CHAPT14

~Chapter Fourteen~

CADENCES---

~CHAPTER 14~

HEAD ON A RAIL---

"Better the pride that resides, in a citizen of the world, than the pride that divides, when a colorful rag is unfurled."

--- Peart

All this dividing and separating. All this bravado to show the world how much better we are than them. The whole time, the only reason we are not they, is because of where we're born. It's not that you're better than the others. If anything, maybe you're lucky. The only reason you believe this or that, is because that's what you're taught. It's belief by proxy. With all this division, refusing to believe that we're a specialized kind of ape is really
difficult to swallow for those who insist they're separate from everyone and everything else.

At no time did Charles Darwin (or his accomplice, Alfred Wallace) ever say that we came from monkeys or apes. He simply said that humans share with them, a common ancestry. Evolutionists say that, as far as primates go, there was an original species that diverged into each of the known primates we see today. That includes humans. Evolution is a natural progression from one point in time to another, and it will always exist as long we live in a universe that's precipitated by change.

Alas, until endeavors such as the human genome project prove that all things on the planet are directly related through our DNA, then there will always be those groups who regard the evolutionists as heretical.

We call this compulsion "anthropomorphism," which is the unfortunate habit we have of seeing ourselves at the center of everything. It's better for us to suppose that humans are the masters over anything non-human. Whether talking about creation, or love, it's become a pissing contest of sorts. In a universe that's so much greater than us, and in a world racing out of control, some people feel the need to put their own mark upon it for a sense of control over our own destiny.

Why do young lovers carve their initials on a tree? Because, unless it's turned into junk-mail, the tree will live longer than they will. Symbolically, their declaration of love will never die. In the hormone drenched minds of young lovers, the world will always remember that love. Humans did the same thing when they first set foot on the lunar surface. We'll ignore those who say humans have never set foot on the moon. Some conspiracy theories are more lame than others.

Here's something I've just recently realized, regarding conspiracy theories. It seems that those favored by those in the conservative camp are geared to disprove something that actually happened, like humans landing on the moon. They say it didn't happen, when clearly, it
did. Liberal or progressive conspiracy theories on the other hand, are forced to prove that something happened, when it DID happen. They see nearly infinite data suggesting that, for instance, JFK's assassination involved more than a single gunman, thanks largely to the Zapruder film. "Back, and to the left... Back, and to the left."

Clearly, the fatal shot was fired at close range, from alongside the motorcade. It's a fact born out by real evidence. Yet the conservatives, who's very existence depend on lies, see a completely different unfolding of events. We believe whatever we WANT to. Pesky facts be damned.

Let's look more closely at the claims of men never having landed on the moon. When they did in fact, land there, the first order of business for the astronauts, involved the staking of the moon's surface with the American flag. This was no better than an expensive display of "squatter's rights." People think they own a thing if they can write their name on it. It's not unlike a dog or a tiger marking its territory. Really, it's as simple as that. Feelings of insignificance make for the need to conquer. People as a whole, feel inadequate, so they try to compensate by making the world bend to their will. That's how it all began, and that's how it remains today.

It also puts all of us in a precarious position as a species. Putting ourselves in such a high place makes a great fall more plausible. The way things are lately, I can't help but sounding like another nihilist. Worse than that, I even kind of come off like one of those bible people who take satisfaction is reminding us that "pride goeth before a fall." It'd be nice to take on a more hopeful view. I'd like to be able to say here, that things will work out just fine. How is it possible to do that without feeling like a hypocrite?

Things will be just fine, as far as the universe is concerned. Not meaning to sound callous now, but going back to what we said in the introduction...

When this rather expansive project commenced, we were quoting, or should've been quoting Timothy Ferris I believe. Maybe we were only paraphrasing when we said:

"99% of all life on this planet has passed quietly away. No stars will wink out in our honor if we in our folly, should soon join them."

Yes, about that. I used to do a lot of reading, and if something caught my mind's eye, well, I'd make it my own. I surely never intended to be writing a book about all these disparate and confusing themes. As a result of all that reading, sometimes I'm not certain as to whether or not the words written here are mine, or if they were "borrowed" from someone else. It's so confounding, wanting so much to be original, but reading works of others who are far more profound.

No matter how clever we think we are, chances are, someone's already said it. It's all about language. Whether the words we say are original or not, I've always been in love with language. There's a word for everything, and the more important the object, the more words there are to describe it. I guess it goes along well with what was said about how we need to make everything our own. Like with a baby, assigning a name or a word to it, makes it ours.

