Operator, I’m Bound for the Floor

There is no way to circumvent the confusion of being alive. The world is a technology factory who’s crown jewel is pumping out equivocal-confusion, like a one-handed leper attempting to measure an expansive vacuum of nothingness with pinpoint accuracy, but credulous bias conjectures inevitably backslide into immutable uncertainty (a byproduct of nepotism and market-creating-demand – it is rigged to not make…). But, life can be a fantastic journey (if you accept the trip). With endless beauty to absorb, one has the opportunity to acknowledge and reflect upon the planet’s depth of unfathomable artistry. The aforementioned fact is not contingent on one’s ability to travel the world: one can never leave their yard and still not see everything. In addition to the recognition of beauty, another useful combatant to life’s sideshow of fitful ennui, is honoring the value of one’s time and health: it makes good sense. People have control over one thing (mostly), their reaction or lack thereof. Health is the arbiter of time. And when the confluence of accepting life’s inherent confusion flows into the recognition of health and time’s value, it gifts a possible remedy. A rough outline on how to remain fearless while exploring one’s potential, a supportive ballast while examining the curiosities of your confusion, a blueprint for humility when confronted with the face of nothingness, and the perseverance and understanding to assure you it is going to work out better than you hoped (the most difficult decision has already been made).

A child in the backyard wondering: where is that line of ants going? What is the frenetic hummingbird doing in all its abruptness around the honeysuckle shrub? I don’t understand how it is moving so fast? Or, why is the coach’s son starting when Tommy is a better player? What was before the “big bang?” How can cosmogony be spoken about in absolute terms by people who’ve never been to outer space? Where are my pants?

My naivete was usurped by booze, drugs, and chaos. They were my panacea, until they weren’t. I escaped. I went places unseen. I learned how malleable, willful, fragile, and strong the mind is. I witnessed demons fly out of Ozzy’s eye, played college baseball like it was 1913, danced in a fountain on the fourth of July, died twice, and came back to life – twice . After the second death, I decided I wanted to keep breathing.

And answers, what are answers? They are not solutions. Answers are 1950’s Jazz. Answers are Blind Willie Johnson’s “Dark was the night, cold was the ground” and Skip James’s “Sick bed Blues.” Answers are the ingredients to the swirling vortex of discarded plastic fueling the ocean’s undulating silver armor; they are the dancing slipstream of pollen as it blankets the fertile valley; they are a cricket’s stridulation – a limpid vibration, an ethereal dream. Answers treat the symptom but do not solve the problem. Answers are timeless works of art that cannot believe in tomorrow.

And nothingness, what is nothingness? Nothingness takes you out of the equation – it is humble (like a pangolin). It is a service to provide. Nothingness is the unimaginable vacuum of our expansive universe. Nothingness is the Earth’s latticed fascia of hydrogen bonds connecting all the oceans like mycelium hyphae. Nothingness is a selfless parent. It is all your hopes and dreams coming true, or it is all of your hopes and dreams pressed through a rusty meat grinder. But most likely nothingness is a combination of everything and nothing you ever thought and/or conceived. Nothingness will take care of you as long as you care for nothingness. Nothingness is the moment a person with two lives realizes they only have one. Nothingness just wants a friend and a hug.

All these silly ideas laid out feigning intellectual prowess. And whether you are aware or not, we all vibrate within the previously illustrated controlled chaos. Embrace the truth. Thank your god. Love as hard as you can – without hurting someone. Ask questions until you sound like an idiot. Volunteer yourself to stay home and clean your own house (literally and metaphorically). Don’t take no for an answer! Absolutely take no for an answer. Call your mother. Hold the door. Pick up trash. Don’t piss or shit on public toilet seats. Don’t expect anyone else to “save” you (especially not the federal government). If you still have a heart: follow it. If you lost your heart: find it. If you were born without a heart: steal one from someone who is not using it. Extol at being wrong. Limit your exposure to the sun. Treat all animals as you want to be treated. And, most importantly, “…don’t tug on Superman’s cape…don’t spit into the wind…don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger…don’t mess around with Jim.”  Jim Croce. Don’t Mess Around with Jim. ABC, 1972. Vinyl.

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