fronty 2 of 4: some color highlights, too much drowns out.
clicky 2 of 4: click on the busy scene here to see how far along the 9 months i am...
the cat's face, boom, right there in my face, i see the pistol lenses of his yellow eyeish gaze, this simple animal peering deep into my dark soul, so deep as to find the edge of the universe, the last star, and when the creature instinctively realizes there is nothing there at the next step, his paw steps back, his instincts protect him from that bitter knowledge, instincts which have been ingrained into him and his family for generations, his grandpappy Whiskers knew it, eons and eons of Darwin and common sense lead up to my cat's curiosity not killing him on this day.
for it is too much to bear for humans that nothing is the endgame, the final card trick, that something comes from nothing, that energy is neither created nor destroyed but used up by the last semblance of Nintendo fun, that this last vestige of electrical-wire energy will be used to type up a last will and testament on a blank computer screen on a site which garners 3 hits and no readers, one viewer but that's just the complimentary "viewer" that comes with purchasing the monthly package, it's really just an overworked IT guy at Central monitoring for any suspicious and lascivious activity.
i look back at all i have typed and wonder if it was all worth it. did i string together sentences which burst forth meanings that traveled along the Highway to others' minds who intellectualized what i wrote and actually changed their daily activities, not watering the plants to read a book i recommended instead? did any of them decide to take off Sunday from church and surf instead, all because a little late phoenix wrote about having two years to live? every time i type a word, does it have to be leaden with heavy everything, or is there time to be frivolous? you can't determine seriousness without some good-natured trolling, happy without the sad is an easily-gained summit never appreciated by the king whose daddy was king, the king who cares is the one whose parents were executed by the previous king, who works as the king's trusted servant until the moment to strike is right, and who says he will serve his people like the people want because he is of the people.
at The Store, i compensate for all my life failures by buying a grossly-overweight bag of cat food, i struggle to keep its weight on my painfully-thin arms, i want to show the world, well, the other Store patrons, that i fucking love my cat, i make sure he will never go hungry, he will never spew forth bile from being underfed again, i am a conscious parent, it's a fur baby, not a human baby, but i'm working my way up the responsibility ladder, i matter because i take care of something that isn't me, i learned the fucking hard way that being alone is a black hole of nothing, service to others forces you to think in a dual way, not just selfishly, you have to take others' concerns over your own, and that is what integrates you into society, community, that's what makes you feel that uncertain good that grows like a caterpillar of silver light around your heart, that feeling of mattering, of a sense of worth, of being a part of a group, not a One and Done, but a continuance, a rung on the cycle of communal growth, that psychologist i overpaid for is finally right for once, one nugget of wisdom defines a career, i happily turn off my brain and enter the warm glow of GroupThink.
i'm sleeping better than ever now, i'm sleeping more than i should, is there really such a thing? the Depression Manual says so, i fit all of the patterns, and i have relegated my ability to question to others, like the experts who wrote the Manual. i am too well-rested/tired to think anymore, much less type profound sentences which will stand the test of time, which will be re-typed over and over again, from this tiny computer screen to classroom books across this great Doomed Marble of ours for the next generation of kids to read and get and mind-meld with. Nietzsche said that if an entity presented himself to Fred as a god, proving such by spinning a circle for eternity, Nietzsche would have no choice but to love him, Fred's oversized (seriously, take a look at a pic of him) head/brain space full of science notwithstanding. my only question is whether or not that god is an angel or devil. there are many gods out there, many parlor tricks, many eternal circles. the fact that that kid-voiced Fred was popular on the internet is proof that there is no god, or that a devil controls the info waves. actually, that isn't fair, y'know, for what it was, Fred was actually a pretty clever little idea.
if the human products have intense dreams, do their creators? do Angels lose sleep working and have to take one of those 5-minute power naps inbetween lunch and close to catch up on something that can't be caught up with. those quick, short, startling dreams you have when you take ten-minute naps are the best and the most nightmarish, they are fucked-up and psychologically relevant, you really get a nice clue into your subconscious with those things, because just as they're starting to get good and make sense, the 10 minutes are up. with dreams formed during a proper eight hours of deep sleep at night, you may get some vivid experiences, but more often than not, you forget the dream because your body always has a chance to sleep it off your memory with that extra two hours of slumber and blackness. with the power nap, the REM sleep is just about to charge in when the process gets interrupted, the plug gets pulled out when you wake up suddenly, making for some state secrets to leak out unexpectedly from your brain, you see dreams you weren't supposed to see, revelations about yourself you were supposed to learn five years from now after the divorce and life-altering death in the family:
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and full square, it's me and the cat again, i feed him from the oversize bag of food, stroke my oversize ego, and peer into his peering as he laps up the water with his tongue, he needs more water because of the more food, lapping as i do laps around him intellectually, i am human after all, i am self-aware, i can surmise things the cat can't, and yet the cat instinctively looks straight to the edge of the universe for the answer, for his next handout, for his solution, for his next master, while i do gymnastics around stars and physics theories that run me around and around the planet Venus forever. i can't understand Venus because i am a man. the cat's relatives shoot him straight forth into the end of the line, that's an accomplishment i will never see because i'm too smart for my own good, and i must explore all that's out there before i reach the end of the line, all the empty planets and crashed Starship Enterprises, all the space debris of all the Galactic Wars and all the lost Moon Men civilizations, and i still won't know the true course, the way to go, my relatives never helped me, they are all dead.
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