Nevertheless, it's fascinating how we can encapsulate an entire philosophy, thought, feeling, or desire--- with but a single word. By way of example, and as might be expected if you happen to be an Australian aborigine, you'd have hundreds of words for "water." Water's very important to them. That's due in no small way, to why they live such nomadic lifestyles. They're forever in a continuous search for a substance so rare in the arid outback where they live, the water. That's why we use words. Where once there was ambiguity in life, we now have words with which potential voids can be effectively negated.

It's my sacred duty to remind you that just as these words can liberate you, so too can they imprison you. The languages of our culture can enslave us, so even our language is in need of upgrades. With words, are attached the limitations that can sometimes become invisible enemies. Take the word "never," which is key to title given to these essays. Many viable ideas have been dismissed with a single response, "It'll never happen, not in my lifetime."

Keep in mind, that nearly every great advancement in civilization has doubtlessly been met with a similar response. And yet, the pyramids were erected (at a huge human toll), the Golden gate was spanned, and human made artifacts have been sent on their way out of our solar system. Never is a word that tries to hold us back, until never comes. And, as much as the fearful try to fight it, it will keep on coming. We hunger for the knowledge that will enable the never. If we're persistent enough, maybe such a word as "never" will be reevaluated too. Someday, it will have as much meaning as "can't" or "won't." Because "can't" loses all meaning when you "do," just as the word "won't" eventually falls before the sheer force of human will. In order for that to happen, knowledge is the key.

Have you seen the idiots that are still calling all the shots in world affairs? I can't help but wonder again, if being knowledgeable is really considered all that sacred a quality anymore. We sometimes forget that we live in a country where less and less attention is paid to education. Wouldn't it make sense that if education is so important, then more money be spent on attracting better educators?

Maybe it's like we say. Our leaders would really rather not have a future population that asks questions. That could lead to all kinds of trouble. I don't think our current leaders need worry though, at least so far as I can tell. Within 4 seconds of me leaving the house, along comes yet another low rider vehicle, or 4 wheel drive truck (very important in this rugged, Iowa terrain). The low bass tones assault my senses as another gargantuan vehicle rumbles its way by, its subwoofers shaking protons loose from their orbits. No doubt about it, we live in one dumb country.

Maybe I'm being a little unfair, but not all that much I don't think. All I know is, I listen to a lot of music. Sometimes, it helps a person to stay centered. When life feels chaotic, it's natural to seek order. Music is one way of creating order out of all that chaos. As some of you may have noticed, I'm fond of this Neal Peart fellow. Known as one of rock's best drummers, he also has a profound flair for lyrics. Combine his words and percussion with his band mates, and you have the Canadian rock trio, Rush. Their fans are loyal and dedicated, much like Trekkers are faithful to Mr. Spock. Probably not too hard to guess at this point--- that's me.

I thought I'd delve a little more into music. Beyond the structure to disorder idea, I'm also fond of anything that can create unity. All pulse together as one entity, if moved by the right tune. That's because music transcends all boundaries. It's a universal language. Frankly, I couldn't imagine a world without music. It's gotten us through some rough times in our history. Music has charms to sooth the savage breast, as they say. I'm not sure who "they" are, but I'll bet they had an awesome record collection.

Music is the reward to a patiently listening soul. We're all urged to heed our needs, and in a grander sense, to recognize the needs of the soul. The reason a person chooses a certain type of music and makes it so integral to their life, is because it most closely resembles the ideals that are valued by that individual. One of the ways some people cope, is through the songs that have become a part of them. If the music has sufficient meaning, it can bring a little light into the dark days. Without music, sometimes hope seems a little less easy to come by. It's why the "caged bird sings."

It also makes for one mean air guitar. Some of the music toward which I gravitate is pretty extreme. It probably has something to do with music having lots of energy going along with a manic state of mind, not to mention how it can motivate a good work out routine. Speaking of health, there are many ways to gauge a
culture's health, one of which is to examine its creative output. This can even be said of a society's music too. Is it just me, or a part of the aging process that makes me wonder:

"Where has all the good music gone?"

It could simply be that I've grown too rigid or close-minded to listen to anything new, I suppose. At this point in life, I guess most of the hard wiring is done. I've often wondered if the music we choose to let represent us is actually better than the newer stuff, or if it just reflects our fondness for nostalgia. As for modern tunes, I'd prefer to think that there are always exceptions to every rule, but in this case, I have my doubts. There doesn't seem to be much music in music these days.

This watering down has been going on for almost 20 years now. Fortunately, many of the past's favorite bands, the old stand byes, are still at it. That's because their music is a part of who they are. There's integrity there, and not just a burning desire to make it to the billboard charts, so that you can do the grind with the latest it girls. Like with any true artist, it's a life long love and passion. You can hear it in the music they still play.

