Lying on the bean bag in the center of the room, I watch her focus snap away from the glowing screen as the word that she knows more intimately than any other kidnaps her attention.
Our pupils meet. Her irises contract and expand in the changing light of the room's rotating lamp. The psychological pressure that accompanies the stare amazes me. Her eyes jitter as her focus switches between both of mine. My consciousness and hers, looking upon each other, are conscious of each other directly, and for a moment this is almost too much for me to handle. I feel my eyes almost swivel away. The action's potential to occur seems to climb to a climax it can't quite reach before falling. I continue to stare in the captivation that superseded the brief will to look elsewhere.
"Wh-..." she starts. The way her voice trails off is telling of a sense that something is happening. Her eyebrows relax and her gaze shifts into deliberate atte
AnythingWhat is this?
This remarkable thing?
Anything. Pick something.
A cloud of atoms.
What is it?
What is this thing?
The amount I know I don't know, contrasted with how much I tentatively do, is enough to floor me every time.
To push me to decide to leave the chair upon which I was comfortably sitting and literally lie on the floor.
The floor seems like an appropriate place to realize immense things, or look at my hands, or clutch for an object to stare at as intensely as my eyes are capable; by gods I will stare at this thing.
My eyes behest seamlessness, but my mind sees atoms contrasted against space and shown, vibrating, on a projector video to help me even begin to form a coherent comprehension of this concept of oceans upon oceans of packets of patterned energy, tinier than I am capable of imagining, networked together by axiomatically-described forces and comprising all that makes me.
ProcrastinationI fall behind in this class I am in because, while I am forced to pay attention to something that my consciousness did not actually decide to pay attention to, my thoughts begin to wander. The mental state I am in in these moments is amazing. Because I am rejecting paying attention to something I know I should be paying attention to -- and that knowing is very present in moments of procrastination -- there are rarely other worries or anxieties or metaphorical black clouds besides that procrastination, which, relative to other worries or anxieties I might experience in other situations throughout the day, is very minor, especially considering that over the years I have become very habituated with it.
Ironically, these are the moments I feel most inspired to write, to get thoughts out in words while I am in such a fantastic mental state to do so -- exactly as I am doing now, which further deepens and potentiates the procrastination.
I'm told I shouldn't procrastinate because it gets in t
Serotonergic SunlightCountless sizeless and timeless stars, balls of serotonergic sunlight, gleaming representations of energy. Moments in time.
A time when it was all perfect, suspended, and infinite.
A progressive compiled perceptual memory log begets maturity and acceptance of the everprogression of cell bundles maturing, plateauing, decaying over the course of pleasantly-allotted time intervals, cycles, groups of hours in days in years on calendars.
Pictures of a father with less wrinkles and more hair, a ten-year-old you beaming on his knee, the two of you on a leather reclining chair and time is not even an issue, the genuine upcurl of mouth muscles halting the psychological perception of a clock's minute hand.
Countless sizeless and timeless moments like these, all nestled back in cubbies of perception; not competing for brightness but contributing to the light of the interdimensional lantern of happiness.
But the lantern flickers with nostalgia for a distant sun once known, now only experienced in
Poisoning the NestIt's time to be selective in the things we really need.
Something isn't right, and we're clearly not at peace.
Not at peace with nature -- not even with ourselves.
Too big for the Nest, too proud to accept much else.
No no, not away from me, but with me. Come with me, and we'll go.
We'll see. We'll hear. We'll touch, we'll smell, we'll taste.
We'll smear. Paint on ourselves and yell. At a passing car, at the sky, at the moon. At a star. At a thousand stars.
We'll shun sleep and watch the world wake up. We'll run through the street and wake the parts of the world that didn't.
We'll climb a tree. We'll wait and see. The people pass below us, and we'll drop pine needles on their heads.
We'll drive fast. We'll drive slow. We won't drive. Let's walk.
We won't regret, though.
Because we're going.
We're going. We're going.
We're moving a mile a minute. We're moving a minute a mile. We're not moving. We're moving again.
Did you hear that? Did you SEE that? Look at this. Look at me. Where are we? Does it matter?
Time to go. Time to see the world.
Ten-thousand-million-billion-trillion times a second, a minute, an hour, a day. A way. They're e