-Isaac Newton, Quaestiones Quaedam Philosophicae
The one thing that has intrigued scientists from sociologists to physicists, from the Stone Age to the Information age, is the connection between the realm of mathematics and our reality. Is it simply an abstraction, fabricated by man, which corresponds to otherwise unpredictable events, or does it have any physical basis? Although we use math to connect events and entities, math itself appears to have no intrinsic value in itself. For example, you may declare that a=b, however this statement has absolutely no value unless you assign a and b to some sort of physical value. And, in addition, one would not be able to claim that a=b with any degree of certainty, unless it was as a result of some observation of physical values. Without either of these declarations, a could equal any value that is equal or not equal to b, and vice versa. It can be easy to say that mathematics was a man-made construction, because when we were created, there apparently was nothing that was officially declared to have a value of a; it appears that we ourselves assigned certain equivalences for use as representation of certain values within a category, e.g. 1 gram of water equals 1.001 milliliters of water at 4� C. This is because we humans assigned 1 gram as a unit of mass and one milliliter as a unit of volume. But what is a gram and what is a milliliter? And how are they related? The most obvious consideration is that a gram is plainly a measure of how much actual observable matter there is in a given sample. And a milliliter is how much 3-dimensional space is occupied by a given sample of matter. Again, without any assigned physical values, these two abstract concepts have no value. The amount of grams may be equal to any value of milliliters, unless one is describing a certain material such as water, in which case, we would observe that for every milliliter of water at 4� C (disregarding temperature which would also has the same explanation with relation to other physical values, including mass and volume; in fact the relationship between mass and volume of a material relies on an infinite number of other physical values, such as pressure, impurity, etc.) it weighs .999 grams. This is because, at some point, a decision was made to find a piece of something and say �Hey guys!!! This amount of matter in this is exactly equivalent to a gram.� And then someone else went out, found a jelly bean and said �Hey guys!!! The volume occupied by this is called one milliliter from now on.� And so, man invented these units of measurements. And each of these units of measurement represents a constant physical value. However, there is one unit of measurement that, apparently, cannot be explained as a unit that has been assigned using physical values. That unit of measurement is the numeral 1, itself. After all, a numeral is in fact a measurement. The numeral 1 is obviously different than the numeral 2. And numerals 1 and 2 are different than any other numerical value. This statement seems obvious. It is what we learn before kindergarten; it seems blatantly obvious. But the questions are, �What is �1�? And why do we know what it is without any prior definition?� We relate all other mathematical considerations and physical values to the numeral 1, within a base-10 number system. I believe that the answer is simply that the numeral 1 is the physical basis for mathematics. The number 1 exists. No matter what you have, be it 15 gallons of water, 10 tons of steel, or a nitrogen atom with 7 protons, 8 neutrons and 7 electrons, you know that you will always have at least one of something, or else it doesn�t exist. So when you assign a value to something like �17 grams� you are actually assigning two physical values: 17 and grams. Both units are divisible into its base units: ones (or tens, etc.) and milligrams (or centigrams, etc.). At some point, someone (probably a caveman) had to go out, find a rock and say �This is �one� thing,� where �thing� is a variable that represents a material.