For many of us, music is a form of religion. It should be kept to yourself, or at least listened to at a respectful volume. That doesn't mix well with this "in your face" mentality of the streets. It's always nice naturally, to have someone with whom to share your love, but does it have to be shared with anyone within a 5 mile radius? But, to be fair, I'm probably pretty scary looking I'm sure, as I air drum my way through another Judas Priest song. No one needs to see that.

I hesitate to leave the house sometimes, for fear that maybe one of the neighbors bore witness to my musical "possession." Sometimes, I prefer to stay inside. I've tried to expand my horizons musically, but am usually left cold by what I hear. I sort of feel pity for generation X, and the less than honorable noise they listen to. I have to think they'd like the classics, if properly introduced.

Maybe part of the point of music, is to just have fun. Why must every tune have social relevance, or complex melodies? Believe it or not, sometimes people just want to dance. Remember, it's all about feeling connected. Dancing is one way to get that feeling.

True, most people consider music to be mere entertainment, and there's nothing wrong with that. But where's the harm in being fun and pertinent at the same time? I'm only venting now, but my passion for music is one less facet of myself that I feel can be shared with anyone else. We're all close minded in one way or another. With me, it's taken to extremes. I guess that's why they call it "the blues."

It probably has something to do with this bipolar point of view of mine. Whatever the reason, if I don't understand it, then I tend to ignore it. It's a bitter pill to swallow when considering how I try so very much to understand everything. I try reaching out to my fellow humans, only to find that most of the connections have been severed. The sense of isolation I usually feel is magnified.

We all try to make these connections, but sometimes the effort only serves to remind us of how cut off we remain. It's not a complete loss though, if we attend to the needs of this energy we're carrying around inside of us. Music has charms to sooth the soul, along with the savage breast. Yes, it's BREAST. Look it up. Besides, any excuse to use the word "breast again," and I'll take it.

Music is indeed, supposed to resonate with the frequency setting of the soul. We're not being symbolic here at all. The entire universe hums with what could only be described as music. Some have called it "the cosmic fugue." Stars fill up the cold vacuum of space with their songs.

No, this isn't some silly little metaphor. Literally, the stars are singing. They radiate with vibrations which can be picked up in that portion of the light spectrum we call radio waves. Souls, which are themselves made of light, respond favorably to those vibrations that most closely match their own resonance image.

When the soul's one with the cosmic fugue, which is to say, when it's free from its corporeal limitations--- it's immersed in musical resonance. Some signs that this is true can be found in Earth-bound myth and religion.

The bible speaks of singing angels, the strumming of the harp, or the sounding of Gideon's trumpet. That's your collective memory at work. Music's an interpretation of the cosmic fugue. Notice how some of people's favorite music contains string arrangements. Also notice that whenever a strong emotion of happiness or sadness is required in any drama, the artist needs only to lay some string on you, and you start to feel a little Verklempt.

Within the confines of this dimension, select frequencies of music just happen to coincide with the needs of a muted soul. When you're moved by music, it's because the soul has been touched. It's letting you know how grateful it is. Anyone who's sensitive to the needs of their soul, will never have to go hungry (emotionally speaking), so long as they keep listening in.

Or, putting all the metaphysical distraction aside, maybe music IS just fun. It's an appealing idea though, that the reason I'm so put off by certain kinds of music, is because it's striking a sour cord with my soul. It has a nicer ring to it than the possibility that I'm just getting old and cranky. Much better to say it offends my soul.

In a manner of speaking, yes. Which isn't to say that this should be true with everyone else. The music that's the most meaningful to you, might be based on your own memory of the cosmic fugue. Other souls operate on differing frequencies, so what's musically true for some, might not even register with others.

I'm not sure I like the thought that some souls are more evolved than others. I'd rather not think of any one soul as being above another. To entertain this idea at all, is to give us yet another excuse for feeling separate and alone. It also allows for feelings of superiority. The world's got plenty of that right now. Without being able to share a passion for music, among other things, another void is created. It only serves to remind us of how alone we are.

Ultimately, there's no such thing as being alone. Your sense of separation is only illusory. We need to have this feeling of being separate so that the joy of reunification is all the more meaningful. That's just one of the dualities that's so lost on this world.

There's no darkness without the light, no warm without cold, no right without wrong, no joy without sadness, no sweet without sour, and the list is as long as there are stars in the sky. This has been the philosophy of the east for thousands of years.

