Strive to Be Alive.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. - Robert Frost

Passive Science Fiction.

{eternal city LIMITS}

1.

neon images ripple across glass flooring of obsidian
smokey atmosphere fills the spaces in between things and it saturates the world --
towering cylinders loom in the ever-dark skies;
the disenfranchised wallow an unlife in the permanent shadows unseen.
filth covers everything --
suffocating reminders of a horrid cosmic caste.
rats nest into palatial monuments of refuse unaware;
hope is a luxury.
the sky is an alley between man made valleys, electrical wires are clinging sinew
pin points of light streak across smog highways untouchable to those below
sickly green fluorescents stammer morse along the streets
the unheard beat of a dying metro-heart.
sickness is for the low parts of the concrete paradise in blackness.
on the unseen horizons it is said lies a castle of glass
far above the ash of low lives, blue skies reign and white clouds abound
to escape for even a moment...
a fortune's worth of anything and possibility.
and below lies the dirty neon obsidian relic of a life gone by and forgotten
the world above in dreams and no one ever sleeps.

2.

she never sleeps and she doesn't care
she eats people whole.
no light remains in her blackening heart
and her residents are sickly mirrors of her intentions.
at night sometimes she weeps acid tears
and the foundations of her once great elegance erode.
sometimes when it’s almost light in the sky she remembers
who she used to be
full of promise.
but then the clouds come and she screams out in blackness alone.
her children they know she is dying
their lives an extended funeral procession.
greedily she holds onto them
an embrace so absolute only some are strong enough to flee.

3.

she can never die.
she can only twist into a nightmare visage
horrible and corrupt.
she is a mirror of her parasites.
one day all will turn to dus
except for her,
the tragedy of eternity.
a mutated version of paradise lost
and hell redeemed.

While On Walkabout...

on Over Analyzing.

In order to properly function in the course of our day-to-day lives, it is imperative that we analyze the various stimuli encountered therein. This is a fairly obvious concept. When we make a note that a friend is sad or keeping a secret, we know these things from the various social cues that we pick up from observing the world around us. The human ability to translate passing subtleties into informative notions about our external surroundings is truly a remarkable trait. We spend so much of our time processing every parcel of new sensory information that often times we fall victim to the pitfalls of over analyzation. This intricate abnormality in the way in which human beings interact to the world around them is in and of itself both fascinating and troubling.

Over analyzation can manifest in any number of suitably distinct ways. Most often, we over analyze when fixated on an idea or thought. The way in which one goes through a day while simultaneously and subconsciously processing every stimulus presented is almost without notice. Our brains allow us to operate routinely, often without our own realization. This allows us to function in a social setting in a manner that is appropriate to both our own means and the expectations of others without wasting half of our time in figuring it all out. Fixation occurs when an idea, conclusion, or thought does not 'fit' within the constraints of our regular, subconscious processing. Once this has occurred, we begin to actively assess the idea over and over until our conscious minds can produce a satisfying explanation that sates the part of us that finds fault with it.

The trick, if there is such a thing, is that oftentimes the things we perceive as commonplace do not hold up to rigorous scrutiny or 'logical' deduction. Take the idea of a friend that is sad. How do we know he is sad? Perhaps his face looks sad. What looks sad about his face? His eyebrows are arched and his mouth is frowning. Why are those looks associated with being sad? Most sad people have this face. What if that is just how his face normally looks? This is just a small example of the complex logic chain involved with deducing very common things. Obviously, we do not go through such a strenuous investigation every time we encounter something. Our brains use 'shortcuts' -- workarounds that allow us to get from the proverbial Point A all the way to Point Z without ever having to consider Points B through Y. Over analyzation occurs when we need to reach Point C, and along the way from A we somehow invent not only Point B, but D, E, and F as well.

The problem lies in the subjective brain. Deducing contextual clues to reveal an understood truth requires logical links between greater social concepts, reality, and assumed plausibilities. The subjective brain, unfortunately for us, is only truly certain of the third [Author's Note: I've made a case for reality before -- Link!]. Reality and social concepts or norms are both equally important in processing, but for this discussion are irrelevant as they exist (albeit arguably) outside of the subjectivity of the individual. Assumed plausibilities are what we subjectively know to be true based on all of our previous experience in analyzing our surroundings. For instance, we know that if we insult someone, they will most likely get very mad at us. In maneuvering from the conceptual Point A to whatever conclusion it is that our minds reach, we rely on assumed plausibility for our navigation. It is important to remember that 'plausible' does not equal 'certain'. We can only guess at the reactions of a world outside of our own heads, and those guesses will vary as wildly as there are people on the planet. Over analyzation is the product of this: our brains making logical connections that may not or do not exist and the struggle with the conclusions that we reach based on them.

Of course the real dilemma is not the 'why' or 'how' of over analyzing the situations we experience; it's the 'what to do'. Some obsess about every word and action; every perceived slight or hidden meaning. These people find it hard to take anything at face value. Others simply take everything they perceive exactly as it is. These people are often labeled as 'gullible' or 'ignorant'. Each has its advantages. The former often sees the world shrewdly, and avoids the various complexities of assumption. The latter is often free of the constraints of being burdened with the knowledge that what one sees is not always what is true. Perhaps the real truth is that there is no easy solution when we find ourselves over analyzing something. To rely on basic presumptions can be almost foolish, while always presuming that things are not what they seem is equally so. Maybe we are all best served when acting according to instinct. Over analyzation is simply our instinctual reaction to that which we suspect is not simple. In the end it is best to believe in ourselves throughout, because it is true what many people say: When you believe in nothing, you will fall for anything.

