Everlasting Limbic

Words written on the world wide web can't be burned at will. Depending on resourcefulness, they can be limited. They can be tracked. They can even be altered. They can't, however, be removed wholesale.

Somewhere, in ions written, they exist forever. Again, with resourcefulness, they can be recovered. From SMS, telnet to email, whatever sent is somewhere in perpetuity.

Words in binary can say any manner of thing. They can relate a tome written on thousands of pages in minuscule time-frames. A thousand words can be shuttered into being in a moment of weakness, and burn, eternally, into the retina of the internet.

Born, it may be, is the eternal memory of humanity. Lost, of a quality yet to be known, may be the mercy of forgetfulness. Time may no longer be the healer of all wounds.

Pushing Backwards

There's probably some sort of riddle, encrypted in everything, that will explain it all and satisfy you to the point where you need to know nothing else. Unfortunately, looking for the solution seems like the only way to never solve it. It's quite the conundrum.

Turn About

Including yourself, there is only one person who really knows what you're thinking. Go ahead and think whatever you need to think. No one will know.

Only, be careful that you don't start wanting to think about things you don't need to think about. Right when you think you've got it under control, you'll act on it. Even when you don't want to move, your mind will put events in motion. Don't think about something that'll inspire you to do something you didn't need to do.

Bad Memory and Guilt

13 years ago, I woke up on a Sunday morning to find my telephone answering machine completely full. The night before, friends were over to watch an Alabama game on TV. At the time, landline telephones were common, and my house had one. Telemarketers would ring the phone constantly, at times. So, to be able to enjoy the game, I turned the ringer off, leaving the answering machine on. When I got up the next morning, I realized that I'd forgotten to turn the ringer back on when the game was over.

The first message on the machine was from a friend asking what I was doing that night. The second message was also from him. As were all the messages. They began to get more and more disjointed and incoherent. Knowing that he was schizophrenic, I began to get concerned. Stopping the machine, I called him. No answer.

I was to take my girlfriend out for lunch, that day, so I let her know we needed to stop by and see a friend before we ate. Although we'd been dating for weeks, we'd only recently been getting more serious with the relationship. The previous week, my buddy and I were supposed to have gone to Daytona Bike Week, but I'd cancelled to spend more time with her.

The day before, she and I had a picnic at Old Cahaba. On the way home, I'd mentioned taking her by to meet him, as I was feeling a little guilty for backing out on him. Instead, really wanting to spend more time with her alone, I said we'd go back another day. There wouldn't be another day.

Arriving at his house on that sunny, cool Sunday morning, a really bad feeling began to rise up in my stomach. There was no sound coming from inside. I banged on the door. I tried to look in the windows. His dog would occasionally bark, but no sound of movement or anything responding to my calls.

I called another friend who also rode motorcycles with us. He was a volunteer firefighter and got on his radio to get someone to force entry to the house. Waiting for help, we continued to try to get our friend to the door.

When we got entry forced, my friend was sitting on a couch that I had given him with his full-grown chow sitting on his lap. I knew he was dead. I tried to walk away, but the police were going to kill his dog if I didn't get her off of him. She was protecting him, even though he was dead.

I saw his brains on the wall, the pistol in his lap, still clasped by his fingers.

I hate the thought of this. I blocked the memory of that image from my mind. Other than the pistol in his hand, my mind won't form any images of that scene, anymore.

Looking back, I guess I really saw a lot of symptoms of his mental instability. I think I can recognize schizophrenia in other people, now. When they say, "Yeah," after sitting in silence for a while... responding to a voice I can't hear, when they knowingly make observations that no one else sees... I overlooked those things from him because I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Being a loner, I wanted to keep the friends I could make, and didn't want to offend him.

I had a few nightmares, but it really didn't bother me as much as I thought it should have. After a few months, I rarely thought about it. That makes me sad.

I probably should have taken longer to write this. I just heard a story on the radio this morning about a schizophrenic astronomer who was living and coping with the disease and all this came back to mind. Sorry for venting.

Succeed

There are so many opportunities out there... that no one wanted, ever. Sure, there are a lot of things people can do, just not a lot of things people want to do. At some point you're forced to ask yourself, "What can I tolerate doing?" When you can answer that question, you're on the road to success.

Of course, success is highly subjective. Maybe it should be in quotes. "Success" is in the eye of the beholder, much like beauty. There's probably a collective opinion on "success", but who cares; you're the one left holding the bag.

Night Light

Lit by the light of the moon, textures look so much softer and yet, tactile. There's some sort of extra character given to things by the moon. Immeasurable, due to the absence of light, but flickering into being shapes and expressions from another part of our brain, as it assembles the unknown.

The stars twinkle and add a little movement to the scene. Looking at the sky through a telescope, or even binoculars, the movement of the night sky is almost dizzying. That subtle moving light, not as noticeable to the naked eye, plays with your mind, as well.

Turn on an artificial light, and it all disappears. The world seems solid, again. Still, you'll feel your eyes drifting skyward.

Night Shift

A quarter century ago, while working the overnight shift at the radio station, a strange, sweet melancholy would envelop as the sun set before work. That was one of the things I really liked about that job. It reminded me of working with my dad. When he'd have a contract job needing to be finished before the next day, we'd have to work that night until the job was done. Working quickly in the cool night air, the things that would have worried or frightened me as a kid would slip from my mind.

Over the years, while working a couple of other jobs that required occasional night work, that nostalgic melancholy would creep up on me. That may be why I've never really been opposed to working at night. My current job doesn't require a lot of physical labor, other than typing, or the rare moving of a computer, but sometimes there is work that requires me to be there after-hours. When it does, that old familiar feeling finds me. I greet it as an old friend.

Decisions Decisions

There are some series of events that bring us to a decision-making conundrum. We're always told to carefully consider all of our options and to make our decisions wisely. Then, while we're contemplating, we're told that we should have already said or done something.

It's tempting to just let it roll. Just let whatever happens, happen. If you're gonna get it from both directions, why waste the effort?

You'll probably find that the effort is only worth it when it satisfies a curiosity. The negatives don't overwhelmingly outweigh the positives. If you're curious, act on it. If not, let it roll.

That's why we're drawn to interesting things. They spark our curiousity. Satisfying that curiosity is the only thing that can drive some of us.