The Eternal Jetstream

I wonder why when I stare up at the full moon I have the deep feeling that I am tapping into some kind of jet stream of eternity. This is not the jet stream that moves weather and gets planes to destinations ahead of time. This is a jet stream where memories of the forces of the Big Bang are as close as memories of my Bar Mitzvah.. A jet stream where aborigines and Genghis Khan live next door and he comes to pillage for a cup of sugar. This is the realm of quiet confident measured calm. Here the hallways of childhood could be camoflouged wormholes and knowledge is as much a bluff at a poker table as it is fact.

If I go back inside television, books, writing and "my of this universe" problems exist. All the distractions of culture. In culture time is chopped up like one of those Japanese chefs at the side of your table. In nature the Japanese dude just smiles and floats by.
Out here in the moonbeams I am seeing this as I have done a million times before as a million different people, a million different things, the perspective of a million different planets from a million different points in space. Here you can recollect the future and predict the past.
There is no sense of time except mythic time. Not Lord of the Rings soft focus and glowing robes kind of stuff. (Even as a slovenly bearded man in my terrycloth bathrobe I dont qualify)
This feels as thick as honey. Here death is just one pistachio where you go on to eat the entire bag. There is no forwards, backwards or sideways. If we had a compass for this it would spin endlessly and that dance would be our direction.
The roar of the waves give me some slight sense of distance, of space, but more the sense that lakes oceans, rivers have always rode shotgun in eternity.
DaVinci was obsessed with water saying of a river "what once was will always be" I'm just barely beginning to understand this
This is the cosmic aspirin that helps with the pain of the mundane. A simple step out into the night.

Basic Emotional Math

Physicists are quite fond of expressing reality in mathematical equations. Some even believe reality is the mathematical construct itself. Maybe there are on to something. I am intrigued, or obsessed depending on your mental health slant with the mathematics of emotion. Though I am not smart enough for complex equations here is some basic math.

The force with which you fall in love = the force with which you fall out of love.
In other words the hours you spend starting into the timelessness of eyes equals the dismissive moment where you say "What you looking at bitch"

Anxiety divided by Reason= the present
(anxiety) "I will never amount to anything. I will never amount to even an incline let alone a hill, of beans. I am a single voice in a sea of drowned voices" divided by (reason) "substance is the illusion of the desperate void of attempting to be" equals (the present) "Oh hell I'm going to be late for my AA meeting."

Arrogance squared = humility to third power
(Arrogance) Fuck you and the clydesdale you rode in times (arrogance) "Mrs. Big Stuff Who Do you Think You Are" with your perfect architectural digest decor equals (humility)"I have nothing to give " times (humility) "I am an empty man" times (humility) "the only real enthusiasm in life I can muster is for my pets"

In the emotion of math it is inevitable you forget to carry your ten and you end up miserable. If only I would have remembered "to check my work" "I am only cheating myself" and insert any other cliche you can think of that gives one a nice neatly tied bow ending.

The T.V Dinner Section as a Black Hole

The other day I found myself at the store in the frozen food section watching a fellow bachelor
checking out "fellow" t.v dinners. I felt an immeasurable empathy (hmmm M. Pathetic good rapper name) for the stranger and myself. What is empathy for oneself? Not sure but the whole thing seems more of a painting that says it all than the necessity for words.
By the time I was loading groceries in my car I realized what a symmetrical black hole this was. Two men combing thin boxes of food for bargains and zeroing in on any descriptions that contained "fiesta" in its title.
Before I could finish loading the groceries I thought okay what would be the "happy" alternative? I would be at the store with a bunch of friends gathering salad ingredients for a feast? Everybody would be drinking at the house while preparing dinner with loud Motown music in the background doing a bad reenactment of the Big Chill. Why is everybody so sure dance moves during salad spinning constitutes fun.
Of course commercials sort out the most complex emotions "Doesn't get any better than this" "Good friends good times."
At that party I wouldn't be drinking. I would be on the other side of that manufactured joy hearing inside my head very beautiful but very somber Jewish chorale music from the latest mournful holiday. Not sure why I often find myself on the sadness side of the equilibrium of every moment, but in a weird way that brings me joy. I do love the perfect stasis of it. Or am I one those anti depression commercials in the making? BTW one of these days I'm going to sue those drug companies since those anti depression commercials are the things that make me suicidal more than anything else.
If I am given the choice of a whew hew hands over the head Saturday night get together with friends or me half comatose on the couch post chocolate ice cream orgy with my cat slung over my legs I have no clear answer. I loved the purity, the essence the soul resonating moments of the lonely man (or in this case lonely men) picking out t.v dinners. The profoundly fulfilling complete dry humping of a cliche versus fucking Juliette Binoche? Okay perhaps not totally accurate in my assessment of the choices at hand.
Oh Norman Rockwell where were you when I needed you.
And while I'm not quite yet the toothless guy in the deserted park running his metal detector after a musical festival, I may be close. I have flannel in my heart but Dacron polyester in my brain.
Am I only entertained and simultaneously disgusted by myself? A quadriplegic in the solipsistic two step?
(In the hyped up voice)"What do we have for him Johnny?" "We have The dream and simultaneous nightmare vacation package of himself. You'll get away by not getting away at on a 70 year cruise aboard the "U.S.S. You" Complete value of the package 18 dollars.
There is no sadness if there is choice in sorrow.
Every man is a fucking island cut off from his own imagination.

