Metaphysical Mayhem

I started reading a book on Leibniz the other night, which isn't uncommon. I'm one of those losers that starts books and puts them down after fifty pages. Defeated but I feel good for making the initial effort to buy the book. I guess you could call me a possessionist intellectual, I own the book ergo I'm imbued with the knowledge therein. It's sort of like when owl eyes ,T. J. Eckleburg himself, was talking about Gatsby's books being real. Fake books for show like I'm existential outcome of the book case. I've read a few though, that Gatsby out of shame for faking my way through in high school, sorry Mr Helley.

Back to Leibniz, though I cant say much after ten pages, I'm not into the calculus just the algebra of though idea. Metaphysics in the philosophical sense, not the weirdo hippy stuff. It just sounds so important and academic that it might impress someone. The more I read that, the lamer it seems. That is sort of the big problem in my life really, self worth. What the hell am I doing with my life? daily fucking question for me!

I test software, WTF!! That is really giving the world a hand. "Hey now you can download news automatically to your desktop." Somewhere I figure the metaphysics has to be more important. How about a metaphysical approach to unified field theory? Nah string theory has enough systemization of abstract object to go around. Perhaps a contribution that justifies existence just isn't the point.


http://mally.stanford.edu/
knowing is half the battle.

Drive midnight june 17

I have a tendency to drive at night. Over the years there have been a couple of people that have shared this, but at present no one shares my affliction. In the past it has been something where there have been goals and locations. Often times Hicks road here in San Jose has been a destination, be it for Satanic Albinos or Almaden Airforce Station. But in all truth I dont need a destination, its just the movement and isolation. I can feel both removed and connected, which is comforting. I can remember one of my friends laughing and saying Ted Bundy did the same and had need for it just like I seem to have. I never cared for the observation but it has stuck with me. More the idea that its not my choice but rather a driving need like an addiction. When I say it helps me think maybe i am just saying that it has been too long and i need a driving fix to be able to think again. I don't really know if I want to delve into that at the moment so lets talk about something else.

This is nothing new for me, I have done it for years. In those years I have found a few places that, while not destinations, are constants. When driving I feel like im traveling through the imagined and these few locations exist in the real. For instance there is a 7-11 in the area I grew up, it resides somewhere in the known and nostalgia. It is real and I can still walk in and buy provisions. There are a few late night restaurants as well, though nothing worth our time except perhaps The Cardinal, which I will wait on.

Tonight I drove to a Taco Bell then Down Blossom hill. I found my way into a development between Camden, Union and 85 which i dont remember driving. It was quiet and seemed nice but what doesnt at night? I cut up Union and when into almaden valley by the hills. I love the smells of sage and brush in the summer, the roads need something other than city. I cut back to home over Santa Teresa. It was a short ride but it helped.

Deep Puddle Dynamics

somewhere in the billowing night infused grey overcast sky stained down on meadow Barn and dale Salt bleached on winds that echo'd the sea and her words formed age ago I couldn't remember her face er might I try This was rote traced eons held Wilderness Home to Home mid slumber til crumbling gas lit city beheld It was then climbing night dark steppes that I heard the scarecrow speak

Bright Ambassadors of Mourning

Once welling tears caramelize and burn
breathing away in to a honey haze.
my murky lenses prism my sight.
I’ll paint a stead from cloud and ride.

Over the sky to a shimmering lonely sea.
Walk on a shore of shattered jewels.
Waves crashed and broke all the more.
Dancing with a white pallid diamonds light.

I strode upon the impossible shore.
Until I bleed, cut and soar.
through the murk I spied an ebon sail
shifting upon the milky looking glass

No standard nor claiming mark, it bore
A tall pale ghost haunted the ship.
Circumstance bound our blood, cold
and lonely. And I waited dreaming

With a gurgle and gravely clacker
The boat bore into the Glittering shore
Under a sail of torn velvet and gold
A sullen robed row man held out a hand