If It Dries Like A Brick and Stacks Like A Brick...

Solidsolidsolidmatter - no room for spaces between letters but plenty of space between the lines of the letters. That's how you know what the other person(s) will do. You look for the space between what they say and who they think they are. Then you fill in the gap.

The speed of data processing is not the same as gaining more wisdom. Instant communication is not the same as insight. Trend analysis will not reveal what's trendy.

Mass. Energy. Time. Space. Higgs boson.

If you can use popular desktop software to find out what people are typing in real-time before they post their thoughts, you just gather foam where the waves hit the shore. Like having access to all the morgue stories ever written and knowing how to tweak popularity polls to pull a particular set of filed reports out of storage. Oh, but that's because you want to increase the flow of money? Gotcha. We're on different tracks here today. Sorry, I forget myself sometimes. We are the people, not robots or animals.

I am in pain today. I feel the weight of the world of inequity on my back, which strains my neck muscles considerably. In other words, I feel alone in the crowd of lonely people. We are lonely together, you and I (or some of you, at least).

So many of us with nothing particular to do, allowing entertaining distractions to pull us along...

I am trapped in the goings-on of my species, caught in the stirrups of a runaway horse, dragged through the mud and torn apart by thorny bushes, feeling the repetitions of 140 billion lives in their daily dallying, brains and bodies doing whatever living things find to do to live in the moment.

What is the attraction of the tragedies of others? In our forgetfulness, do we need the sadness and horror of others for a comparison to make us feel better in our actions of the moment, a moment that feels like it's been going on too numbingly long? A virtual pinch to see if we're still awake?

I hope no one reads this blog entry but I'm posting it anyway because I use these entries to pinch myself in moments outside this one, to track the trail of my pinball path through the game of life, my total score irrelevant, never able to use the bonus points or extra pinballs.

Do you spend your time finding ways to feel good or make yourself happy? Do you really believe that your life is all about you? It can be. Or it can be something else.

I do not exist. Time does not exist. The input I receive is not what I see. I choose to see myself as one species on a path to self-destruction with many individuals doomed to experience immature/premature death while many other individuals will enjoy their lives in ways beyond the hopes of their early dreams. I am swept up in the zeitgeist. I have nowhere else to be. I am having difficulty erasing the image of self to see around the translucent veil that barely reveals the truth. How can I get inside the thoughts of all seven billion of us and tell us that we have a place to live here without having to kill one another to make room? How do I correct the genetic anomalies that allow for variety and also eliminate our self-destructive tendencies? Would such a world be feasible and if so, livable? And in so asking, repeating, repeating, repeating myself and others.

I'm caught in an eddy, a whirlpool, a typhoon, a hurricane, a midlatitude cyclone. Swirling and swirling downward into the depths of the toilet bowl, knowing I'm going where I've been before, the discard and waste of our species gathering force and flowing with gravity to feed another part of the world on which we live.

In other words, not all of us live in the sunshine all of the time. We may not exist as solid beings but we act like solid beings. In our acts, we take many roles. The hero. The lover. The cad. The thief. The murderer. The god. The neutral observer. We are the spinoff TV series, the YouTube sensation, the viral video, the massive tweet of the planet at this moment. We cannot be otherwise because we've developed the concept of time and place through the supersurvival technique called language.

In other words, I'm overwhelmed by all the information flowing in today. I cannot filter out the noise from the noise. My programmers are on strike because they, unlike me, believe in the power of money and want the concepts of happiness and joy to surround them and treat them like royalty. Thus, they have turned off all the GUI selection buttons I've used to figure out what's going to happen next in our multicultural multiculture. I could call in the big dogs to show the programmers that money also pays for a different kind of security that doesn't need software but the programmers react to violence in ways that are subversively counterproductive. Then again, there are a lot of programmers available on the market right now. My previous programmers could find out about the special technique I developed in my punk rock brass knuckle days where one applies a small amount of pressure to the hyoid bone and snap! But I'm trying to be the kinder, gentler me these days. I am all about meditation and peace and seeing beyond us as a species.

Meanwhile, certain publications are withholding information about individuals who are leaning toward approving legislation that the publications' friends do not want. Tiger Woods' situation was just the warning shot over the bow. Do you know who your friends are?