A built in duality is essential if the right balance is to be struck. With respect to your distaste of the inequity of souls, you should also know that there's no such thing as bigger or smaller, weaker or stronger. Neither is there any such thing as smarter or more stupid, in spite of what you see around you. Our favorite misfit, Einstein, tantalized the world with this notion. His words are now a part of our everyday language, though I suspect that the meaning is overlooked by many of us. Nonetheless, it is truly "all relative." It all depends on where you are in life. To rephrase, it all depends on your point of view.

I'd like to think that we are all equals. Nothing would please me more. But it's tough to believe that's entirely true, when I see how many people in this country seem to remain so utterly out of touch. Most people I've ever seen take little time to know about much of anything, unless it's been handed to them right out of the box. With this kind of pre-packaged intellect, you're considered all ready to go. People are so anxious to get happiness out of the freshness sealed bag, that few see how tightly wrapped up they are inside of it.

Consider this...

What if the destiny of each living thing was more or less, a matter of choice? If so, then most souls have a fair degree of accuracy when the vessel through which they will experience physical life is chosen. With people, a soul might choose to become someone who is handicapped in some way. Maybe the soul has misjudged another, or judged another too harshly at some point in its growth. In so doing, it never felt the hurt that had been inflicted.

As pure energy, the soul will come to know how much sadness it's caused in its last run. It will offer a part of itself to be held accountable for the damage done. By living a life of being physically or mentally handicapped, the soul will know directly what it's like to be so judged. In the new age circles, the soul has just paid a part of its "karmic debt." Eventually though, a soul will instinctively come to know that if it does harm, so too will it be
harmed. Everything's connected.

If we all choose our own destiny, is it possible that we could've made a mistake? I can only speak for myself of course, but If I chose this life for myself, that would have to make me one of the dumbest souls around. Never mind me. What about those who's lives have consisted of pure suffering? A good example would be John Merrick, the so-called Elephant Man. If someone like him were only paying off a karmic debt, he had to be insane, plain and simple.

Speaking of nuts, it's a pretty safe guess to say that there might be something wrong with someone who's thinking out loud like this in text. What's really disturbing, is that I can get into an argument even while talking to myself. What karmic debt could I have accrued that makes me have to live my life analyzing every little thing? I can't even buy a loaf of bread without anguishing over whether or not I should sacrifice nutrition, and go for taste. Should I wear my shirt tucked, or untucked? Should I get behind the minivan, or take a chance in the giant American truck lane? These are pretty tough choices.

If my cynicism's correct, we're not here just to have fun. But it would be nice to get some down time every so often. No wonder people get so angry. Life is very seldom about fun and games. Odd, if indeed we all chose this life for ourselves. I'm starting to think about that fox and those grapes again. The logic here goes something like this:

"I'm miserable so much of the time, but I suppose I'll have to learn to just live with it. Hey, I know! I'll just convince myself that I chose this life for myself. Sure I'm outraged all the time, but just think of all the karma points I'm racking up for the next time."

It'd be nice if life was all about fun and games. I for example, take life far too seriously at times. Although, in my own defense, I DO have all the Jurassic Park toys. That's who I am on the outside. When I'm with people, I'm perceived as this sort of goofy, clown-like character. That's because it's very important that I feel liked and appreciated. If I have to scoop out my own eyeball with a shrimp fork, then so be it. Always leave 'em laughing.

As for life being about fun and games, the only thing stopping most people from enjoying themselves, is that they don't think they deserve it. The surest way to fail with a woman (here we go again), is to give her the impression that you like her. Not always true of course, but generally speaking, it's true. It's much easier just to make them laugh. Seems I'm not the only person who takes life too seriously. There are certain types of people who don't like it when someone else is having fun. That's chiefly because of how it reminds them that they're so miserable all the time.

All in all, everyone's so deadly serious. They think that being happy is something that should be hidden away in secret. It's probably partially because of how we're taught how to be seen and not heard. We start out with our lives so sweet and juicy, like grapes ripening on the vine. Trouble is, no one seems interested in picking some of us. No wonder we're so sour by the time we become adults.

The soul wants only to experience and to feel. It rejoiced when we were infants, and felt the cool air hitting the tongue for the first time in this newest life. As you can imagine though, it takes more than that for a soul to feel alive.

In this time, too many people are already dead before hitting the age of 30. You insist that you shouldn't be happy. If you do manage somehow to scratch together a little joy, then you feel bad about it, guilty even. That's why laughter's so good for the soul. If you can make someone laugh, you've got a friend for life. You rejoice in the smiling child, because it reminds you of yourself when you were that age. Through children if necessary, you should let yourself smile too. The child in you still knows what you can only suspect as adults. That it's ok to have some fun once in a while.

