Data Acquisition

Tranquility; the inner solitude of a mind attempting to examine itself. Knowing it will fail. Colored by bias, distorted by preconceptions, fogged by finite experiences to draw upon. The all important “I” weighted against the other selfs that coexist. The sometimes overly harsh judgement of self-character versus the ease at which it is to explain away all my faults and actions; the tight rope between the extremes of Narcissism and Self-loathing. Brief moments of insight, coupled with random tangents branching forth into a myriad of paths. Conversations I might have, things I might do, and what consequences I envision they entail. Idle thoughts, having little basis in what really will happen. Too often, I find things not working out the way I foresee; things that seem so trifling become harbingers of ruination while others that seem to spell doom are shrugged off with a smile. Yet I continue. Sometimes even my most grandiose flits of thought are superseded by the reality. But mostly I am wrong, I am wrong time and time again. Reality and expectations all to often come into dissonance, yet hopefully I can try to add these new insights to the system.

At other times, thoughts elude me. I struggle to define myself. Logic fails and unexpected emotions well up and burst forth. Shattering the illusions ration and logic. I say things I regret, make a fool of myself, and act an ass. But strangely enough, I’m glad it happens. I am not a machine, a non-feeling entity that can plug variables into an equation and spit out results. I am a fellow human being doing his best to figure out what this ride is all about. And since I’m going on twenty and don’t have much to draw from, I think I’ll need all the practice I can get.

So, final verdict from my near Godlike omniscience at the wise and sagacious age of nineteen? Keep up your analyzing Logan, but always, always, remember that things usually work out the best with a good deal of “winging” it.

A Quagmire in the shades of Life.

After spending countless hours meditating over…. Ok, after sitting for about three minutes behind my keyboard and not being able to come up with anything to blog about, I’ve decided to do another “deep, introspective mumbo jumbo” type post, although this time I plan on not being such a raging sadsack. So, where to begin. Start with religion? Ramble on about my personal search for God? Or perhaps start with where I want to be ten years down the road, or whatever else it is I have already discerned in my infinite wisdom about this mundane and fleeting world (Sarcasm works much better when I’m dictating this blog mentally, hmm) or just continue to ramble at length about what I’m going to ramble about… actually I think I will talk about religion in this blog, and, depending on how well my creative juices are flowing, I may post something about the ten years or whatnot in another post. But back to the matter at hand. Religion. Faith; the unexplainable belief in something not of this world. Something I’ve never had. And that is not a statement of arrogance, but one of sorrow, of lacking. I wish I could believe in a loving, caring God that had my best intent  in mind, but I over-analyze and question to much to have any serious religious convictions. For every crisp Autumn morning with the birds and wildlife existing in perfect peace and harmony, there is a tsunami slamming into the other side of the world killing thousands. For the unbridled joy I will feel holding my future children in my arms for the first time, there are genocides that killed millions of their like. For with all the pain, heartache, treachery, and evil on this cesspool of a planet, I cannot believe in a god that is loving. But at the same time as my fury at the bigotry and hate in this planet boils to the brim, I go back to my quiet place. A  babbling brook, a deep spring giving forth clear and beautiful life bringing water.  I think of people who plunge into burning buildings to save total strangers. Of the heroes who fight to stop genocide, of the aid workers who try to save as many survivors from the wave as possible. I do believe in goodness. And while I may struggle with the concept of an all powerful being allowing evil to exist, I do come to one conclusion. God or no god, humanity is capable of the blackest of sins and the mercy and love of an angel. And in this quagmire, I will strive to be a force for good.

A mote of dust

I am an insignificant being made up of trillions of insignificant cells on an… well you catch my drift. If I passed today, sure my parents would be upset, and I am sure my close friends and acquaintances would miss me from time to time, but I have no legacy. Now I know, “You are approaching twenty, you have the rest of your life to make a mark”, but how long can one keep saying that? I’m only thirty, only forty, only sixty, only dead. Of course the easiest way to help ensure I am carried onward would be to leave a child in my place, but that’s not really what I’m trying to get at. I want to do good, I want to help people, I want, as selfish as it sounds, to be remembered kindly. Not as a smart ass friend who could on rare occasions crack a half-way decent joke, not as “Oh that one random cashier person at Food Lion”, but to be a person of import. And I am aware that these are about the exact opposite of unique thoughts, but I guess I am egocentric enough to believe I can make something of myself. Regardless of how my professional, educational, personal life may affect those close to me, I want when the final bell tolls and my casket is being lowered, whether it be tomorrow or thirty thousand tomorrows away, to be remembered as a good man.