One observation of the organization of sciences has led me to the following conclusion. When we examine the study of the larger systems, such as ecology, sociology, architectural engineering, we notice that the study of these sciences is done mostly by direct, often visual, observation and description of the subjects being studied. Sociologists stare at crowds and say things like, �These people are working hard.� This is a direct observation. And we also notice that with the rules and properties of such large systems we have numerous exceptions. For example, you may notice a large crowd of people, of which many and most may be on their way to work, however in almost all cases you would find a few who are not doing the same thing. Generally speaking, the larger and more complex the system, the number of exceptions to the laws is more inversely proportional (a constant multiplied by the inverse proportion, where the constant becomes larger with the growing complexity of the system) to the level of complexity of those laws that govern them. Following along those lines, we find that when we study the underlying sciences we make less direct observation of the subject being studied and make more inferences from inductive and deductive reasoning. For example, in biochemistry, we cannot just look directly at the molecules of the sample we are studying. We use information that we have previously gathered from less complex, but preceding experiments to make inferences from the data we can observe about the sample, exempli gratia, mass, volume, and result of electrophoresis. Once we approach the science of chemistry we can almost rely entirely on math and logical reasoning to be accurate enough to make predictions and statements that are dependable, whereas in lumbering, large sciences such as sociology we cannot rely very well on mathematics to make predictions that are very accurate. For example, we cannot derive some sort of mathematical equation that would describe the pathway of a randomly selected car in a city, at least not one with any amount of appreciable feasibility. However, once we enter the realm of the pure sciences such as physics and chemistry, and even biochemistry and biophysics, we can derive mathematical models that fairly easily and accurately describe the nature of the material being studied. The reason this is so, is because at this level, we can no longer take into account any sort of direct observation of what we are studying. We can only take quantitative (large collections of numerical data) and qualitative (indirectly observed, e.g. visual and other sensory) data into account. Beyond this observation, in order to come to the desired conclusion, it becomes a study of information which we deal with mathematically. And once we reach down into the furthest depths of size to describe the very pieces of our reality - quantum mechanics - it becomes almost an entirely mathematical escapade. And there are no statistical exceptions to mathematical laws. The only way we can observe things at the quantum level is through the passing of information by way of messenger particles of each field. A photon, electron or neutron or any other elementary particle has no physical existence as we think of physical objects. They are merely bits of information that arise due to the presence of certain fields (gravity, electromagnetic, strong and weak nuclear). As a result we find that although the world we live in appears to be a collection of physical objects, as you try to more accurately explain the nature of the universe, it all boils down to information that we deal with using mathematical manipulation. The smallest components of our universe are dynamic systems of numbers. In addition, I believe that this is evidence that we live in what many physicists are calling a �Holographic Universe�. A �Holographic Universe� is basically a universe that is a 3-dimensional representation of a 2-dimensional container of information. A laymanlier analog would be if one wrote down on a piece of (2-dimensional) paper a description of a (3-dimensional) orange. It might say, �It is semi-spherical with indents and both the top and bottom, with and orange color.� It is a 3-dimensional concept as we imagine it, but the information itself is 2-dimensional.
(I wrote this when I was a sophomore in High School and left it untouched since)
Sean Extra�o awoke to a beautiful, orange sunset. The sun set the late afternoon sky ablaze with a calm and ambient flame. There was a direct, glowing path, from Sean, through the sand, to the grand, orange sun. There were a couple of clouds lined up, parallel to the horizon, against the sun. Heat waves glided like a transparent river over the sandy horizon. Like every other day, the sun shed light into the world for a good, enjoyable few hours or so, then sank into some unknown land far beyond. It seemed that the sun had found its resting place in the sand once again this evening. But on this eve, the sun seemed different. On this evening, it seemed as if it would be permanently fixed into its sandy bed.
There were two adobe homes in his view. Sean thought of how archaic these homes were compared to his own house back at home. Yet, they seemed more full of life and creativity than his manufactured house that looked like every other house in his neighborhood.
The sun silhouetted one adobe home, and, in the other, Sean could see a short woman washing clothes. Sean could hear the continuous swish-swoosh of the laundry. At an instance, while Sean stared at the peculiar woman, she glanced back with a disconcerting expression. At this moment, the restless sound of the rest of the town around him came to merge into his newly refreshed consciousness. The back of his head suddenly hurt. He turned his head to find that he had fallen asleep against a building. He looked back at the sun again and wondered what time it was. He slowly sat up, still facing the comforting sun. He then began to stand to his feet. After standing up, he brushed off the sand from his camouflage pants. He finally turned around. He found himself standing beside another adobe housing. He grabbed his canteen, helmet and rifle and began to walk around the house.
�Sean, where in the hell are you?� someone said to him out loud.
�I�m right here.� Sean indicated as he rounded the corner of the house.
Sean immediately saw who it was. It was his friend, Lieutenant Morgan Stiles.
�Man, we�ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?�
�Uh, I�m not sure. I remember being tired, so I came over here to rest. I guess I fell asleep.�
�Hey, I heard what happened. I�m sorry, man.�
This puzzled Sean.
�What happened?� Sean asked.
