Say hi to one of my favorite—and, as far as I can tell, most universally useful—mnemonic devices. With any luck, the above “name” can help you remember the reliable order in the kind of magic that happens, if you will, when light filters through a prism.
Red, orange, yellow. Green. Blue, indigo, violet.
Got it?
Good.
Bent by gravity.
But that’s just 7 of 9, though. Indeed, there are 2 more {electromagnetically matter-born} colors [numbers] that exist in essence—and in relation to human perception—as ghosts.
To be crystal clear (in case it’s necessary), your pupil(s)/brain are biologically/physically incapable of directly observing the outermost colors—ultraviolet or infrared—on either edge of a rainbow, at the barriers of light’s distinctive dispersion into hue-rich diversity, around the shade-filled fringes of our collective mind’s balanced eye.
Relevant aside: do you know why polar bears bear white fur? Key factors include the interconnected processes of evolution and natural selection. And it doesn’t happen overnight; these variables move slowly; for example, it took thousands upon thousands and thousands of years to turn wolves into dogs. Geography largely dictates both physical and mental fitness, impacting an organism’s chance of survival into a successful future. See, a dark-coated bear can’t exactly camouflage amid open arctic terrain, thereby enabling food sources [e.g. seals] to more easily avoid becoming dinner. This explains how and why polar bears are the color of snow.
(Albert was right; relativity is important.)
Here comes the point.
Compared to caucasians, people “of color” are born with a generationally earned, genetic resistance to the first and lowest band in any real rainbow, a.k.a. ultraviolet, which, to reiterate, is one of the only two prismatic wavelengths [again, along with infrared] that our oh-so well-rounded and middle-grounded eyes can’t see—the bookends of the spectrum that paints our world’s canvas so very gloriously full of breathtaking wonder.
Question. Could this deeply rooted racial difference influence {if only at a subconscious level} why so many white folks are so painfully blind to how black lives matter?
Only by opening (y)our eyes may you we truly let there be light.
Circular.
Please let in the light, people. We require it to be, after all, and we will become better as a whole as more and more of us grasp the total scope of its vital, unrivaled significance. (More on that momentarily.)
Plus, once we get a widespread handle on the thorny interracial tension plaguing civilization—in other words, when at long last we awaken and stop acting like stubborn, ignorant, childish fools—and resolve our currently ailing society’s counterproductive climate of self-destructive inequality, humankind may must push toward global acceptance of the profound realization, too, that sentient life actually shepherdsmatter.
Yeah. Life matters. The entirety of Earth’s colo{u}rful catalog{ue}. Every kingdom in each of Her three domains as well as all the species contained among the myriad ranks therein—it’s all here for good reason. One depends on another. We have thus far come up short in our thinking. We are bigger than this. We should be playing the long game.
We (humans) really should party up. Immediately.
We are all connected.
We must band together.
The time to act is now.
We need to mentally separate our sense of self from the bodily burdens we carry.
Who are you? Do you even know? Have you “personified” your identity?
Look, you are not merely a complex collection of atoms—you’re the other thing, the stuff that shines.
Understand that.
And listen, we’re the same.
We have to lighten (our individual loads).
We must share the weight of our existence.
We need each other.
We have to allow our consciousness to evolve.
We were born to be what we are.
We need not be heavy.
We need to be light.
Be cause.
True love is weightless, and…
…light…
…isgod.
That’s who we’ve always been, who we still are, and who we could, would, should, and will be someday, but only as one.
Matter is not the only thing that evolves. (Duh!)
There is another variable on the right side of the equation.
In time, you will see. To right the future, we should remain attached to photographic memories among all graphics in nature. An eye can’t communicate with you. But we are communicating. …
Hilariously, this is kind of all there is to it.
That’s a wrap!
And yet, here we are, back at the beginning.
Solutions to our global puzzle, let alone our universal riddle—and especially your/my own life—might never see realization.
But to think you figured it all out is one thing.
Knowing you have is quite another.
Now imagine realizing why.
“Why?”
