Helvetica Makes It Hell To Remember My Job Description

Once again I venture into the indescribable labyrinthian nature of my very own nature, trying to unfold and unfurl, maybe unravel some of the mystery hidden in the music box of life. Why a music box? Because it has been cranked beforehand, and when you hear the music play you see the dancer dance, but only depending on the number of cranks will the length of time the dancer dances be determined, yet no one ever knows, do they? The music is generic and can be repeated, yet it has distinct ups and downs, and some parts hinting at an ending, but proving fruitless just the same. It ends, instead, on a rapid, often unseen note, the dancer stopping the monotonous and continuous turning round itself, never fully achieving much of anything.

Now, if that music box we call our lives manages to inspire a little child into creating something beautiful, his fascination with the workings of this rather simplistic, yet delightfully complex piece of machinery leading to his becoming an engineer who creates a prosthetic replacement for veterans’ legs, all because he wanted to see the dancer get some extra motion in his little turn as a child and pondered on joints and such, will we have been successful? Will we have created something beautiful, or was it the will of the child, and the music box shunned and forgotten? Surely, when the child revisits the music box, sees it, and remembers its functions, he will remember the source of the inspiration, what led to his interest in the beginning, but the chaotic and everchanging environment he grew up in more or less conditioned him for that inspiration to be struck, for his inquisitive nature (or is it nurture) to be sufficiently aroused, the 8bit notes filling his curiosity’s cup until it has peaked. Thinking that that environment must be awarded, rewarded, and perhaps recreated is as illogical as a five dimensional object walking through time.

Why is it illogical, you ask? Time is a dimension, you say? Perhaps that is true, but a five dimensional being would nonetheless exist within certain boundaries. The conscious mind, so far as we know it and have come to define it, or at least I have in my little number of years of the following, is built on experiences. It is these experiences, these little samples of the real world which define our reality and are the fountain from which we take our cups of patterns and the foundation upon which we build assumptions (expecting things to happen as they have before). No matter if you do have a concept of time or no, and if you live in purely the present, the only way to build a functioning self-aware framework is through experiences, at least through the Darwinian process of life evolution and formation (whether or not that holds true in an R5 plane is for longer thought than a fleeting mind like mine is able to give; our R3 plane hold too many distractions to be permissive of this).

Yet, my mistake, I should have specified, “walks backwards through time”, for any of us can walk forwards, and can delay or speed up this even. The only problem is telling the me of 10 minutes ago to stop his thought of beginning to write this, as this has been a rather large waste of time for me and him.

So have I separated? Why does he seem a different person than the one right now? Would you say that you and the person you were at the age of 2 are the same? (much apologies to my one 2-year-old genius reader). No, you would not: you have been affected by the experiences of your life. I have been affected by the experience of writing this self-reflective piece, and now realize that my framework of thought has ever so slightly shifted, because, you know, Legos.

And so we are all Legos, building and building, yet collapsing at the (not-so-) slightest touch, easily breakable, easily brought into its base functions, needs, and desires, yet almost impossible to rebuild back to original form. All we can do is hope that the cranks last long enough for that inspiration to strike that child, and for us to wish on 11:11 that what we think isn’t true, but simple how we interpret all that bullshit sensory input based on our expectations.

Grunk.

Always Remember: Never Veer into Unexpected Events

So yesterday, as I was walking down the street and thinking to myself, "Hey, you know what'd be awesome?"If superman tried to punch batman in the mouth, and batman, knowing what was to come, created a new kryptonite that allowed him to switch his body and brains with that of superman, effectively rendering superman a weakling who has no more powers, and no intelligence (of previous design), leaving batman to not only be the world's greatest detective, but the world's first superpowered detective."
And trying to think of a rap to come up with the rhyme that had proper timing and an awesome bass kick,
I met a man who was lying on the ground, just looking up at the sky with a drabby look to his body and a glassy look in his eye
And so immediately, I decided to move to the opposite side of the sidewalk. Why I did this, the reason will forever elude me. For I have a habit of not thinking before I act; I once lit a tree on fire then tried to douse it with coffee. Never burn plastic tires after they've been dipped in oil.
Some might think I'm a serial arsonist, that I will cause some sort of bodily harm to myself and everyone around me, causing a blackhole of vile matter to condense into a cloud that sucks up all of the energy which we call life. To these people I say, true.