If however, you've forgotten what it's like to see life through a child's eyes, then look to the child for some pointers. An infant's grin comes from knowing that it's alive, and is meant to experience happiness. There are life's trials of course, but only to increase joy's intensity when such challenges are met head on. There are so few real challenges anymore. We substitute the acquisition of wealth for true character building. Everyone likes to play it safe by ignoring what's really important, and that's to feel alive.

As I hinted at earlier, when locked in one of my mental funks, it's hard for me to stand it when I see someone smiling. They look idiotic to me. I'm baffled by how anyone can be smiling in the world we're living in. If you can still be smiling after watching just a few minutes of the evening news, then I'd be very impressed.

In fairness, it's likely that I'm touched in the head. Taking that into account, how can anybody feel alive while continuously wanting, and so rarely receiving? By way of defending my current state, I feel like a salt starved goat that direly wishes to have its turn at the licking block. We always want what we feel we can't have. There's no way of getting around it.

Of course, for the male, it comes right back to having sexual fulfillment. I used to spend so much time and energy thinking about how to win a sexual partner. Yes, I said win. Let's face it, when you're looking for primo, beach front real estate, there's going to be some competition.

Every now and then, when I'm not distracted by all the sand in my drawers, I find her. Instead of just relaxing to enjoy the view, my brain starts with its trying to suck me into a rip tide. Rather than just soak in the joy of her company, I can't figure out for the life of me how I ended up naked with this woman. Even after I finally have this particular want being met, I'm still unable to completely enjoy the moment. I remain in this mental state of wanting, even after getting. Maybe I'm just allergic to happiness, I don't know.

I'm told that most of us who were born male are just looking to spread our seed, unless we happen to wish to settle down at some point in time. I don't know what I'm looking for. I think I'll know it when I see it, but in the meantime, I'll just keep believing it's just about the sex. Even while having sex (why do I always laugh when I say that?), the experience is dwindled somewhat. There's this inability I have to even believe that it's even happening to me. The best way I can describe it, is like when Barney Fife of Mayberry finds himself accidentally falling on top of an unsuspecting crook. The bumbling Deputy gets the credit for the arrest, but can't for the life of him figure out how he pulled it off. Until Andy's there to butter up his ego, Barney looks completely dazed and confused. Well, I guess that's me.

All in all, I feel as if I'm outside myself as an observer and not a participant. I know when I'm having fun, and that I'm happy, but can't ditch that sensation of being absent from the proceedings somehow. It could be a case of being in a state of shock I suppose. My befuddlement's brought about by the inability to understand why this voluptuous woman, who could have anyone she wants, would choose to be with me of all people.

Incidentally, this isn't a case of low self-esteem at all. I'm confident of who I am, maybe even proud. It's just that I'm someone who's never been able to afford beach front property. What it really comes down to is this, I think. In the hope of lending some credibility to this particular rant, I'm paraphrasing Woody Allen who was paraphrasing Groucho Marx:

"I would never join any club that would have ME as a member."

Seems as though there are very few of us who really likes the person who likes them.

Then again, it could be something else entirely. Maybe, we just need to want. I've spent so much forethought in just anticipating this window of opportunity, that when it actually comes (so to speak), it becomes anti-climactic. It's like how a book is almost always better than the movie. Nothing can compete with imagination. By the same token, is hunting actually more fun than finding? How I envy the neighborhood dogs. They see something they like, and one sniff of the butt later, they're basking in the afterglow.

It's just as conceivable that you simply haven't yet found the right person. If the goal is only to receive sexual gratification, that is to say, if there's no feelings of love involved, then you might literally be able to step out of your body. Why deprive it of such a good time? But your spirit, that is, your heart just isn't in it.

That could be why there's so little apparent feeling in the world, because people are only going through the motions. So many are numb to their own wants. That's because so many times, they're told what they want, instead of discovering for themselves what that might actually be. Under pressure to conform to social ideals, what they're being told has nothing to do with what their soul is telling them. People are living their life without actually having to be a participant. They've handed over the driving wheel to someone else.

At least they're not forced to ride on a motor cycle year 'round. Love or not, I still want another chance to get back in the driver's seat. Besides, I'm not all that sure that love even exists in the first place. There might be the
potential for love, but the there's always too much resistance in the line to allow current to flow. Maybe the only true love is maternal. It's the only form of Earthly love that's truly selfless.