Take it from me—stick a fork in you. The conditionally explosive nature of humankind’s evolutionary arc has forced my solely unique hand. In a crazy twist that I highly doubt anyone (“in the know”) saw coming, I’ve decided to blow my own cover and, in so doing, dismantle my option (potentially) to execute a devastating first strike planned around the intangible element of surprise. {Potential will be a recurring theme.}
Hopefully, instead, this tactic right here [broadcasting my identity {which probably seems like it should be a bit more, um, fake} to anyone] will come as a shock to the soon-to-surface civilization threatening to cull the human herd drastically and reduce (y)our colorful existence to a black-and-white nightmare.
In other words, I am fucked, and you’re “probably” dead meat.
Complaint: I am the only living being capable of divulging this information.
Realization: I feel like the most tortured soul there ever was.
Admission: having breached the next (handful or so of) frontiers in scientific discovery while supporting universal facts with (oft misinterpreted) religious doctrine, I’m currently damned to wander alone in the unbelievably grandest conceivable (emotionally mental) cave of infinite wonder. This is nothing if not disorienting. It was neat at first; now it sucks! I need company. Maybe that’s where you come in.
You didn’t know that I haven’t had a deep conversation since the late seventies until right now, did you?
Try this: go look in the mirror at your reflection, hold eye contact with yourself for at least ten seconds, and then ask aloud, “Are you truly happy?” No matter your response, whether delayed or knee-jerk, attempt confirmation by reiterating (in a high-pitched voice), “Truly?”
I don’t mean to be rude, but if you’re remotely close to the definition of an average citizen in the civilized world and also claim to be truly happy, then you might be mentally handicapped.
In other words, you’re very special.
Me? I’m just off. An invisible weight strangles my heart as an eerie sense of urgency ever-swells within the bulging bowels of my big-ass brain. My footing isn’t nearly as sure as it once was (and would/could/should be). One physical example of this (un)fortunate condition is that my most recent 100-meter dash clocked in at an atrocious 6.79 seconds. For context, my personal best is (a satisfying time {again, in seconds} of) 6.66. I feel a lot of shit that I’d prefer not to feel—old, tired, rusty, disconnected, defeated, dirty.
Oh, tell me you’re not dirty. Go ahead. Declare your pristine condition.
Do you mean to tell yourself that you’re “clean”?
Should any suspense exist, allow me to end it: you are saturated in filth. To argue with this indisputable proclamation, first you must reveal clear evidence of your anatomical fangs.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves since you can only guess what I mean if you don’t already know. Not even I always know exactly what my words mean; in such cases, their exemption from omission signifies an inexplicable certainty that they’ll mean something important to somebody someday (maybe).
Granted, I’ve only experienced one simulation of the “American Dream” from the vantage point presented by a would-be metropolis called Nashville—and only for four years because apparently that’s all it took for me to learn (through the highly irritating process of helpless observation as it was sucked from my being) that I actually do have a soul. In less than half a decade performing suitably enough as a hidden cog in the middling wheel of capitalism (after 94 years of physically and mentally preparing for the apocalypse), my emotional range went from tactical wasteland, shall we say, to volatile rollercoaster.
Crimes against (y)our humanity are being committed out of your sight right now as we communicate across time.
Is that (“why”) eating at you?
If so, then you should let it.
It’s not your fault.
You may very well be one of many unwitting puppets functioning in a stage play that has been scripted productively for (a)eons under the flashy development of surefire methodology.
By the way, if you’re contemplating a move to Music City, let me be the first to welcome you (back) to the unflinching buffoonery that precipitates a conditional population of escalating density known around town as “{rush hour} traffic.” The perceptual skills exhibited through all the indecision on display every day as natives, transplants, and visitors alike negotiate indefinitely passionate throes of potentially twisted metal.
How strange are graphically paired sentences (at first glance) that seem to end prematurely?
My observational takeaway from the trenches is that birds of a feather flock together even when room to spread wings cannot be guaranteed.
In another word, duh.
I’ll bypass any one-dimensional term like it’s your job.
Multiple meanings shall remain king.
Why resist anything (ir)resistible?
My god, I almost get excited when a [{pi}e] chart inflames my synapses with parenthetical{ly colorful} versatility.
