Movement

Things are nice when they tumble and twirl and rise and fall. Bags in the wind playing catch with the skyline. Leaves making miniature cyclones in secluded parking lots. Smoke rising from a cigarette on a stark cold night.

It’s a reminder of motion, fluidity, change. Evidence that things don’t stay static for long. 

food is just a metaphor for connections with people.

Infatuation is a strange feeling. It’s kind of like when you eat something amazing, spectacular, something that makes you want to stuff your mouth full of this wonderful food for the entirety of your lifetime. 

So you go to the stores and raid the shelves.

You buy this dream food, this glorious substance, this impeccable cookery. And you gorge yourself with it whenever you can. Snack time. Dinner time. Lunch time. Breakfast at 5 in the morning. You want it forever, you want it now, you can eat this delicious sustenance until your stomach bursts and your insides spill out all this magnificent food.

And then it stops.

It’s not a sudden stop. It’s a chugging, slow, sort of diminishing slow down. Eventually the cereal you thought was a ladder to nirvana is more a footstool to just being full. The texture is no longer  overflowing your senses, blocking and deflecting all other feelings and emotions. It’s just there to keep you to the next meal.  Maybe the next time you’ll reach for something different in the refrigerator. Maybe this will be your path to ultimate edible transcendence.

It’s an oscillating effect. A nice smooth sine wave from the crest to the trough and back again. 

You’re habituated with the food from knowing. With relationships you’re jaded from commonplace. 

This isn’t a bad emotional state. Up and down, maniacally interested, and back to normalization. The rush of feelings gets to you. It tears you apart and leaves you feeling exhausted and grinning.

And you’re living. Eating and enjoying Loving and moving. Taking it one smooth slope to the other. It’s nice.

Dumpster Inspiration

I found a vegetarian Buddhist (Buddhist vegetarian?) cookbook in a dumpster the other day.

It's not a regular cookbook, though. It encourages experimentation, discovery, creation, and stumbling into great ideas. The book itself says it better than I can.

This is a book to help you actually cook-- a cooking book. The recipes are not for you to follow, they are for you to create, invent, test.
It explains things you need to know, and things to watch out for. There are plenty of things left for you to discover, learn, stumble upon

Blessings.
You're on your own.
Together with everything.

Pretty life-encompassing for a cookbook.

There's nothing better than inspiration in unexpected places.

Stephen!

The Road Not Taken

This is probably my favorite spoken word performance of this poem ever.

Click!

Is it bad that it's an advertisement?

Stephen!

The Butterfly Effect

To contradict (and then support) Stephen's post, I'll say this.

As Steve said, the universe is massive. A baseball feild is gigantic to a seven-year-old, I think being able to play a show at Chicago's The Metro is fucking huge, but seven year olds and I share something, we have not been everywhere and seen everything. Just one planet away is too far away for Mankind to reach. Think of the greatest people you've ever known or heard of. Of all the astounding, momentus achievements they have under their collective belts, not one could even THINK of touching the sands of Mars.

But I digress. There is a thing called the Butterfly Effect. As an offshoot of the Chaos Theory, it states a tiny change can set off a massive reaction at a later time, encapsuled in the statement which is the gust created from a butterfly's wing flap can divert the course of a tornado on the other side of the globe.

Does this mean then, that no matter how big and intimidating the universe is, everything we do or make has a profound effect on the unyeilding cosmos? Yes, absolutely it's possible. The force of every key I hit could be causing planets to crumble in other solar systems billions of light years away.

Does this mean we matter? Not really. Even if this chaos theory is correct, we can't control what we're doing, and there's no proof either way that we're right. So we know we're creating ripples, who cares? It doesn't effect us. And if you believe in existentialism, than these galaxies that we may be creating or destroying don't even exist!


I'll leave you with this quote from one of my favorite books ever. Not a book actually, a graphic novel, and for anyone who's read it, the fact that Rorschach said this will give away the title.

"Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet move under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in the night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existance is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach."

It's Watchmen by the way. Go read it, it's astounding.

Love, 

Dustin

Immortality

There's something transcendent about transience. Give or take a handful of decades and we won't be around anymore.

Some people live through their life's work. Plato, Van Gogh, Dostoevsky. It even applies today. People such as Vonnegut and Lennon. They're cheating death by leaving behind a tangible account of their lives. The paper in your hands, the sound in your ears, the light being so dutifully absorbed by your rods and cones. They're all ways of reaching out and touching souls from the grave. It's as if they've become immortal.

But if you play this in fast forward, if you take a step back and skip the tape ahead a few chapters to where the Sun has boiled our oceans away and charred our ground, where the Andromeda Galaxy is whisking through the Milky Way and stars make small talk to each other you can start to see that all these souls and minds aren't really making an imprint. The literature and art burned, the music silenced. Everything we've done as a species and as individuals doesn't really matter.

The only things left from humanity at this point are a handful of defunct spacecraft barreling away from sun. A few cold pieces of metal whispering through space. It's lonely, it's quiet. But it's an engrossing feeling to picture this scenario.

I love homo sapiens.

Stephen!

Chance Encounters

Writing when you're bored is the best.

“When it comes down to it, all we really are is a humdrum combination of chance and choice, right?”

She muttered this and leaned over the chair.

He nodded and spoke as he typed.

“There’s no guiding force. There’s nothing stopping us. Nothing to tell us what we can or can’t do. The only thing that really affects us aside from our conscience decision is happenstance.”

 Stumbling upon an acquaintance in a park and falling head over heels.

 Crashing into old friends in unexpected places.

 Driving down a street and seeing a past lover glide by.

 Anyway you look at it its all just a matter of us deciding to act, and then stumbling beautifully through spontaneity along the way.” It dripped off his lips as he continued to type.

She batted her eyes and inhaled, “I have to admit something to you.”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes I go places just to walk headstrong into the unpredictabilites of the universe. I sit in dusty bookstores watching people and let pure fortuity engulf me. The souls that pass, the interactions of others. They’re all so new, fleeting, so unexpected out in public”

He laughed and got up from his seat. “You know, If I didn’t come to the library today, at this specific time in the afternoon, If I didn’t get assigned a 3 page paper and wait to do it until the last minute, this never would have happened. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She beamed a smile.

“Who should I thank, then?”

“The wisps of uncertainty.”

Stephen!

Big red and white letters yelling at me

undistraction.com

So, I'm a procrastinator. My friend Stephen has his bouts, but I'm a genuine procrastinator. He and I have been contemplating being blogger buddies for a little while now, but I never expected to do it. Actually having our own blog always seemed like a quiant little dream to me. Why? Fuck, because I'm a procrastinator. I wanted a place to log all of my own little ponderings, but, I would have had to make an account! And wait for inspiration! And deal with all the other menial and possibly irrational obstacles that were in my way! Fortunately for me, Sneefy IM'ed me today with a newly polished blogger acount, our blank canvas, finally purchased.

After Steve's reaction to my crisply Stumbled upon (best website ever) homepage for my browser, he mentioned how blogworthy it was and I decided that it was only fitting to end my procrastination with the mention of a website that tells me to get off my ass and get things done.

Now, go get undistracted!

Love,
Dustin

I saw the International Space Station flyby earlier tonight. It's nice to see a  pinnacle of human acheivement glide across your worldview at 5miles per second. You get a nice blur of endearing, inspirational, and humble feelings as you watch this sucker track the sky.

Stephen!