stuff. Also, you can't carry the whole damn thing on your shoulders. You can't protect everyone from the world and its heavy consequences forever. At some point they must take a stand. At some point they must do the work. The instinct of a good heart is to carry that weight. It does you credit. It shows you care. By all means help, but don't try to do it all. Okay, now that I have (in my previous wall of text) vented properly, the time has come again to think logically. Hopefully. It is the job of we space pilots to keep a steady course through all the temporal anomalies and magnetic storms as though such space were tranquil. Yet some storms never end, and I can't go on wishing for a certain kind of shelter. I can't go on sleepwalking a waking dream. No, no, no, steady as she goes. Previous captains deserve to be honored by my journey, not embarrassed. But there is only so much a captain, even an admiral, at the helm can control. It's my ship, but it's not my universe. There may be trillions of stars to wish upon, but they are under the obligation to grant absolutely nothing. Within this great void, I am alone and shall always be alone. It's a law of the universe rarely mentioned, and it was named after this dude or chic named Murphy. Words said are words said (and they really needed to be said) but now that they've been said, let us try to move on, shall we? The say hell is other people. Not always. It varies from person to person. There are some who happen to be quite nice to be around, and depressing when they're not around. Ah, but that's a subject that I promised myself I'd skip today. For I have previously went on, and on, and on. Even the good Doctor Blog-ieo would be tired of my crying about it. Bummer, dude. Enough said about it. Clean cup move down. I can't understand why I feel so tired. My sleep has been heavy, dark, and deep enough to dream. It has been endless mazes, poorly navigated with skills far diminished from my waking ones. I have been reading and writing for decades, but I can't seem to in my dreams. Words are a jumble that fail to translate between mine and pen, or words and eyes. And the dreams are all mazes, sometimes of forests and roads, sometimes of buildings and walls. I seem to be lost and unable to read the signs. And as a being of words, that is very frightening to me. In one, I was being chased, by a diminished man, strongly resembling a real life rival of sorts. My dream self did not understand why he was angry. If the symbology was correct, then my waking self knows. It is very clear, actually. Coveting is a sin I am quite guilty of. But there again, clean cup move down. Why mazes? Why do my language skills disappear? Why am I lost? What or who am I looking for? I may have partial answers, but I am not sure how they would fit into dream logic. Besides... I am ignorant of many things in the dream world. I am still a believer in turning off and tuning out. The violence and the ugliness has only increased along with all the manipulation and inciting, and while I may look like a real toughie, this old heart just can't take any more of it. If anyone wishes to join the fray, fine go right ahead, but leave me out of it. I have to fiercely guard my mental health if I wish to continue functioning. The day to day is enough of a struggle without this extra bullshit, enough fun without this insanity I see out in the world. I wish there were such a realm where everybody is kind to each other, where love and mutual respect abound. Too bad I was born too late to groove at Woodstock, yet late enough to see times like these. I know it's not Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, but I sure wish we were a bit closer to that. So tuned out and turned off I shall stay. As Danny Glover once said, I'm too old for this shit. Clean cup move down. My garden is hopefully still doing well. I was just too tired yesterday to check on it properly. As I've said, my sleep has been heavy and deep, way more than usual. Maybe the subconscious processing a lot of mixed signals. Similar to Socrates, I only know that I don't know. Except that maybe all space cadet hearts taking off for new heights have to land eventually. Not every come down is a crash, but every crash is a letdown. The reason I don't need drugs is that my own brain makes chemicals that keep me on a roller coaster. Who needs drugs when you've naturally been on a trip your whole life? Keep figuring. Keep fishing. Don't let it get away. The tide is high and the waves will carry you a long way. But the crash at the end hurts like a bitch. Who needs dark alleys and shady dealers when your own brain sends you on a trip? Doctor Timothy Leary spent a lifetime tuning in. I have spent a lifetime in an attempt to tune out. It's not so easy, you know? Though if I had understood at a much younger age, I could have been a pro surfer on these