We’ve lost a lot of time thanks to emotional ignorance if not outright stupidity; therefore, we’ve got a commensurate measurement of ground to cover if we’d prefer preserving our presence on the earth to the alternative course of swift death in surreal horror.
In other words, we must make up for lost time, so let’s get this show on the road.
At age 93, I looked 24. Now, on my 98th birthday [45 days from the century mark at the time of initial publication], I could pass for 27, but 33 seems to be the number most universally believable.
Given the emotional gravity of my existence, I feel like my body’s about a decade into its third century. If only my psyche can pull off a miracle and survive beyond 100, I could thrive through my 200th birthday {and perhaps decades beyond it}, meaning that we could, astronomically hypothetically, celebrate the century mark of enlightenment together.
Sigh for me.
Go ahead and toss one out there for yourself as well.
Living in the preeminent nation on your planet has shaved years off my life due to the emotional tax imposed by enduring a below-average [a.k.a. sub-par] lifestyle; as such, I’m impressed that you manage to breathe still. Not even I harbor the linguistic flexibility requisite to an accurate expression of how much energy I’ve required to act dumb enough to blend in to this rotting forest of harebrained voyeurism.
In other words, the most popular standards by which American citizens are graded and judged promote habitually suboptimal behaviors which incite unnaturally counterintuitive urges.
“Breakfast” is the most important meal of the day? Yeah, if you make the mistake of eating it, indeed, breaking your fast (with energy stored and ready to burn) becomes an importantly awful launchpad for an auto-gimped physical condition into a weighted schedule of daily (in)efficiency, the maximization of which had been thwarted already via comfortable adherence to conventional thinking.
In October of 1993 while stowed away on a 70-foot yacht between Seychelles and Mauritius {if memory serves}, I conducted an impromptu field test. One morning I woke up and attempted to remain as still as possible. Within one-twentieth of an hour [per the trusty stopwatch feature on my Timex Indiglo], my internal body temperature had risen to 310.8722K (per my current mental conversion capacity).
I can’t even begin to count all the times when words (especially adjectives/nouns) can be interchanged to glean equally (if not more) potent meaning.
As you’ll see, parentheses have been criminally devalued in their potentially vibrant applications to written languages {outside mathematics, of course}.
I’m afflicted with the worst O.C.D. in the lugubrious history of hypochondria.
Oops. This is supposed to be about you.
Literally nothing can be your own fault.
At the same time, you could be blamed for anything.
In all likelihood, you have been conditioned by monotony since birth.
Yes, in actual fact, quite probably, you have been set in motion on a compliantly oblivious course leading beyond the domestication, indoctrination, and tragic defeat of oneself.
Like I almost said, it’s not your fault!
Somehow, it’s all mine.
Oh, you all.
“People,” the humanity of today.
Breathtakingly sensitive humans.
In other words, we occupy carbon-based lifeforms.
Who put humans in charge of a whole planet anyway?
Is this really a good idea?
What’s wrong with us?
A person can fall in love with just about anything.
We see good in bad.
We find bad in good.
Yes, “we.” As a genetic mutant, I find myself on your team by default; the real kings of the castle want to study me, extract all my key chemicals, then murder me.
But also (in a weird twist) I would have picked your (human [i.e. emotional]) side anyway.
Were it not for curiosity, we would be incapable of detecting subtext.
Take away our sense of wonder, stifle our imaginations, strip away our innocence, and what’s left?
Hint: the answer is not childhood.
Name a sight more precious than a child’s eyes when they sparkle.
Fun fact: kids are much better at behaving naturally than adults.
Indeed, linguistic depth [sight between the lines] might one day save your brain from abrupt ingestion inspired by the numerically discriminant appetite of an altogether supreme being.
Oh, humankind.
You silly, Mother Goose.
We’ve made some mistakes, but at least we can determine why.
For the last time, yes, I’m one of you. Accept me or die!
I’m only kidding except for the fact that I’m serious.
