With Weight and Bouyancy

Yes. It has been a long time. At least it feels that way. I have traveled to far away lands and experienced entirely different worlds where time stretches and strings like the strongest taffy.

We entered the humidity like light enters water and like the light we slowed and bent. We waited to shoot back out into the air at a slightly different angle and return to the previous speed.

I wrote on leaflets of Marriot note paper throughout the entire trip with the idea that I would copy those words down, those words that made up the thoughts and feelings that I was having during the trip. I was thinking of making it episodic and the whole deal. But now I am looking at these leaflets and I am thinking I do not have the energy to copy (or at the moment anyway, maybe this can be a future ordeal). And to think, just as my homesickness begins to subside I go right back out to a place I have trouble calling my own.

I am very tired. This trip was a stunningly refined double-edged sword, a perfectly symmetrical work of art with two very opposite faces. One edge--this edge is of extreme sharpness--is a gushing esctatic sort of self-transcendence; in other words it was of a self-growth and reprogramming of such epic proportions in such a short amount of time that I can actually smile genuinely when I look back over it (and not feel the dull aching in my stomach accompanied with the feelings of inadequacy). Like the effect of speed on ADD, I succumbed to a darkness, a darkness that showed me a light that I have never seen before. The other edge of this sword--this edge is equally sharp--is of a sprawling and oceanic depression that I have only felt long ago when I was lost in cold space.

Now the side of the sword I choose to cut with will depend on me. I was given the tools. I can build this town. I can also destroy it (and usually faster than construction).

On one side I can think of the front of the ship, and the endless perfect blue water reflecting the pink-orange light of a dignified sea sunset. Then the other side shows a great smoke stack spewing out that jet black sludge all over the endless blue. Choices, choices.

I just returned from a Carribbean paradise and a tropical hell, depending on who you talk to. Yeah, and staying put on the point of a double-edged blade is a difficult and short-lived affair.

That ship was a great metal cocoon. Something happened when I was in there. But I haven't made the metamorphosis complete. Not yet. Growing pains.

Electric Rotary Tools and the Like

I am dreaming a dream. A strange dream that is mundane and simple, and the dream is about my daily life and the things that rest in my immediate consciousness even. It is strangely familiar and not like a dream at all. That is what makes it so strange. I can see people's faces in very clear detail, and I am shy in this dream. I am bound by my earthly limitations. And then I hear a shrieking drilling sound, and I think, "What in the world?" And as I think this, I am waking up, and the shrieking drill follows me into the waking world. I am dizzy and disoriented as I wake up. I feel like I am falling and flipping over in my bed. But I am laying on my back, and someone is next door operating a shrieking drill, most likely doing work on their house. The shrieking drill was for a brief moment a clear and definite bridge between my subconscious and conscious. It was between both states, and remained constant as I passed from one to the other. How interesting this was! It wasn't the drill that followed me to my waking state. I was following the drill to my waking state. Wasn't it a little early to be blasting that thing all over the place? Waking me from my strange mundane dreams? But the clock says 10. That is not so early. I am up. I am still tired, and aching, but I am up. This is life, this drifting between dreaming and awake, and the only thing that remains is that drill.



As far as I can tell, competition and merit are two very seperate concepts, or they should be. They are two concepts that this society have gotten all too confused. But I'm sure there is some great mechanism at work that I cannot see, which further accounts for my bitterness in the matter.

You'd think the beach would improve my foul mood. Nah. The beach held shades of grey and brown, and not shades of yellow and blue like it should. The color palette was not the most desirable. There was a general dirty feces theme going on with the place. No, that is too harsh. It was a nice day, but the atmosphere was colored darkly with my projections. The heat only helped to swell the festering depression. Maybe it was the low blood sugar a-talkin. It is amazing what body chemistry can do, or, not so amazing. Alot of our mental states are based on body chemistry I guess. Or not? I'm too tired for this.

But what I want to know is why is our nation on Prozac? Where did this depression come from? This sweeping mental disease? Or was depression always there, and now that Prozac is out, everyone is leaping to get a prescription? Or is it a geniune plague. Maybe it is a plague that illustrates the initial signs of a decaying civilization. Maybe it is coming from within. Maybe it is nothing at all. There's no way to tell without it being speculation...at this point.

I also think that...no...its much too hot in here, and I am much too tired. I think I will be done for now.