If the truth be told, even maternal love has its limitations. When a woman bears a child, only with rare exception is this a purposeful act. Where humans are concerned, children are more often than not, what you would call an accident of birth. The moral position on this, or more accurately, the societal view on having children, is that the kid has become a matter of responsibility. This is certainly true where the mother is concerned. As so many men are so quick to prove these days, a child is often a good enough reason to flee. Left on her own, just because the new mother feels the obligation to care for the infant, and her maternal instinct surfaces to assure the baby's survival--- doesn't necessarily mean that she's capable of maternal love.

It's terrible to think that not even maternal love is real, beyond the instinct that all mothers have for the welfare of their offspring. No matter how much a mom loves her kid, there's still the fact that having that kid has given her life a sense of purpose. In that case, you can no longer view the act of motherly love as being selfless. Her sense of self has been formed for her through the child, for she is now a mother.

It's a little unsettling to think there's no such thing as love. Is it possible that for all of this time, people have been chasing that which has never existed? This is so much more disappointing than discovering that the world hasn't been flat for all this time. Like a fickle and round Earth, love is always conditional. Maybe there's a biblical god after all. Now that love cannot exist here on Earth, we can still hold on to the possibility that we can find it in heaven.

All you need is love. John Lennon was a wise man. Surely, he was wiser than anyone who would suggest that there's no such thing. When love becomes an ideal, and not a belief, then you think of love as something you'll never experience. That's when the idea of love will sour. Whether it's the attitude of the foiled fox toward the elusive grapes, or yours toward the prospect of love--- the moral is the same. You're left feeling bitter and cheated.

For now, let's just assume that love exists. It's just so hard to find on this world. Look at it like this...

In order for all the hate to exist that we can see around us, there's just as much love too. All things derive from their opposites. Both love and hate leave their mark in your chosen reality. We already know the products of hate, which stems from our most primitive selves. We can begin to reap the rewards of love, once we begin to believe in what it has to offer. All we need is love, love is all we need.

All in all, it's so much easier just to hate. Its effect can be measured quickly and effectively. Even basing our lives on hate, and not love, reminds us that at least we can still feel. Finding the properties of love is somewhat akin to trying to find anti-matter in a universe made mostly of plain, ordinary matter. Why is something as beneficial as love, so much harder to find?

Once again, it all comes down to perception. If you expect to find only hate and mistrust, then that's what will reveal itself to you. Let's say you're at an intersection. You feel somewhat certain that there's no other traffic to worry about, but you scan right and left to be sure. Just as you pull out, a motorcycle appears out of almost nowhere. As you sit there waiting for you heart rate to come down a little, you retrace what just happened. You're stunned that you didn't see that cycle until it was almost on top of you.

You pride yourself a good driver. Your manic brain's always at least 10 steps ahead of everyone else. So far as you can tell, you're the only person in the N. Hemisphere that actually knows how to use the turn signal, and yet here you are forced to consider the possibility that you're not as good a driver as you always thought. No, that can't be. You ARE the best! Your ego tells you that there's only one possible explanation for this oversight. The motorcycle was somehow cloaked from view. It had literally de-cloaked out of thin air right in front of you, before he swerved, and then continued on his way. You think back to the collision that almost transpired. Starting with the startled look on the face of the driver of the bike, you replay the moment in your mind. Understanding why he was giving you the finger now, it seems that his head looked awfully big. Then what happened becomes crystal clear. He was either wearing a helmet, or he was in fact a Klingon, who was fully cloaked as he sped along in his Motorcycle Bird of Prey!

Then the truth surfaces as to why your knees are trembling after such a close call. Your mind tricked you. While your skills as a driver may be second to none, something happened as you scanned the roadway looking for traffic. You had your brain set for only three things. A truck, a car, or a mini-van. When none of those could be seen, your brain gave you the "all's clear" signal. The reason the motorcycle had magically rendered itself invisible, is because of your failure to picture it even as a plausibility. Now, ask yourself again as to why love seems so rare in the world.

It's harder to look for love because nobody really knows what they're looking for. It's all around you, but your vision has become so clouded by the old perception, you've become numb to the weaknesses and needs of others. You can think of this as being hateful, when really, you're only taking the path of least resistance. It's not hatred that keeps our world in darkness, but only an unwillingness to reach out and turn on the light.

If the whole world really wants something badly enough, and can believe that it can exist, then the whole planet will be better suited to know where to look. When we talk of love, we're not being petty or idealistic. If we can hate, then we can love. Both of these emotions are only polar opposites on the exact same plane. What we need to do then, is identify the origin of all emotions. Once we can do this, then we'll be in direct communication with the collective inner voice. It's the choir in the cosmic fugue.