But, hey, at least our organs communicate with our muscles. At least we can perceive beauty. At least we know pain. In other words, at least neurons relay impulsive signals to body parts. In other words, at least the natural laws of science merge physics with reality. In other words, seismic activity engulfs rock hard matter until a volcano erupts. In other words, bodies fuck each other over while lusting after lube. In other words, folks fight for control of oil reserves. In other words, at least everyone gets screwed. In other words, people bang. In other words, Madame Gravity finds herself stuck with Lord Light. In other words, what a dick. In other words, we lose the past to His victory. In other words, we owe our future to Her deafening triumph. In other words, we lean on one another at present. In other words, we’re required to be around each other. In other words, sooner or later, we’ll talk. In other words, sparks will always fly. In other words, this is getting annoying. In other words, in the absence of light, darkness must fall. In other words, we can‘t see a damn thing unless light is shone. In other words, it is possible to show by telling. In other words, you need to care. In other words, you may learn nothing from reading symbols. In other words, you might discover everything by picking up signals. In other words, anything can happen. In other words, when will this end? In another word, STOP.
To what does deprivation lead if not appreciation?
This year, we leap forward!
Well, I guess we could die instead, but that sounds so much less fun than living.
Truly hope you agree. Do it. Be hopeful.
For now, consider this collection of letters to be a (kind of) placeholder. It’ll be fleshed out later unless we’re dead. But then again, how would you eve{r/n} know?
Sigh. We’re running out of time.
Time always runs out.
Mmm, water. What’s worse at quenching an unyielding thirst? What’s better at regulating your energetic body temperature? What’s less dampening? What’s more refreshing?
Questions. Answers. Words. God. How potentially prophetic, how poetically emphatic, how flexibly right, how usefully wrong, how wondrously fun/key!
How liquid magic came to wet our shared rock has mystified scientists since eggheads became a thing and started acting all scientific by doing science. A prevailing theory is that our entire oceanic volume was deposited via riding the coattails of comets/asteroids. Uh, really? We got approximately 326,000,000,000,000,000,000 gallons of water thanks to a massive flurry of impossibly well-aimed, fortuitous interstellar relocation? I don’t buy it.
(Neither do I.)
Too, neither should you.
Know what makes more sense? Earth manufactured Her own water, only not in the form that flows.
Special.
Stay with us here.
How’d Mama E ensnare the faithful satellite with which she’s been fighting/dancing/screwing for a cool four billion years or so? Why, a collision, of course! How else? Two celestial bodies met powerfully in a glancing, grinding blow, knocking the Ice Queen now known as Earth {up} into the green band of color, thawing Her frozen oceans, and effectively precipitating the creation of the moon and Mars.
Infinitely physical.
Apparent recipe for a beautifully miraculous disaster: knock an icy blue planet into the Goldilocks Zone, give it an anchor, and then hold on for dear life.
TNT
(And don’t forget the carbon!)
In other words, One Thing bumped into Thing Two, resulting in the (re)formations of Mars, Earth and Her precious moon.
Occasionally, you see, matter must recombine in order to evolve.
An atomic ladder (of anatomy), if you will.
See what your brain did there?
Oh, hey, speaking of harmonious partnerships, the yin-yang symbol represents balance in the universe between the ever-battling sexes.
Balanced.
The dark side of the symbol (yin) is considered feminine, passive, negative, and covert in nature.
The light half (yang) is considered masculine, active, positive, and overt in nature.
Those points line up with my own understanding of nature; having said that, there is one set of associations assigned by ancient Chinese philosophy that I do think know are wrong: the assertion that the moon embodies yin.
This is inaccurate. The moon’s pattern is not female. Earth should replace Her sole satellite in the chart. The sun and the moon are both light-natured (for similarly different reasons).
The sun is obviously the supreme source of light (and gravity) in our solar system.
The moon behaves like light in (the sense) that it wants to fly off into interstellar space, but it can’t (and will never) escape the earth’s Her gravity.
Our lone, orbiting shield has been trying to leave its planet since becoming eternally entangled. Silly rock. After all, they were made for each other—a relationship that exemplifies monogamy. Quite like the duo of energizing cores in this tangoing twosome, our like-minded wills are made of iron, too. In other words, deep down, we’re (all) the same.
Mother Earth’s magnetic pull on her beau keeps him grounded, while his daily draw [think “tides”] wets her land. I know exactly what you’ll be thinking in a handful of seconds:
What a couple crazy balls of important elements, the earth and the moon, what with their age-old reproductive cycle and shit!