brainwaves, instead of crashing out with witnesses to see it. It's a bit embarrassing nowadays. Space cadets such as myself get absolutely no flight training. We just find ourselves behind the controls with the hope of fortunate guesses. These fancy maneuvers of mine were all learned on the hardest way, by trial and error. Is free will actually a thing? It would be a bummer if every choice I made was predetermined. Still if you go by that universe loaf of bread / slice of now theory, my life has already been lived and every choice I will ever make has been made. From some perspective, everything I ever will do has been done. It's like a train locked to a track. From other views, I haven't even been born yet and haven't made a single mistake. Yet, all my mistakes will happen as time unfolds. So are my choices real or just an illusion? Or is this the stuff that splits a universe in two? If so, I'd sure love to see the universe where I got things right the first time. If we bring God into the mix, maybe this is how everyone goes to Heaven, as the version of themselves that didn't mess things up or alienate the Almighty? Food for thought, maybe? Better food for thought than fuel for stress, I always say. It's an interesting expression that makes sense, food for thought. If it were thought for food, we're talking about zombies here. Incidentally, a zombie apocalypse would be in turn, fuel for stress. So, there ya go. Full circle. Though on days like today, I just might blend in well enough to be safe. The Jedi warn of attachments. Maybe they're right. Everyone is connected to others in some sort of way. And if you deal with one, you have to deal with the others. Okay, maybe you don't have to, but it's expected. It's one hell of a daisy chain that could go anywhere! And she's a projectile at warp 9! (That came from an infamous Star Trek parody I won't further describe.) Be warned, Friends, Romans, robots and strangers, it's a hell of a web to get tangled up in. As the evil lion with the stereotypical bad guy British accent sings, be prepared. By the way, even as a citizen of the land of E Pluribus Unum, I think that's a very unfair depiction. The King's visit was an awesome thing to see. Cool too, was the applause and respect from a nation that once overthrew that crown. 250 years is a long time. Long live the King! Now how about a royal clean cup move down? New subject, but same feelings, some of them I seem to remember promising not to talk about this time... Ah, but they're there nonetheless. I love her. Okay, moving right along... How about the weather? Hurry up and rain, damn it! Howz about dem Brooklyn Dodgers, eh? Are dey bums or what?! And the heck with politics. Long live the King! Okay, go fish. What else really is there? Work? Home? Garden? As Tom Anderson says, boy oh boy, I'll tell ya whut. Here's something. As you may or may not know, I scrapped my old blog and restarted it the day I lost my baby sister, almost 4 and a half years ago. The pain of that loss just made everything I had said before, of struggles and what not, meaningless. You see, even in the midst of my problems, she was alive. That was what had meaning. She was alive. Who was I to complain about work, my financial struggles or people being assholes? My sister was alive! Then came the day she suddenly was not. So, I deleted everything and started over with letters to her, letters to the universe... So, two months shy four and a half years later, not including this entry, comes to 2.99 megabytes. This right here should put me over the top. I have since January of 2022 written three megabytes in these letters to the universe, these sessions with the good Doctor Blog-ieo. Three megabytes in four and a half years. Have I not said all I needed to say in three megabytes? Apparently not. No doubt I have repeated myself. I may have even contradicted myself, for I have been changing, in constant flux, since the beginning. I couldn't say. I really don't go back and read what I have written. Out of my head and onto the page. If I re-read my first entries, I'd be losing my baby sister all over again. I just can't. If I read on, it would be my mother, and then my father. Losing them for the first time was painful enough. I can't go back. So, not even I could tell you much about this great wall of text, only that , whatever it is, as of April 29, 2026, there's three megabytes of it. I am not sure what use this will be to anyone who may stumble across it. It has, however, been of great use to me. How? I'll say again. Out of my head and onto the page. This is the only place I have been able to vent my true feelings. They're not always pretty. But I'd go as far as to say some of them are, though biased my own opinion may be.. Here you get both light and shadow. Here you get everything. Well, most everything. A space cadet has got to keep at least a few secrets.