The Sock-Monkey As Alone

  I feel like starting the day with a short blog post is a good way to channel my need to share. It very well could be a good way of getting away from the trauma porn. That has took up most of the space on this blog over the last ten years. So what is on my mind? Today, I have been trying to make some kind of connection between my love of ambitious literature and Japanese pop culture of the 1960s and 1990s. No connection has been found in the morning meditations. Except for the opposition of the aesthetics. One a kind of anti-product. The other has meaning in its position as a product. That finds meaning in their disposable nature. We are the children of the media. though in a world of slaves, who do we get the arrogance to claim we are not products? maybe the exchange of money for dreams is the connection. Maybe we should relinquish distinctions except for the point of connection. The meaning comes from the connection. the connection of joy and personal meaning... of watching the ...

  I thought of closing this blog. Of giving myself a fresh start. The past is as in flux as tomorrow will be. We can not cling to a hope beyond that of "God willing." But, ultimately, I decided to wait to see how next year makes me feel. I have wanted to move forward from depressive rambling. Or, the digression into post-psychotic trauma porn. I think art can be healing, but you have to be willing to be healed. You have to let the past have it's own life and yet not let it drag you down with the ship of expectations. I am writing and reading almost every day ( at one point, I was reading two hundred pages a day.) Closing the door of distraction and hoping I can move beyond saying I am the worst writer that has ever lived. So I can make myself take responsibility for my words, I type out for the hope of personal progress. I always wanted to be a renaissance man. To prove wrong the notion that sniveling has a place in discourse. to remove them like weeds surrounding any of ...

 Escape plan: a poem My mom ran after her puppy  He had been sick for too long He was bounding like a rabbit in spring… running away… Best we can figure is he didn’t want her to see him die But For good or ill She didn’t let him go She caught him and swept Him up in her arms Gently she said “what are you doing?” Bouncing him like a baby Getting ready to a nap. He passed away in her arms  I can see his reflection in her eyes while she holds him shaking with long quiet tears.

  Truth exists beyond our comprehension of it. The 1’s and 0’s of the hard drive of reality, our souls are stored on. Atoms are to matter what neurons are to thoughts. Meaning is to metaphysics what calculations are to physics. Reduction is seeing a Schrödinger's cat alive or dead before the box is opened. What happened after the box is opened is the only confirmed hallucination. Speculation got us here… but can it get us out of the box?