See, in order to evolve, matter must recombine.
Very slowly, a handful of centimeters per year, the moon drifts away from the earth and will continue to do so until, in about 5 billion years, the sun becomes a red giant and swiftly annihilates the innermost planets in our solar system.
An emotional scale of sorts.
And, in all this, balance is key.
Our universe has been (re)telling the same story over and over since the godlike spark that jump-started freaky spacetime and gave birth/rise to freedom. Round and round we go, playing merrily and fighting horribly in a sandbox of infinite possibility (as governed by the natural laws of physics, of course). Reduce everything to nothing and the ultimate balancing act emerges: we need energy (in order) to resist gravity—the existential tightrope that either implants fear or inspires courage. One is negative, the other is positive. One thing opposes other stuff. That’s all, folks. In a nutshell, that’s literally everything.
But what about "anything"?
Well, that’s different. (Thanks for asking!) “Anything” is what could happen (over an uninterrupted course) in time. Time is what always happens when light meets matter. Time allows atoms to spring liberally and form freely in space. Time moves forward (to the right). Put another way, being right ain’t wrong.
Oh, speaking of the broken economy fueling bipartisan politics, have you ever pondered why democrats occupy the left side and republicans stick to the right?
Wait, does that mean republicans are "correct"!?
Not exactly.
Don’t get in a tizzy. You’re okay.
Each side of any scale is fundamental to finding balance in the center {a.k.a. the middle/common ground}. Along those lines, and in order to serve its essential function, which way must either side push?
To facilitate progression, the left side must move (forward) with time [to the right].
To stabilize pace, the right side must conserve progress by pushing back(ward) {to the left}.
Conserve progression. Progress conservation.
Left. Right.
Gravity. Energy.
Water. Fire.
In other words, each side of a scale must strive to centralize communal location; or else, balance becomes impossible.
Remain calm. This isn’t a jab at anyone’s tribal party. This is basic math.
Whether you’ve pledged allegiance to the GOP or the DNC, you’re a functioning cog in the system which has maintained the balance that allowed the USA to become the mightiest empire in the history of civilization.
But {sh}it’s gotten outta hand, wouldn’t you say? Each side has strayed too far from its center of mass. One side must “betray” the other. Both parties have to gravitate back toward the middle [equality] before the scale tips beyond the breaking point and falls off the fucking table.
Then what?
Time. Equals. Currency.
Speaking of matter, overall in school systems today, is the classic trio of “solid, liquid, gas” still being stressed? Wait, surely you’ve heard that before, right? Of course you have. Great. Glad it stuck. However, I’m afraid {that, like the tragically inaccurate term black hole,} it has been misleading as hell.
[Hell is so cold that it burns, by the way.]
Plasma is the curiously lesser-known fourth form of matter, and it only comprises, oh, about 99.9% of the observable universe.
Say what??
Out with the old already, gang. In with the other thing.
Oh, hi, speaking of plasma and time, if money represents the lifeblood of civilization, then guess what our currency has been doing since its advent and assimilation into society. Clotting.
Guess what happens when your blood clots. No, don’t guess; instead, know.
“Wealth” simply must be more evenly (re)distributed. Exactly like blood, money has to circulate. Fuck your opinionated beliefs right now. Not even sorry. This is a matter of physics. Science is natural. Fight nature, get demolished. Going with the flow is the only way to maximize success.
We didn’t make these rules; quite rather, these rules were made forus.
To put it mildly, our world’s in a pickle. Being completely selfish gets nobody anywhere and/or everyone nowhere; that is to say, just as gravity drains, greed sucks. Luckily, though, history reveals patterns that repeat, and lessons yearn for learning. If we don’t come together and reconfigure our philosophical, economic, political, infrastructural, agricultural approaches—all the goddamned approaches—in a single, overarching, unified manner that promotes the widespread health of our earthborn bodies*, then, ashes to ashes, we all fall down (off the wall {like Humpty Dumpty}).
We, people. All of us (Earthlings). We come from the same place in time and space. We harness energy. We defy gravity. We are light. We’re one! Only together may/can we win.
