I’m a recluse, not a hermit.
To confirm this fact, simply look
up the Webster’s dictionary definition of each or a little not-so-well-known
history. Soon enough, what’s revealed is
that by this time, I’ve lived a long and quite public life. That a fellow surviving such adventures might occasionally
want the curtain pulled should be no surprise.
What ought to shock, is
interest in prolonging said travail.
Yet even now, having lived
this life so long, a man discovers want for more of it!
Or perhaps, and more likely in
fact, the veil of ignorance is lifted last for those gifted with a fool’s nature. In either case, a man’s none the wiser and
better off to appreciate the news for what it’s worth.
For there are secrets not only
there, but many stories yet to be discovered.
On that basis alone, for the
writer, a misery is worth its continuance.
Those of certain experience know
well of what I speak. For the rest,
warnings are plentiful regarding the dangers of venturing down an uncharted
path. To any pursuing such knowledge, however,
they must accept the reticent sharing of caring forebears most as desire for these
appreciations to be their own, un-poisoned by inevitable cynicism.
Rather than a result of fearful
indecision, understood only by those old enough to know and forced to live with
it. For that which we accept as the
arrow of time itself demands an inviable fact must ever remain; the more one
knows, the more one must appreciate how little it is possible to understand.
As result, the experts upon
whom the world of every age depends multiply with the requisite exponential
scale of the population, rendering factual appreciation of the simplest of
daily experiences more insensible as time passes. For example, consider no less than the
conundrum of early 21st century society, wherein the planet
literally drowns in terabytes of so-called ‘data’, but remains functionally
illiterate to the assorted realities of modern life itself.
Without a ‘guy’, a video or a
search engine to answer questions, as the years pass the functional distance
between life elemental and the individual does also increase on a seeming exponential
basis. It must also be noted as fact
however, that whatever existential discomfort such thought might expose pales
in comparison to its recompense upon the daily temporal experience of an individual.
Welcome to the party ~ did
anyone mention we’re soaking in it?
However, at this point I must
digress, as by now it’s far too late to close that particular door, for either
reader or writer. It’s also not why
you’re here, and we both know that.
Welcome to you and here’s hoping it’s worth your effort.
As the writer, I’ve also
searched for an elusive something, far longer now than reason might defend
according to the calendar. Like most
everyone else, at one time or another I’ve decided I’d found whatever it was for
which I believed I’d searched. Again,
like those with a taste for the facts, only time would eventually reveal my
mistake.
Most often, when confronted by
the consequences of them the response here has not been gracious.
To a man’s great good fortune,
it turns out there’s no one of any consequence keeping score aside from the
fellow living within an individual’s mind.
Despite assurances from the latest ‘secure’ technologies and the
relentless mining of ‘private’ personal information by social media, it’s also objectively
clear utopia won’t be found by subjectively responding to society’s ills with
more of it.
Of course, you’re likely wise
to those facts or why would you still be here?
Much like myself, you made it
here seeking an answer. To what or how
you arrived makes no difference. By now,
the search is either something of which you’re oblivious or serve as slave to
obsession, though in many cases it’s an often-frustrating mix of both.
If we share nothing else, this
writer bets a desire to be rid of it spars with the love for its blessing
within you, perhaps daily. Of certain
value, you must also beware bets placed here are most often upon the writer
than a favorite. Let there be no doubt,
that’s result of an ignorant man’s bliss.
For quoted odds rely upon the
irrefutable science of mathematics for their predictions, making betting
against them the futile act of a senseless gambler. Those who would do so repeatedly, by and for
whatever excuse or explanation, can therefore make no objective claim to either
wisdom or sanity.
Let alone coach you with
claims of existential insight or profound enlightenment.
For the answer accepted here is
as horribly clear as that we most certainly dread. The more you know, the less you can. Like the speed at which moves light, beyond
that is only darkness.
Unfortunately, the only
experience known to our kind that does not end, is change. Thus, change itself is the experience feared
most. Leaving those such as you and me
here, relentlessly seeking an alternative to a hopelessly foregone conclusion
despite claiming an existential acceptance for a temporal plane of existence.
My answer to this miserable
but fact-bound circumstance was, is and ever shall be revealed only in my writing. To put it succinctly, if not written by my
own hand, it’s not a fact of either how I lived nor what I thought, believed or
desired to communicate, and must be disregarded. The analog to the speed at which light moves
here, is beyond that which I have written is only bullshit.
For the writer worked as this
man lived, by a code of his own design.
Science now teaches us a black
hole of uncertain but immense dimension lies at the centre of our universe,
much like a distant analog to the fearful blackness underlying the concept of
mortality for our kind. In each case,
individual awareness of the facts makes little subjective difference to the
experience of either.
Whether good fortune or bad,
that also seems a reliable feature of temporal reality.
To those wanting more, my
latest novel ‘The Recalcitrant P.I.’ is now available most everywhere on Amazon.
Thanks for being here and
thanks for sharing.