I'm not sure I'm ready to begin looking for love just yet. I know if the whole world was looking with me, then there'd be a much greater chance for success. But the fact is, the world remains separate from itself. Then there's this unfortunate habit I have in my inability to think about anything but immediate satisfaction. It's hard to imagine linking up an entire globe, when I can rarely even agree with myself. I know we can agree that physical contact is only a shadow of true spiritual union. That being as it may, most of us are willing to make do with mere symbolism for right now.

If on the other hand, love is a real thing, and not just an idea, ok fine. That's a beautiful concept and all, but I'd like one more test drive before I'm ready to make the first down-payment on this love lemon. Unlike the impatient fox, I haven't given up on those grapes just yet. The fruits of labor may well be too sour, but there's no denying that I'm still very hungry. I've tried leaping, throwing huge sticks, ropes, ladders, hooks, you name it. But, I keep getting rejected by all those big, round, juicy looking uh, grape-like things.

Some people let one or two isolated incidents of rejection get them down. Eventually, some feel it's just not worth trying anymore. In reality, it's really just about playing the odds. Considering the limits people place upon themselves (like being picky about body types or other such vain reasons), the odds are going to be stacked greatly against them. Is it possible that the reason people set such high standards, is so that they'll have less chances of being rejected?

You know how when 2 guys are all pumped up with bravado on one of those ridiculous "talk" shows? For instance, some inbred miscreant says to another mouth breathing weed chomper that he's been sleeping with the best friend of his uncle's chicken feather duster collection, or some other similarly dumb infraction. Then they go to commercial break. No way am I sticking around for 20 minutes of foot odor commercials, only to see these idiots. Just before I start surfing desperately for something else to watch, I hear the announcer:

"When we come back, why bigger breasts are better!"

It's amazing how interesting these foot odor commercials have gotten lately...

Naturally, after the break, no breasts anywhere to be seen. It's back to Skeeter and Travis steaming mad, for whatever reason, ready to go at each other. That's because apparently, it makes spectacular t.v. That, along with the fact that the bouncers on the show's staff will most certainly intervene before it comes to blows.

In other words, both of these tough guys aren't actually intent upon attacking each other. It's just for show. I'd like to see what'd happen if the bouncers just stood back, threw up their hands, and said, "Hey, don't let US stand in your way." I'm positive the bravado would quickly be replaced by quiet indignation and embarrassment.

Now, I told you that story so I could tell you this one. In addition to feeling somewhat immature for this incessant talk of breasts, I think it's also because whenever I feel like we're getting too serious, I resort to my old habit of acting silly. Whenever I start feeling uneasy about something, I like injecting some levity on the proceedings. Whatever the reason for this, not only does it wind up becoming embarrassing, it's even worse than that. It's downright trivial. Want I should break a chair over someone's head? What were we talking about again?

Nothing is trivial. For instance, what if these were the last words you ever wrote? Right now, you'd feel you've failed at whatever it is you're trying to do here. But what if someday, you're able to read this in hindsight, and share a good laugh with your soul mate? You could both get a big kick out of a time before you met each other, when your biggest concern was about whether or not you'd ever get to see breasts again. Now that the bombs have fallen, it's not at all unusual to see women with 3 or 4 of them, what with the atomic mutation and all.

Everyone engages in acts that might seem inconsequential or trivial while immersed in the moment. However, when you rediscover a part of your past about which you've long forgotten, an old drawing, or a favorite book then its reappearance into your life changes you. At the time you first encountered one of these items, they meant nothing to you. But in hindsight, they become great treasures. They become a measure of the life that you've led up till then. That's why we take photographs. It's funny how we can get locked into a hair style, isn't it?

Since we all need our memories, then forgive me this shameless exercise in self-indulgence. I moved recently, and was going through my old stuff. I opened this book ( a collection of Rod Serling's twilight zone stories, of all things). I'd had this particular book since I was six. On the inside cover, there was this little doodle I'd done of a sperm whale. It wasn't much to look at from an adult's perspective, but it wasn't bad for having been drawn by a kid not yet even seven.

In that tiny instant, I was immediately transported back to l966. I was for that short time, a six-year old kid again. Wonder what the heck I was doing reading Rod Serling at the age of six? Oh yes, one of the stories had dinosaurs in it. Well, in a lot of ways, I'm still that six year old boy. Ask anyone who knows me. But when I drew that whale, I wasn't doing it with any sense of future in mind. And yet, if I hadn't scribbled it out then, that moment would have been lost to me forever (what a tragic loss for the art world). I know to most people, such a story is insignificant.

