11.10.10
If I could cut the meta-commentary out of me, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, my only options seem to be drowning it and outrunning it. Neither lasts long.
03.15.10
Nightmares
Falling asleep — the purposeful cessation of consciousness. It is a temporary rejection of lucidity, an aim to relinquish mental control in favor of the wild chaos of the dream world. Is it any wonder that I avoid going to sleep? I demand mental control. I sometimes flee this biological state with more wild-eyed fervor than when delaying necessary pain. Only the morning consequences of insomnia push me to sleep at all.
And why should I want to surrender consciousness? Every time I lay down my head, it is a tiny act of existential suicide. It is a pillow and eight hours in lieu of gun and eternity. It is a deliberate effort to shut off my mind. It strikes me as a form of violence against that which makes me human.
I dream of nonsense and nightmares. It would be better if I did not dream at all. Then upon waking, I am a terrible beast, an ill-tempered idiot. I cannot differentiate between dream and reality. I do not control my judgments, and rage at the morning. I wish this persona could be banished forever.
How can I seek to disconnect my reason? How can I be comfortable allowing my biological foibles to disable my rationality? I hate this frailness of human form.
I understand the necessity for sleep, but I do not feel it. I wish it were not so.
09.20.09
Written Offshore
With men and steel and a purpose driven –
to fuel the machines that conquer the world,
We push iron deep ’til earth is riven –
oil flows, flares light, and hell’s fire is unfurled.
08.29.09
Secret blog post, 9-12-06
When I read deep, insightful, or even merely pretentious books, I feel a vast ocean of deepness and insight and pretention in myself in turn. I don’t have any deep thoughts or insightful comments to give, though. All I have is a directionless, featureless expanse of desire that has only pretentious prose for an outlet.
New wordpress version. Need to get used to the layout and features. The web is always changing, whether you like it or not.
I dislike change but enjoy widgets/gadgets/features, so technology is sort of a double-edged sword for me.
08.18.09
Delighting in half-finished dreams and plans unconquered
Speculation makes for better fantasies than fact
An idea stops being when it’s made real. And some things are better thought than done
07.01.09
There is significance buried somewhere within this train of thought, but I fear I cannot decipher where the tracks must head.
04.26.09
In/sanity
What does it mean that I most want to write/draw/create when I’m out of my right mind? Sleep deprivation, alcohol slightly past prudence, caffeine to excess… these are the things that release my artistic side. I can only surmise that creativity is a candle, where insanity is an inferno. A touch of neuronal dysfunction brings creativity, but only so long as it’s kept within safe limits. These short-lived psychological tourniquets, these substance-induced suffocations, scramble my frontal lobe just enough to produce meaning beyond normalcy. Sanity and art are not good bedfellows.
Or perhaps I always want to create, and only turn to art when I’m no longer capable of science? I turn wrenches and drive nails, I take pictures and capture concepts. I insatiably acquire methods and reasons. Is this not a form of creation? Is a formula not an expression of man’s ability to form ideas from the void? I find myself wondering why art is inferior to algorithm. Both epitomize humanity’s ascent from animalia.
So I am scientific when in my right mind, and artistic when impaired. I’m forced to wonder if this relationship is universal. We know that artists tend to straddle the line between sane and otherwise. We know that scientists tend to disbelieve in intangible and interpretive things. We know that only truly great men are noted for both realms of acheivement. Did Da Vinci invent when sober and paint when drunk? Were his autopsies clouded so as to be palatable? Were his inspirations entirely right-minded or did dysfunction spark inspiration?
?esnes yreve ni elbapac ylurt eh saw ro ,weiv tnereffid a dnif ot riapmi-fles eh diD