Upper Peninsular Weekend.

Bart?

Eat Your Heart out, Maine.

One with Nature.

Implications.

What are the limits of the things a single person is capable of doing? How do we know of the things that we can accomplish and the things we will only ever glimpse in the rear-view of life? Furthermore, what allows us to accurately assess ourselves without falling victim to the pitfalls of hubris? Human life is an exceedingly insular experience so much so that one can never do better than guess the intentions and thoughts of those around them. Because of this, one stumbles through their days in a gross approximation of what they believe the world around them will be able to tolerate -- how others will assess them. If one cannot properly gauge one's own place in the grand scheme of social consciousness and order, how can they ever make a forward-thinking decision without the larger social contexts that would properly inform them?

Obviously, we all make choices every day. We make them without really thinking about implications. In part, this is likely a mechanism we are trained since a young age to enact subconsciously in order to avoid the confusing and aggravating mental aerobics that result in wordy paragraphs of this nature. Admittedly many of the little choices we make in a given day are of almost nonexistent consequence to anything. What color shirt we choose to wear doesn't really effect the course of our lives in any discernible way. The kinds of decisions that matter are the kind in which it seems most intimidating to confront. Financial decisions and the truly intertwined nature of money in the social context of a human life realistically weigh monumentally. Choice of careers, choice of partners, choice of location and all the logistical and personal ramifications thereof; all of these are so large that they paralyze the logic centers of the brain. Perhaps it is how we react to this phenomenon that defines the paths we choose.

Reaction is key. All the forethought in the world, all the confidence, means nothing if in the end we are unable to act upon it. Some people react to the crushing weight of our own influence on the course of our relatively short lives with ease. They accomplish the goals they need to advance to a state of comfortability within the strictures of social human living. They do this simply because it is the thing to do and it suits the potential possibilities of their lives. Others over analyze (the irony of which does not go overlooked). They let the weight of the realizations freeze them in a perpetual state of unmoving. Some others dislike the idea of adhering to some great and imposing social norm.

The questions posed here are too hard to objectively answer. Everyone needs to choose for themselves -- react. Certain factors can motivate us to change, to envision a better future; the ability to overcome our natural inclinations. In the end, we choose almost without thinking. Our minds are already hard-wired to assess the world in the way we have grown accustomed. Perhaps the real secret to life is to live it. To react and live in the moment. Some would say there is always time to 'stop and smell the flowers', but maybe stopping is the exact opposite of what the nature of time dictates? The limits to our potential are, for the most part, creations of our own designs. Maybe we already have the answers to the questions of decisions and the ways in which they affect our lives. They are already there waiting for us to acknowledge what we already know.

The Accelerating Oblivion Race with no Finish Line.

As I get older the passage of time and the sequence of events that I experience become increasingly perceptively transient. Perhaps it is a symptom of growing older, and maybe it has something to do with the age group of which I am a part. Regardless of the reason, events accelerate more and more and I find myself astounded with how quickly time passes and how trivial the actions of myself and all the people around me seem. All around people live, they get into relationships, they get promoted, they graduate, they move, they achieve and they strive to succeed. Lately all of these endeavors have left me cold in that my mind continually seems to focus on the bigger end goal -- in other words, to what ends do we toil away in our little lives? Do we work towards some benevolent 'greater good'? Are we really furthering humankind by getting a degree and working a 40 hour a week job for the rest of our lives? Is artistic expression of any more value? For every 'Mona Lisa' or 'Sistine Chapel', a thousand thousand artistic expressions will have absolutely zero effect on the rest of the world. Movies are made and given increasing importance, but what does it add? A distraction; a subterfuge to divert attention to the fact that we are all hurtling light speed towards an ambiguous ending?

What's the point?

Perhaps the point is selfish. Maybe life and all of our secret machinations should be geared exclusively towards our own subjective pleasures. Maybe we should travel the world to see everything we can. Maybe we get the degrees so that we have the money to buy all the nice things that we believe we should have to obtain a complete life. Selfishly we can pretty much have it all, or better yet anything that we define 'it all' to be. Maybe. As for me, I find that a subjective existence is perhaps personally rewarding, but ultimately meaningless. As masters of our own destinies, we are in control to the reaches of our own little confined worlds. I can see how that would be enough for some, but personally (and perhaps ironically -- subjectively) it seems hollow. Anyone can be astonishing if they're setting the bar for being it.

If I was being honest, I think I am probably complicating matters far beyond what they should be. Fulfillment is subjective. One man's success is another man's wallowing. In the end, does any of it have meaning beyond the fact that we have satisfied ourselves? Is that enough? I enjoy my life. I do things. I do as many things as I can, but instead of feeling accomplished I wonder if I fill my life with events to ignore the fact that I'm doing it because I can't handle what's left without them.

Life is a series of events chained together to create a personal and unique timeline that ends up defining our existence. What if that series of events are just an unstoppable collection of moments we blindly choose as we miss the fact that time will run out before we ever get close to putting it in perspective? The more we do the faster time ticks away and sooner rather than later we turn around and realize we're just a series of memories that may or may not matter. And by the time we've realized this, isn't it too late to get context? Time is too big and we are too small to ever understand it the way its meant to be. I probably have a lot of life left to live. Still, I can't shake the feeling that the rest of it will play out fairly predictably; universally speaking. I'm racing towards oblivion at the variable speed of time and no matter what I do I can't seem to find how that counts. Is that the point?