Exactly four in the morning right now and I just took my dog out for a walk. My mind seemed to be thinking in fragments, or in some chain I couldn’t or didn’t want to control. Like how the moon, as I listened to Cat Power’s ‘In This Hole’, looked so tired and worn and how it made me feel sad looking at it, in that vague shape of ¾ full (or ¼ empty if that’s how you think) and coloured in a rusty, contaminated silver. The sky didn’t have many stars but as I looked up at them I thought about how maybe it was a little odd that instead of hoping to see a shooting star I hope to see one die. Just to look up one day and see one suddenly disappear, millennia of burning extinguished in a gasp. It would have happened years ago but it would still be amazing, and I would note down the date and celebrate the life of a star every year.
And then for some reason I thought about The Matrix and how most of the time I would say that I would take the pill that takes you to reality, even if it is much uglier, because it would be pathetic and weak not to. But at times like that, when I’m just looking at the sky, and how there is a twisting, glittering path of silver across the sea from the moon to me, I think about how it wouldn’t matter if I were in a matrix or in someone’s dream or experiment because I only care, in that basis, about my experiences and what they mean to me, even if to something else they are artificial and inconsequential.
I thought about how I wished I saw people doing more significant beautiful things, like dancing when they wanted or laughing loudly or giving postcards to strangers when they looked like they needed something uplifting.
I thought about the smartest thing and best question I’ve ever heard, ‘what will be the last song you hear before you die?’ and how it seems so impossible that there will be a last song and if you could choose it, what would it be? And your last thought, what will that be?
I didn’t get to say goodbye, or
It was worth it, or
See you later.
I thought about how there were so few people out or awake now and how it seemed a little ridiculous that everybody had simply accepted from birth that even on holidays they should go to sleep at certain hours and be awake at others. How the world had consented that four in the morning was not an hour to be out walking your dog. I remembered how when I say that I woke up at 2:30 in the afternoon people almost always laugh as if I had said something completely ludicrous to the point of mocking and often say how I’m wasting the day away. And even if I say that I make it up in the night, and in the long run I’m probably awake more hours than you, they always smile half smugly as if to say ‘yeah but come on, at least I don’t waste daylight’.
That lead me to think about how unaccepting people are. I thought this with no bitterness, but an odd sort of acceptance, which I guess is ironic. I guess it’s our way to survive. We don’t have astute noses to wiff people out, or sharp ears, or trained eyes. We have to judge some other way, so we take in all those pieces of social statuses and meld them together and put the human in question in a box. Of course we are too complicated to have simple boxes like ‘edible’ or ‘dangerous’ but instead have a million other boxes like ‘chav’ or ‘slut’ and how stupid we are by being so arrogant as to think we can stick people in boxes. And I think if anybody could rid themselves of all those boxes and threads then they would become the person I would admire the most.
I thought about what inanimate things would say if they could think and talk. Like a wooden table saying ‘I miss being a tree’ or the sea telling about all the things it has seen and maybe ‘please stop contaminating me.’
Man, it’s already 4:42. That reminds me of something I read today, someone throwing clocks off a roof to see time fly. But I guess it’s a little like that. Throwing time off a roof, and never being quick enough to catch it at the bottom. Though it doesn’t really matter as long as it dents the pavement a little.
But anyway, I guess I’ve vented enough. It’s funny to think that if I hadn’t done this post no one but me would have known of those thoughts evereverever.
Hopefully, anyway.
:3
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2 comments:
Hello! Comments about the bookends:
I *think* I actually witnessed a star's death in 2000; but not quite what you were hoping for. It looked like a really quick supernova, just a regular star got really bright (about 10 or 20 times brighter?), and then faded away to nothing, it was over in about 10 seconds. I think I was the only person on the boat (we were on holiday at the time) to be looking at the sky, so of course the evidence is limited, but I remembered it even so. Probably couldn't have been a burning up satellite or meteorite because it wasn't moving... And the chances that it's trajectory is perfectly aligned with my line of sight is too low to count it as a possibility in my books :)
Lastly; You've pretty much summed up why I blog at all. All these thoughts that come to me that seem so unique, and if I don't share them then they're lost forever! And I annoy people enough I think by divulging random observations and ideas, so inflicting the internet is the next best thing :) That, and for the same reason sex is good; to create something to go on after you die, something to record important things (like ideas and genetic information).
- Lyle
Wow. Just, wow, I can’t believe you’ve seen the death of a star (though I find the word ‘death’ inadequate for the description. Maybe something mixing explosion and amazement and ending). I feel like I’m seven and you’ve told me you’ve seen a unicorn. That’s really given me hope cause every time I look up and think about it, I always assume I’ll never get to see it but...wow. I can’t think of anything much to say, except thanks for sharing, really. Even though now that I think about it, part of me hopes never to see it, just so that I keep hoping, you know, cause once things happen they tend to fizzle out. The Christmas Effect, it could be called.
Thanks :D
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