11 June 2004

Yes and No Questions

But with head to chest I hear the roar
Of indigo overlapping, my skin tasting me instead
All salt drenched lively life headed to the sky
It's this dream that I soar for just a moment
Teetering, oh so swaying I can just fall to fly
Just fall to fly

I am reminded unfortunately of things that if I were to be asked, I would indeed have to say yes and no. Which in itself this is an odd feeling because I have known my mind to be separated for some time now, into how many persons is still up in the air but its around 2 or 3 that I am aware of where the 2 could be considered one at some points and thus a third exists, but at any rate, its sufficed to say that it is indeed queer. It's hard to digest and balance the feeling knowing that a resolution is only possible if one thing is sacrificed because both cannot occur. There's always a rub apparently, part of the pattern of things because there is no purpose in life lest one is given such. Life just is. It waxes and wanes, builds and decays, rises and ebbs, possibly why I get so nauseous from day to day. It is most apparent of late, however, that soon I will have to make a decision out of one of these yes and no questions and it will be one of sacrifice. Things happen. We may love, but we may not be loved, just given "reminiscent sounds" in response. But I'll take the high road, and the rest of you can find you own way along. I will still get to fucking Scotland before you.
I'm not so sure that counts as a gem of wisdom for ya. I think it is safe to say that we all come across these sort of clashes within our own psyche at which point we have to ask that is it really what we want that matters or what someone else may want. Of course me being an ass, I would be obliged to say fuck altruism I want instant gratification now, dammit! Truth is we all know what the choice is that must be made in those tricky little situations because what good is it for us to be happy when we're really not making others such.
From time to time, we have been able to sense at least the dysplasia in reality – the wearing and sloppy, irregular movement of things. How poorly our worlds are jointed, loosely intertwined with the dreams of each individual in them. We live in over estimation of stability, in assurance that conflicts, collisions, will rarely occur; yet, it shakes so violently waking us nearly every night to an excisive feeling shuttling us from our beds and into the streets ushering us under the moonlight to a singular disillusionment. We have been born with no guarantee of happiness, of life, but it has been nonetheless placed in us that we are entitled to and deserving of these things. We have been told, raised and conditioned, to live this imaginary way; we have been forced to live a pipe dream, a one-in-a-million chance, but must we live in this gutter, this dark den of social rules that bind us in our own filth. Moreover, perhaps it goes that you will say that it is all worth it for love because love can overcome anything, collapse the system upon itself allowing us to rebuild and rise. But love doesn’t exist, not as you have thought, not as a force of social affect and creation, as a power that can undo the harm we have wrought upon ourselves. So it becomes a pointless existence then, in that state of mind, to love and be loved since it is that love exists in nothing more than our neurotic interpretations of a random consequence of millions of years of even more chaotic rearrangement of DNA. This rearrangement 67% of the time fails to yield a viable product. Should however it succeed it merely produces as additive affect with similar outcome overall triggering the expression of undetectable subconscious olfactory cues that when taken in as identifiers by others around you stimulates the release of neurotransmitters. These occur in certain areas of the brain where reproductive instincts and the chemical formula for love reside all in an effort for our species to mate, procreate, and allow for a chance for further heterozygote recombination resulting in crossover of chromosomes that will then undergo further recombinations and mutations and on and on ad infinitum. Thus, we ensure ourselves of survival of our species. We have no legacy… nothing tangible, nothing concrete… no legacy that lay any further than our molecular structure that another deems most likely to best complement their own in order to yield a stronger, viable immunological response allowing for stronger and stronger generations. A hopelessness descends once we hear how simple things are, how trivial our drives are at heart. There may be nothing to live for in our world except for the experience itself, the pure thrill of novelty and risk, the humour, the pain. We cannot believe in anything, we cannot trust, not without giving into everyone else’s perceptions of reality, giving up our control of what is. So it is that I can only live, we can only live waiting for whatever is to come, not hoping, not expecting, not fearing, merely admiring of ourselves and those within our lives, the evolution, the pulse.
--me, An Introduction to Life in a Bottle

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