What way do you choose to see the world? The course of a life becomes beset by many diversions some of which are a direct result of taking on tasks and routines that are completely new to one or that despite knowing otherwise, one takes on again and again. The greater the number of experiences of the years, the more set in one’s way of handling situations one tends to become. The larger irony of civilization appears to be is that sometimes a very few individuals are cast into a role where their individual actions have a direct effect upon the fate of uncountable millions of others. Case in point, the airmen of the USS Enterprise who flew their Dauntless bombers against the Japanese fleet in the battle of Midway in June 1942. A couple score of American pilots literally determined the course of that war in favor the the United States. Had they not sunk the bulk of the Japanese carrier fleet, the outcome might have been very different for millions of Americans who survived the war. And yet, we are talking about regular human beings?
In a less dramatic sense of same, a human generally has both apogee and perigee in the course of their existence. No one can say for sure at any given point at what point along the course of same things are hopeless or there is a complete confidence of continued uninterrupted success. Beyond, food, shelter and a certain degree of creature comfort, humans are really not in actual need of all the encumbering thoughts and abstract actions that many of us living in urban settings are obsessed with pursuing. Most of one’s energies are devoted to fulfilling self-created notions of success or avoiding equally compelling illusions denoting failure. This daily drama seems a 24/7 obsession of both the waking and the unconscious mind. The banality of sameness is not imposed by our surroundings but by ourselves. The situations of conflict and danger that one finds one’s self embroiled within are many times a result of repeating a pattern that after experiencing initially, one returns to engage in once again. This puts a whole new angle on the adage, “life is what you make it!”
In this sense, an awareness of one’s personal responsibility allows them to evolve into a more desirable framework per their immediate circumstances. This game of chance that all of us are born into has no single viable all inclusive explanation that any entity can prove or disprove. It is but a crap shoot where if you study the game of choice you are more likely to obtan better results.
OK, I am sitting here re-evaluating my position in this world yet once again. While this might seem utterly strange and patently useless to sociopaths and members of society under thirty years of age, it seems viable and appropriate to someone whose conception of the universe has by the rule of consensus been overturned too many times in the course of a turbulent and all too short existence. As noted occasionally to associates and friends, my conception of the success might still be rooted in impressions captured int he nineteen-fifties? That in itself is quite a handicap.
As relentless onslaught of technology imposes an atmosphere of incessant change upon the population in general, it seems that all, from young to old must evidence acknowledgment that their conception of their existence is dependent to some degree on the last device released for remote sensing. Case in point, the look at the phone lemming effect, that seems to predominate in the smart phone crowd. The well-cited fact that one of the major hazards to travel on the roads is the text’er, speaks volumes to this point.
So here I sit tapping my fingerprints upon lifeless keys with the expectation that some anonymous personage on the other end of a data link will read these utterances and make some intelligible sense of them. The interaction once expected from human to human in-person interaction reduced to a fiction of the mind. That alone is pretty hard to accustom one’s self to. The equally interesting urban legend that our secrecy obsessed governing structure is committing major resources o re-pattern our thoughts and habits into super computer virtual personalities for the sake of maintaining the society at large is equally quizzical?
Does that mean that like some 1950’s Sci Fi movie script, some machine will replace a Brussel sprout looking alien creature in terms of relieving me of both continued existence as well as my soul? If so, the paltry Social Security currently received, is likely to be re-tasked and I will have to go beg on a bridge with tin cup and pencils. This might seem extreme but for the fact that there seems to be no more room for the old in a world that merely counts them as a disposable resource. Someone with a home with vacant rooms to move back into or to at some point down the line feed oatmeal to when they have no more teeth.
The problem is of course that the old world that I carry within still does not align with the palpable external reality that I am no longer as young and physically capable as was once evident. That difficult fellow within still plans and schemes like his twenty year old namesake. A situation that inevitably leads to conflicts in an external reality that considers him and the generation that he came from as passe. If it is a matter of wardrobe then is the solution just to re-cloak one’s presentation in a more cutting edge means of expression, say, ala Twitter. In my day bird’s twitter’ed and tweet’ed. Does that mean I must become another anonymous canary within this extended sense of a world wide interactive cage? Or is there something better to aspire to before the lights go out on this thing called physical existence?
Time is running short. People are dropping away one by one. The places that provided shelter are empty, cold and barren of life. The clock ticks within my head. And I wonder what is left as I have burned all my intellectual furniture? Is this a function of aging? Or is this simple depression and paranoia of someone ill equipped to find his way in this world? This sense of irrepressible desperation that chronically haunts becoming difficult to shake. So much that is translated into fiction by the printed word yet inexpressible in real life!