The Company of Wants

Are relationships what define us?
That thought of killing time on our own until "we" can be. A me that rides slipshod into we.
For me the brutal truth is I enjoy the pangs of longing for someone, that resonating hollow of solitude more than that inevitable disappointing snake eyes rolled in the crap shoot of love.
Does this make me a perpetual adolescent incapable of handling disappointment?
Yes. I have the pimples to prove it.
A control freak? I dont like the way you say "control"
A man so immersed in fantasy he needs medication? Yes please make it in Flintstones shapes.
In a certain sense I'm never alone. I have the company of wants.
I can look at anyone smooching in the starbucks and be filled by their love and turn my head and dunk my biscotti as soon a they start the hostile bitching.
But can I date my longings?
Sure. And I will never get the peck on the cheek at the door with my urge to burst out "what kind of shit was that"
I might get the flash of sultry eyes and an invitation to come in but I decline because I don't want to ruin things this early. I need to take it slow in my imagined longings. There is as much a woman in the imagination saying "It was great and you fucked it up" as there are in the flesh. Besides there are stairs of longing. Each can twist an ankle or take you where you want to go.

Can I spoon with my longings? Sure. It is really not that difficult to hump the idea of warmth.
As long as my brain works I can nestle with the full blankets, the substitute weight of comforting emotion, run my hands down the curves of her sad hips who still cant have children and smell her dollar store strawberry shampoo on the pillow.
C'mon though is it really the same as flanneled p.j babe who says "get up sleepy head lets go get breakfast?" Before you know it you're exchanging empty pleasantries, committed yourself to a day of shopping and become as domesticated and boring as the man who orders the fruit plate.
Can I buy my longings corny sweaters? Yes and not get the "what the hell is this who makes this and what part of a knitted sunset did you think I would enjoy"?
I can buy my longings teenage ninja turtles rubber boots at Goodwill and they always fit.
I can buy her animal barrettes from the local drug store and her chemo wont keep the giraffe from sliding off.
Can I socialize with my longings and bring her to a dinner party for couples and make clever conversation while I touch her imagined thigh under the table?
Sure its a bit awkward at first when the hostess at the door asks you where is your date
and you have to convince she is right here next to you in a see through plastic raincoat wearing a diamond lace body suit. But before you know it your hostess just loves her and says "she"s a keeper" especially when your longing compliments the hostess on her organic stuffing "its like the croutons were born of air but lived a life of garlicy substance"
It is time for me to go to go pick apples with my longings. I will grab her by her scarf and french kiss her under the Macintosh tree only to have a Sunday family of Christians give me a dirty look.

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The Something of Nothing

The only way astronomers can discover planets thousands of light years away is to detect a shadow that passes in front of a star. The obstruction of light shows the existence of that which isn't light.
Usually the profound vastness of space makes us panic in our insignificance but maybe there is another way of looking at it. I can think of worst fates than being a defecating speck.
I could be one of those bright eyed young republicans with the straw hats we will see at the convention in 2012.
In geologic time I'm not even a whisper, not even the lips that begin to form a syllable but should I care. Does the ego exist in space? Is it a force like gravity that attempts to hold together some semblance of pride, to keep in orbit "nice clothes"
Would a lexus have the zero to sixty acceleration to drive out of a black hole?
While walking the dog late last night I looked above, I saw the twinkling, breathed in the depth.
I felt I was the something of nothing.

Every Man Is A Fucking Island

Every Man is A Fucking Island
Cut off from his own imagination,
unless of course you count the billions of stars, galaxies, and universes created and destroyed everyday, that which we are made of, which have such profound influences on us as
"today could be the start of a budding romance " or
"it's a good time to make an effort to get along better with your boss."
Leave it to our fear and insecurity of our insignificance to create more platitudes of insignificance. The layers of the onion often peel themselves.
We are so stripped of mystery. ( I just tweeted that) So domesticated (I just posted that)there is most likely an app for our narcissism that involves wise cracking birds who drown, pecking themselves to death in their reflections( but with record scores.)
We write poems about the sky and trees and take videos of cat condos.
In a thousand years evolution will feature have our heads permanently bent. The diorama at the museum of 'texting hominicus'
Though I suck on the teats of utter failure and find myself lactose intolerant I'm tolerant of all races.