Sweet Null Sets

This world will whisper to you what you want to hear. Lying to you with a smile, not caring if you're a good person or the most wicked, evil token of blasphemy, the world pulls you deep into itself, if you let it. Beautiful Babylon... painted and alluring. Down you'll go, before you know what hit you.

Some of us, though, don't have to worry. We're why the world hates itself so much. We know the words are all empty. They're just many bracketed sets of nothing. Maybe we fall, but it isn't for that nonsense. Such it is with those only wanting what they can never have.

Studied

Some puzzles just aren't worth solving. Give up. You've spent so much time trying to solve for x that you've forgotten why.

Maybe, though, if you immerse yourself in the puzzle, you'll get a new perspective. Perspective may lead to seeing something you've missed. Maybe you'll remember.

Probably not. Just quit. Recklessly abandon.

That's when everything becomes clear. Now, you can see the solution. You know what to do.

Too bad it's far too late to matter.

Joe Rogan

The Joe Rogan podcast is known to occasionally be heard in this house. Covered are often some of the most interesting topics. Rogan is one of the people who give you a little hope for the internet.

h/t to Amy for this one, though.

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.