Phew. Made it through another one – not just a year, but a decade, and the first of a new millennium at that! In spite of myself, I have now seen the better part of four ten year spans come and go. Contrary to what some might tell you, I'm not convinced yet that things get any easier. Enough of that though – this is a moment of optimism and potential. A whole new span of time sits open and beckoning to us, waiting to see what we will make of it.
I limped out of that last epoch, and now it is time to regenerate the creative juices, muster energy, and move forward with decisiveness and purpose. I see 2010 as a year of bounding creativity and joy. New pathways will be opened up, different ways of thinking, the world will no longer appear in varying shades of gray, but instead in complete color saturation. Limitless opportunity will be the starting gun, and realized potential the end result, for those who don't allow themselves to be bogged down in the matrix of distraction and defeatism. I can already feel psychic muscles starting to stretch out, warm up, and relax. Smooth, confident action will get it done.
Updates...
Anyway, I don't have time for updates. Updates, it's like every single day there is a new update. How does anyone have time for it all? Do they? Does anyone update as much as we are meant to be updating? According to the powers that be? The voices that percolate from my... I feel time running out. I feel time running out as fast as I feel the need for something to happen to happen. It is a race to the finish. Either it happens, it manifests, and things go on; or it doesn't, and they don't. These are the times we live in.
I enjoy writing – but the events, and the powers that be: the politics, and the history, and the patterns I continue to expel, expunge, and expurgate – man, they start to tire me out in a serious way. The damned word processor is always trying to guess the words I intend to put down, the increments between pay-checks just get longer and longer, and no one ever complains about the diminishing quality of the writing. It makes one start to wonder. Couple that with increasing isolation, continued paranoia, and an awareness of encroaching impotence, and things start to get very disquieting. Tonight I have exercised incredible common sense, and sensibility, in realizing that more hard alcohol was probably not going to take me down the best path. Instead, I am only nursing a solid three day buzz with diluted beer, clamato juice, and hot sauce. They want me to act like the year is over, when the egg nog is still... right... there – in front of my face, and teasing me like a Moldavian mail-order bride – the kinds you can find if you know the right key words. There are no mysteries anymore – are there? God, when I was a kid, you had to practically commit a felony in order to see what a vagina looked like. I once dug up a friend's pornography – he had literally buried it underground. He showed me where he'd buried it and I dug it up with a shovel. I used to relish my bi-weekly trips to the barber because he had Playboy Magazines – airbrushed bush and not a clue what really lurked there between a woman's legs. Now the great mysteries are all a Google search away. I don't know – I was trying to keep this thing positive, but it is heading in a decidedly neutral direction.
I used to dream about things I couldn't understand. I understand a lot now – a lot more than I ever used to, back then, a million years ago. Our Declaration of Independence inscribes our inherent right to the pursuit of happiness. It represents a tectonic shift in human consciousness. But it doesn't guarantee us the right to be happy, only the right to pursue that which might make us happy – to choose, of our own volition, to follow those paths that might possibly lead us to that Shangri-La, Eden, Paradise. Our founding fathers had the wisdom to suggest to us, a few hundred years, give or take, down the road, that we might be able to manifest that world reserved for those who have passed from this life, here, in this life, while we shall live. People could only imagine a state of being we, you, I might actually live to experience. So, yeah, I guess I might have gone a little silly in the navigation there – but I think this thing is starting to turn and move in a positive direction.
madbob@madbob.com
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