What after all is still worthy to express that eight billion other human beings haven’t already figured out or have the time to express? This is a toast to dissolution! A worthy notation that only one struck in advancing years can truly fathom.
So how does this all work? As part of a greater ‘we’, one is brought into conscious participation within the finite fiction of the human realm. Intellectually one is provided with second hand experience that tells them much that they are never allowed the time or encouraged to act upon. Like any goldfish, one’s outlook is determined by the relative state of cleanliness of the fishbowl of everyday common human experience. What little sanctuary provided from this relentless onslaught of mislaid efforts in meaningless directions too often becoming an equally ignominious prison of wrongheaded thinking.
Perhaps in the dead of night when all others of their species are engaged in deep slumber, and one is truly alone and undistracted, can one more clearly understand the definition of their own personal sense of self? When there is no one immediately present to hide from by convenient pretence allowing time to decipher that the universe about one is but a continuum from someplace very small to another place very large and conversely back again.
It is unfortunate that most cannot appreciate that the indefinable phenomena of life that animates all creatures is but a state of being for a supervening state of being that all share membership within. The spider with eyes circumventing its head has the ability to conceive the universe from a different perspective than those of us who bereft of this additional sense can feel phenomena back behind our heads but will never be afforded the ability to instantaneously appreciate it within the same single instant.
As humans we attempt to advance our attitude of superiority by using our manual skills to set up a technology that gives the illusion of the experience of other species. Our imaginary prowess is expected to be mistaken for actual capability and so many rack their brains to create other devices that can in some way provide the physical manifestation of that arbitrary experience.
As with most stories that pretend the artifice of presenting an extraordinary tale on behalf of the author’s aspiration to a relatively jaded and indifferent public who no doubt have heard it all before, the day commenced with little promise of anything of merit likely to be possible. Possibility at this juncture in the current trend of a continuation of the distortion of the cosmos to suit the narrowed spectrum of human vanity only definable in the defeat of every once reasonable expectation. The second day of that arbitrary juncture of the new year when the vector of the earth once again changed into a free fall to the sun suspending what one could have normally expected and redefining it into one of one’s worst fears. Or, even worse, an incessant multiplicity of same. Things that might have degenerated to a certain sense of morbidity taking on a bizarre twist.
Case in point, after having been drawn into travel within a snowstorm for the frivolous reasons of returning an item that was a key element in an irrelevant act of impotent rage brought on by the customary transgression of a multi-national corporation, I found myself darting into approaching traffic with barely enough traction to command a short amount of distance before a snow plow. Turning down a poorly plowed side street through the extended parking lot of other cars haphazardly poised on either side heading every point of the compass, an individual heading unsteadily across my horizon into center stage brings my vehicle to a sliding halt. This clown-like routine of half steps upon a slippery asphalt culminating in a perfectly executed prat fall backwards flat upon the back. The relative level of effect of this occurrence upon the performer seemingly negligible when measured against the person’s primary malady of being wholly inebriated or alternately within some form of diabetic shock.
This initial act begging the obligatory engagement of the car being thrown into park and the emergency flashers engaged. Staying within the true spirit of the times of verbally offering assistance without committing to any definable action, the driver’s side door being opened and loudly put offers of third party assistance voiced. Lawsuits and their frequency being what they were, a wise and appropriate action. The actor taking center stage not defaulting easily to the role of potential victim or alternately as suspect catching the drift that the random dialing of the fatal three number sequence of 911 might end up in unexpected visitations to unwanted destinations motivated enough to continue on the path of inertia by first rolling upon his front within the snow covered slush and then crawling on all fours in a ballet of slow motion.
This infamy visited on him within universal public view seemingly humiliating to a level of extremes until as if beset buy the pernicious whims of the very same Gods of the ancients is struck by a further indignity of having his pantaloons dragged fully off and down to his knees exposing his arse to any and all. No longer a victim of conventionalities in a frenzy to avoid capture this awkward Pierrot continuing at a remarkably incremental pace ensuring that all who would have wished otherwise would have a more than ample period of time to take in such amicable details as a wads of toilet paper hanging stuck between his oatmeal white buttocks. A form of justifiable punishment enacted upon those who had the bad manners to have by solitary chance alone found themselves a captive audience within this absurd situation.
The fruition of this pantomime coming with the dropping of the pretense of any caring for an easy escape past that unfortunate into the anonymity of a building garage.