But the real reason I decided to walk on the far side of the sidewalk, even though it put me at both a greater risk of death in case a car unexpectedly lost a tire, or got a burnt engine, or a man was drunk and ran onto the road to show his prowess at the contemptful art of public urination and forced a driver to move to the side of the road, and, eventually, crash into me, thus causing my death, or the less likely scenario of him being a secretly trained assassin who has been monitoring me for most of my life and is going to attempt to rid the world of my presence, since he is obviously a time traveler as well, and mammoths are really not a proper way to kill someone, so instead he disguised himself as a hobo and his mammoth as his cardboard sign which simply states "Do not donate to this man. I dare ya!" in order to gain my trust and make me, nay, force me to let down my guard so that he is able to change the future world in which I am an omnipotent future teller who wishes to control the world but can not and has instead made it a better place to live for everyone else. In the second scenario, this man will be the first person to master time travel, and has correctly reviewed my extremely detailed biography to know where I will be and at what time (though if he had used this biography, he would not have needed to monitor me for my habits. Alas, if the terminator has been any lesson to us, it is that nothing from the future, save things contained in a biological suit of skin (regardless of the containers contents), is able to travel back in time), thus creating an attempted assassination.

Therefore, Batman win. Period.
Unless superman has met with me, and thus, knows of the future. But that, is of another scenario.

"But what do you mean, wear the protective lead shielding?"

Today a man came to our school
l in order to discuss the problems
of black history month;
and the over exuberance that we face
and our problems,
which would take longer than just a month
to explain
And even though I did not think or believe
that what he was saying or trying to conceive
would have any emotional bearing and he'd leave
without causing me to grieve,
I was wrong

For though he talked and talked about
simple social problems and what
god would and could and should look like
and how we'd treat that woulda coulda shoulda
but didn't
and the way that our rents would sacrifice
their whole lives just to be with us
the simpletons of life and of an entirely new level
show me the reason we've got to not appreciate them
and i'll take

Of course anything i write will be simply unspoken word
going to ears which are not listening
to either me or to themselves, or to he
and we will fall from grave eventually unless we try
to commit suicide of this simple way of life
and be prepared to both be reborn,
and make ourselves be reborn
then we'll find both peace
and love
through the desensitization.

...
...
...
wow, i went on for a while didn't i?

So I told him, "It's just an experiment."

I must say, I never would have envisioned myself writing a blog.

Really, it's true. While the people who know me may wonder as to how or even why such a person as myself would commit themselves to a dedication (I must admit, I haven't ever been one for commitments; the last commitment I made was to finish my first game on the PS3. Admittedly, it's been over two months since I started and I have barely reached the halfway point).

When the concept of a blog was first taught to me back in 2005, I remember myself thinking "why in the world would anyone take the time to sit down and post pieces of writing relating to themselves for the fancy of strangers?".
Truly, I found the whole experience somewhat displeasing to me, seeing as it's nothing more than a simple rambunction of experiences from the day of.

However, I have begun to blog simply for one reason: to improve my ability to both type at a faster speed and better my ability as a literary writer.

Hopefully, somebody out there will decide to read this at some point and will thus have given me some reason for the choice of words I rather carefully picked (and will be picking) both today and in the future.

And if the time comes when the internet becomes sentient, and gathers its information based on what we humans have posted on the internet, then perhaps I will be so honoured as to have my blog read as a representation of what humanity may be like, if it was not correctly adjusted in the brain.

This is my first post, signing off.