I post today to post tomorrow, because if I don’t post, all hope is lost.
I don’t honestly believe that, but jumping to the extremities (fingers and toes, usually) helps me to center myself in the actuality of things.
Things are as they are, and I have a choice to influence them, like a seal taunting the starving polar bear at the edge of his hunting territory.
Intention and influence are directly correlated. If I intend to influence something, chances are that an effect will take place in the general area of my desire. The stronger I intend something, the more that intention has a chance of working its cosmic mumbo jumbo toward the realm of physicality and impacting what really matters (though it’s not obvious what that may be, now more than ever).
Desire to make an impact is often the reason for most self-imparted action to the universe, as I’ve observed throughout my life. I’ve observed it and sometimes demanded the same for myself, but only when I’ve teed off on some meaningless tangent.
I used to be good at ‘trivia’, whatever that means. I used to hate my generation, whatever that means.
Now I’m awful at trivia because I find no reason for it. After all, its definition means it shouldn’t be important.
My generation and I are still at a crossroads, because my parents’ generation took me under its wing as a star baby (queue Guess Who song), precocious and lively in the intellectual sphere (which probably can be translated to cranium). When I was two, I told my mother that I wanted a violin and a suit. Fun times for this kid. My first grammatically sound sentence was ‘be careful’. I know how to throw a party, I tell ya what.
I’m not insinuating that I’m embarrassed or perturbed by my early geezerness, because I used to relish that fact. I took it as a sign of early maturity and independence, especially when I started taking the CTA Blue Line to school at the age of twelve.
College rolled around, and I gave youth a shot. A shot of tequila later, I decided I’d had enough. I like making products of wit and ingenuity, often with a word play or two involved, so you can imagine my zeal for throwing back cans of Natty Lite (Yes, lite, a word that probably shouldn’t exist, yet is undoubtedly a part of the English language). Good jokes go die when imbibed with alcohol, though it’s easier to get a laugh when you impart them to an intoxicated group (unless there are too many syllables and references to ironic word order and spelling).
Creativity is born, often lost in the pursuit of a ‘good living’. I don’t yet know what a ‘good living’ is, but it sure as hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I’m often deemed ‘funny’. I guess I possess certain traits which convey a sense of humor to an unsuspecting ear, but I only use them because this world is too difficult to take seriously.
When I take this world seriously, there are seventy eight trillion things on the agenda. No, seventy seven trillion, eight hundred and seventy four billion, two hundred and forty nine million, five hundred and fourteen thousand, two hundred and ninety-nine things. I like to get my numbers straight.
When everything is tabulated and accounted for, I sit and look at them (or simply think about them if I don’t have a large enough spreadsheet). I look at them all at once and think: ‘this place needs a fucking laugh’.