Echoes and Reiterations

As I sit in solitude, I find my mind rehashing the same thoughts and questions over and over. It is almost as if my mind is on loop, re-analyzing the same data points again and again. I have plumbed the depths of my mind, searching for answers as to why I feel the way I feel, why I am the person I am, in an attempt better understand my own emotions and actions. And, almost inevitably, I reach the same conclusions I have reached a hundred times before. Shades of melancholy begin to set in, sadness and regret that had once been banished creep in, unannounced.  Alone, I examine the mistakes I’ve made, thoughts I’ve left unuttered, and my own preconceptions of how things “should be” or “should have gone”; always looking towards the future so I won’t make the same mistakes into infinity. And as I realize that my “problems” pale in comparison to the majority of my peers, I feel guilt for not jumping for joy at my astoundingly lucky life. And yet, at moments like these, I feel lost, adrift, and searching for meaning. Give me an hour or some pleasant company and I’ll be back to my normal happy go-lucky self, these thoughts once again banished to the recesses of my mind. But until then, I sit, and think.

As I ramble

I hate being an empathetic person. I can always put myself in someone else’s shoes, make excuses for them, explain everything wrong away. And I can’t stand it. I want to be able to say, “I don’ t give a damn about your reasons, these were your actions.” Not, “You’re human, I’m human. Mistakes happen and you learn and move on.” Black and white would be so much simpler, You’re a good person, You’re bad.

Grey just gets confusing. Morality changes based on the situation. Good and evil become nothing more than points of view; different wordings of the same event. Villains do good, and heroes fall. But where do we draw the line? Where in the this quagmire of shades do we say “This, this is evil or This all that is good”? Is it different for each of us? Could my “evil” be your “good”? If so, who is right? Do we turn to religion for answers; try to categorize every thing we do based on archaic rules? Trust our own judgement and try to cope with the myriad of fluctuating variables of our own views?

I don’t know the all the answers, hell, I barely know any at all. But as for me, I’ll follow my own rules. I’ll  live in my grey world; taking the good, taking the bad, taking the neutral. I’ll put my myself in some else’s shoes. Because as difficult as it can be, as much turmoil and confusion as it can bring, I’d hate being static and unchanging even more. So I’ll plod on, accepting that in most, NOT all, situations, good or evil just won’t cut it. It will have to be good and evil.

A Non-fiction Fictional

Love_Is_Not_All.html

So, I wake up, realize I have twenty minutes to get to class. Have an “Oh Shit” moment, sprint to the showers, lather, rinse, repeat. Sprint back to dorm. Alarm goes off “Just a little late”, smack it around some… Oh hell, hope that didn’t wake up  my roommate, I’m sure my white ass in his face is the first thing he wants to wake up to… A’ight, he’s still snoring, I’m good. Oh crap, class starts in 10 and there was something I was supposed to read… Ah, it was just a short little poem, I’ll just power read it while the teacher rambles. Ok, made it, just in time. Open up browser, “Love is not all” yada yada yada, oh ok, it’s just a sappy little love poem… although that making friends with death for lack of love alone is a little offsetting. “Logan, what do you think?” “Um.. uh…. It starts off by describing what love isn’t, switches to a “but even though it doesn’t really meet any of your physical needs, people still die, whether literally or metaphorically, without it. ” “Ok, but you need to go deeper” (That’s what she said! Oh Shit! Don’t laugh! Don’t even think about laughing… ok immature moment avoided, back to paying attention). “Anyone else have anything to add?” Person in back, somewhat shyly “I think it has sexual overtones, ” A floating spar that rises and sink and rise and sink again, and later ‘moaning for release” “Trade the memory of this night…”  “Good! A lot of people have noticed that, some compare the images of lust with the idea of love.” Reread poem. Oh ok, I get that. “I think it may be dealing with the future, perhaps the author and the person they are involved with have been fighting or something?” “Read a bit more into it, what if the author was just being thoughtful, what if this  was written in reply to ‘Do you love me?” Reread poem again, ‘nagged by want past resolution’s power’, ‘Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,’ ‘I might be driven to sell your love for peace'”.  Oh, damn. She is talking about the end, leaving him. In the difficult hour, when things are darkest between them, when she is hurting, when she has in a moment of passion decided she doesn’t need him, she might “sell” his love for peace. Sell, that’s a harsh word, purely financial, no emotion just… business. “Trade the memory of this night”, try and forget him. And then at the end, She doesn’t claim she won’t leave him, things could get to bad to salvage, but she doesn’t think they will. This isn’t a sappy love poem at all. In my mind it talks of the hardships of love, and how even though love doesn’t  fulfill your physical needs; it’s not food, nor watter, nor rest, nor shelter, it’s absence can destroy you. It’s a person being honest about the question of “Will we work? Will we go the distance?” And the author doesn’t know.