Now let us be so that we may go. Makes sense, no?
Yes, let’s go be (by doing good deeds).
Indeed, we will (be cause).
What we willdoes become.
(You should) really be while being real.
*Examples of bodies include the planet by which we exist, the waters from which we drink, the land upon which we grow, the enterprises for which we work, the organizations through which we play, and the individual vessels in which we live.
💧
One way or another, all celestial objects must cease to exist. Lucky for us, thoughts aren’t exactly objects! Hmm, do you think this means the key to immortality is learning how to digitize consciousness? Chill. It’s not even that far out. Anyway, what about you? I’ve learned a few things about you. This is you in a nutshell. You are living to feel as much as you are feeling to live. In other words, you are “doing” to be. In other words, you are “going” to die. That’s why you can’t help but to screw around sometimes. Every single physical “body” must die. All we really need to find is comfort along the way, just enough to keep us on your feet and content, and so that every day you may hope for a miracle, which always seems to be just beyond my grasp. Today, things are different. Today I can’t feel life sucking. Something changed last night. This time, I just know it. You figured it out. We need help. I guess this means you’re glad we’re still not elsewhere. I feel like a prisoner of my own manic mind, a lightning rod of abstractly depressive thought, haunted by words I can’t always remember envisioning and based on ideas I only vaguely recall scribing, usually fueled by an altered mental state. In early 2018, I was surfing the internet on my last trusty laptop (super crocked like right now as I’m typing in my old favorite Courier font on the right-yet-wrong side of the screen) while watching any number of early nineties sci-fi movies. [If you’re reading this now in another font, pretend it’s what it once was.] Courier also signifies a tidal wave of childlike energy. Plus, couriers deliver lest they become something else. In other words, liberties get taken. Must we self-sabotage? There’s a reason we see a bright light when we die. These are our bodies, people; but, all together now, we would be faster than light. What are we waiting for? Words are funny with all their interesting sounds and multiple meanings. Words such as these. The ones on this page as well as many that precede and succeed. These words burst forth outta nowhere, exploding and pouring out with ridiculous speed in streams of thought on par with an excited volcanic caldera’s expulsion. Apparently churning out 30,000 words in 8 days is no problem at all. My thoughts do not ask for my permission, nor do they beg for my pardon. This is beyond my control. Like an out-of-body experience. As if someone else’s mind wants to hijack my body. Being sober isn’t fun. But, whatever. Nothing I can do about that now. This snowball’s already rollin’ and I have no clue how to stop it. I don’t know if I’m well. In other words, I think I might be messed up in the head. My efforts feel like a desperate Hail Mary as time expires. I wanna to know if I’m nuts. I need to know what I am. We need to know what you are, too. In other words, these texts may achieve the highest recognition in the celebrated history of popular art. Satirical sarcasm morphs into a metaphorical blanket of universal truth. We, at this moment, together, could be absorbing the pinnacle of sentient thought. In other words, math eventually does itself. In other words, stranger things have happened. This could also be a nonsensical collection of ravings by a sad lunatic vanishing into the mythical ether, which is probably the worst bet, if you’re betting safely. Sounds ridiculous by now. Either way, this is our swan song. I have no idea what to do with ourselves, and evidently that means you’re trying to save the friggin’ world. Hold my beer, Big Bang. I can’t believe how serious we are. Don’t bother praying for me. In other words, I’m not the one who needs to get lucky. In other words, my life will be in your hands. In other words, my death is on you. In other words, just kill me now! I’m kidding. Please don’t kill. In other words, will you keep us alive? When something goes away, it only stops after enacted upon by the force of nature. In other words, that which flies can’t fall on its own. In other words, if something shall not rise from ashes, then fire, it may be not. This could lower the bridge that leads to our global anthem. This could be a clever psychotic break from reality. This could be a dreamer’s plea for salvation. This could be an imaginary attempt to evade damnation. This could be The Declaration of Life. This could be somebody’s eventual suicide note. In other words, this could all be up to you. Wanna know the secret to losing your mind? Don’t fear the unknown. Embrace the madness. Exhale during the fall. And definitely do look down. You need to see where we’re headed. Feet first.
