there’s a lot of time spent minimizing. there are quotes by the tumblr favorites carl sagan and neil degrasse about the immensity of our universe. but even in their words, bloated with astronomical knowledge, is a feeling of understatement. there are no words to measure the universe. it is bigger than what finite vowels or consonants we make up.
but there’s a lot of time spent minimizing.
it begins with the idea of a living space. an area agreed upon by all that it is yours to do what you want with, and allow who/what ever you choose to.
then, a space within that space. a segment dedicated to all things you.
then, a screen within that space. a square that feeds you the entertainment you’d prefer.
and, within that screen, is a series of communications that allow it to connect to an even smaller screen. one which you can take out of your space with you.
even outside your made up corner of the universe, you are allowed to minimize the world.
when you’re allowed the time to chase the tails of this thought it becomes very hard to do something and pretend it matters. over time you tell yourself things that you are, what you have to do to get what you want, etc. but these are just means of minimizing the case; that the universe is incalculably massive, and it doesn’t care.
this hollows things out. makes life seem like a personally-tailored facade. one moment, you’re a student out to set the world on fire. and in an instant, it becomes clear you’re a biological what-the-fuck that just so happens to think enough to pretend you’re not.
this is where things get dangerous. it’s very subjective right now. subjectivity is a feisty fuck. it charms you, like the warm sensations of a soft, heavy voice to the ears. tells you what you want to hear. what you’d prefer. its foreplay is fantastic.
it plays this game for a while. at first you’re not interested. you search around for the objective. but then, at your most vulnerable, it whispers the echos of everything you’ve experienced. it convinces you with its self-made knowledge of life. once pragmatic, you start to solidify. its whims are too much. you can’t even perceive where the foreplay ends, and the real fuck begins.
the proverbial first base, except, it’s your entire life.
at what point does it move on. can it even move on. does it know any other tricks, or is life reduced to your brain telling you what it thinks is true.
life is boring when you’re not mad.
There are hints. Whispers of harmony between people, through the cracks of awkward bus rides and shit retail experiences. They come through in the form of surprisingly delightful conversations, or a compassionate New Yorker providing directions. It would appear, despite our greatest efforts to maintain cynicism, that there is a subtle sense of love between us.
But what is cracked? If there is a crack, there is a flawed infrastructure. What is it?
It is the ruse. The most clever ruse. That life is a process of innumerable toils, sufficing only with calculable riches. That it is a game of effort and reward, and we must reinforce it.
Unfortunately, I can’t check the veracity of my words. What I can attest to is that I have shortcomings that I insist on compensating for. That every action of mine is a roundabout apology for how much of an asshole I am.
Because this is the case, even my opinions, as correct as I think they are, are only so because if they were true, they would serve to make only my life better. In short, my scrutiny exists solely to serve myself.
And yes, I do think we all do this. Every day.
Perhaps that is the most objective truth in life; our conclusions about it will always be tailored solely for us to appreciate. Maybe life’s objective mysteries are unsolvable, because our egos won’t allow solving.
But it’s much more fun when I ignore that.
I don’t.
No I don’t.
Everyone else.
Yeah but I don’t do it like that.
Because I actually notice when I’m wrong.
No they don’t.
But I am not them.
…
Carefully disassembled. To carefully disassemble them. But we too carefully disassemble them, to find we’ve carefully reassembled them. To the things we’d want. The things we’d prefer. Not necessarily what it is, or was.
It is impelled, no compelled, or perhaps repelled, by everything. It, that is. It is not us. It is everything. It is not what we want it to be. It is what they gave us. And thus has become us. It is us. But it is them. We are us.
Carefully disassembled. Then carefully reassembled.
It’s complicated.
Or is it?
I’m uncertain.
Or am I?
There are no words for this. As there are no people to hear it.
I’ve expressed a lot of words in my life. I’ve found the strongest words are the ones left unsaid.
There is a great silence.
“It may justly be urged that, properly speaking, what alone has meaning is a sentence. Of couse, we can speak quite properly of, for example , ‘looking up the meaning of a word’ in a dictionary… to know the meaning which a word or phrase has, is to know the meanings of sentences in which it occurs. All the dictionary can do when we ‘look up the meaning of a word’ is to suggest aids to understanding of the sentences in which it occurs.”
The Meaning of A Word, J.L. Austin