Nothing is insignificant. What might seem unimportant today, could be monumental tomorrow. Even while being so self-indulgent, we all are, there can come a new perspective. In a world that changes everyday, our yesterdays can still be revisited with only the slightest glance into a dusty old book, or a faded photograph. Let's talk movies for a minute. There was that movie, considered by many to be the best American film ever made. "Citizen Kane" touched us. Why do you think that is?

It teaches us that regardless of your status in life, that time is fleeting, and that our most precious moments are often the most quaint. Kane was one of the wealthiest individuals in the world. There was nothing he didn't have, except time.

The whole movie, as anyone who's even remotely knowledgeable about films knows, centers around the last words spoken by Kane. With all the wealth in the world at his disposal, only one thing meant anything to him in the end, "Rose bud." The only thing that the dying man wished to remember about his life was that old, rickety sled. Don't blame me if I just ruined the ending for you. It came out in 1941 for Chrissakes! I suppose the answer to the question is, it represented to him the childhood he never had, and the only time in his life when he was truly happy.

We all have our Rose buds. A life is chock full of them. It's funny how most people don't appreciate something until it's gone. Wouldn't it be great if we learned how to enjoy right now, those things we take most for granted? A fresh, cool glass of water can seem mighty precious if your life is a desert. Why not take a deep drink of it while you still can?

Some people find it hard to enjoy right now, especially if they know the future's their only shot. Thanks to my Mom, there's this endless supply of quotes I which I can draw. She's always clipping them out of one of her magazines, and saving them for me. I suppose it's her way of letting me know that, despite all my bitching, she gets me.One clipping contained the words of this English dramatist, Israel Zangwill. She was talking about change, and summed it up nicely by saying, "Take from me the hope that I can change the future, and you will send me mad." Let's face it, given the way things are headed right now in the world, the future's our only hope. As Chris Well said in the worst movie ever made, "Let's think about the future, for it's where you and I will spend the rest of our lives." Yes indeed, I'm probably paraphrasing again.

Here's the thing about the future though. You see, I've never been able to picture myself reaching an old age. I used to think that's because I've somehow caught a glimpse of the future, or one possible future. Please tell the gentlemen with the white lab coats to stay back for a few more minutes, and allow me to make my point.

This future I visited in my dreams is a time when the genetic marker for aging has been identified, and has subsequently been removed from our genetic programming. The only reason we age is because our cells are told by nature that they should stop reproducing. They start to fall apart after that, and we eventually die. Death is due primarily to how we begin losing more cells than we're able to replace. Out with the old, and in with the new.

Maybe too, the reason I can't see myself getting any older is simply because I'm not meant to be here for very much longer. As the winters here catch up with me, sometimes my wish is to fall asleep and never awaken. Heck, who wouldn't want to go out like that, right?

I should point out now that I don't believe in suicide anymore. I think that if a person bails out of life's experiment prematurely, then the soul has to go through this mess all over again (it has failed at whatever task it chose to do here in the first place). You're not necessarily punished for killing yourself, but rather, you need to see this life through before allowing yourself to move on.

I don't think we go to hell if some of us decide to throw in the towel, because like everything else, even hell is self-made. But as my enthusiasm begins to wane, my spirit sinks. I think sometimes something's telling me that I should give up the fight. I went through this before, 15 years ago, but I was younger and stronger then. I tried killing myself, twice seriously. After I got help, I had to add suicide to the still growing list of things at which I wasn't any good. What is it they say about the truth? Besides being incredibly elusive, it also sets us free. Who am I to argue against such an excellent point? Oh yes, then there's the other one. "Confession's good for the soul."

I was in film school at the University of Iowa in '81. For final film project in college, I played Russian-roulette with a 38 special I'd borrowed from a friend (unbeknownst to him). I was intending for this little ten minute reel to be a commentary on how much I despised all of the students who were making these crappy art films, rather than putting together a film that took talent to make.

I'd just about had it with these pretentious wastes of celluloid, where the camera would be set up on a tripod, and allowed to run until all the film passed through the exposure window. Time after time, I was forced to watch such thrilling epics as "Highway Scape," which featured a single shot, ten minutes long, of a dead rabbit in sharp focus in the foreground, while blurry traffic whizzed by in the background. What kind of visionary genius could have come up with this kind of brilliance?

Meanwhile, I'd been busting my hump to create more "commercial" films, such as the classic horror movies that had nurtured me through childhood. My films weren't masterpieces by any means, but they were at least as good as someone doing a single take on some piece of road kill somewhere. I was apparently mistaken though, as the artsy junk usually received the same marks as mine. As depression became more chronic, I'd decided to make my own art film of sorts.