Stiles seemed now just as surprised as Sean.
�What? You mean you forgot?�
�Well� I guess. What happened?� Sean asked again, perplexed.
Look, why don�t you go over to the fruit stand over there and have something to eat? Here�s some money.� Morgan said as he handed over a wad of paper.
�Ok. But what happened?� Sean inquired once more.
�Um, I�m sure you�ll remember, once you get a little refreshed. I�ll be with the captain in the barracks, if you need to talk to anyone.�
�Um, ok.� Sean gave up.
Sean slung his rifle over his shoulder, reattached his canteen to his belt and placed the helmet on his head. He began walking towards the fruit stand at the corner of the little plaza, in the center of the little town. As he walked towards the fruit stand, Lieutenant Stiles walked to Sean�s left, towards the two-story, temporary barracks, also made out of adobe. The barracks was well guarded. It was probably the most guarded object in the area.
Sean glanced at Stiles only to find Stiles looking back at Sean. Stiles immediately looked away and pretended to be simply looking around. Sean also noticed that a civilian was talking to two of the guards. It seemed like they were going to make a trade goods or something of the sort. Sean was completely confused by the exchange of words that he just had with Stiles. What the hell am I forgetting, Sean thought to himself, what the hell was he talking about. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Stiles had entered the barracks. As he approached the fruit stand he began walking through the small-town marketplace. He walked through the small crowd and looked at some of the people. He then bumped into an odd fellow, who wore red clothing and a well decorated turban and seemed awfully nervous. Sean apologized, but the other man did not reply and kept walking on. �Asshole,� Sean muttered to himself.
Sean then approached the fruit stand. He saw a variety of different tasty-looking fruits. He suddenly realized how hungry he actually was. He hastily grabbed an apple and bit into it. It tasted sweet and Sean enjoyed it very much. Sean had to admit to himself that this apple was the best he ever had.
Suddenly a large man with a sword came out from a doorway behind the fruit stand. As he approached Sean, he raised his sword threateningly. Sean immediately shielded himself and closed his eyes. The fruit merchant swung his deadly sword. Sean heard the chopping of wood, as if by a swift and powerful ax, as he stood there cowering. He opened his eyes.
�You pay for that, now!� said the fruit merchant.
�Oh, I�m sorry,� replied Sean, frantically.
Sean pulled out the currency from his pocket.
�Here, take whatever you need,� Sean said, as he laid down money, not only to pay for the fruit but for his childish mistake.
Sean paid much more than the fruit actually cost. Sean took the apple he had and briskly walked away without looking back, hoping that he had quelled the man. He didn�t know that the people here were so hostile, especially to Sean and the soldiers. As he tried to get away from the fruit stand, he looked at the makeshift barracks, where he saw the captain staring back from a second story window.
Then it suddenly hit Sean like a brick. The entire memory came back to him. He could remember everything now. Sean now saw an image of the captain in his recovered memory. The image began to animate and turn into a moving procession in his mind. The captain began to speak.
�Private Extra�o, Can I have a word with you?�
�Yes, sir� Sean had said.
�It�s� regarding your family. I�m afraid something terrible has happened.�
Thoughts and possibilities had begun to play out in Sean�s head. Many different types of bad things had entered his mind that could have happened to his family. He tried to think of every possibility in that slow moment in time that his mind had managed to salvage. However, he knew that those things didn�t matter until he knew what had truly taken place.
�Back home, there was a violent gang fight, a street shootout. Many people were injured,� the captain paused, �some were also killed.�
As the captain looked Sean straight in the eyes, he put his right hand on Sean�s left shoulder. Sean was already beginning to understand what the captain was trying to say.
The Captain had drawn in a deep breath before saying what Sean had known he was going to say.
�Your wife and daughter were killed in the shoot out. I�m sorry. Feel free to take as much time as you need.�
Immediately after that, Sean had immediately left the barracks and had just walked. He had walked aimlessly, completely without direction. He didn�t remember how he got there but, he had wound up walking behind an adobe brick house. He had then stopped, leaned against the wall, and slowly slid down. When he had landed with his backside in the sand, he had begun to sob. He had sunk his head between his knees and wept out a sorrowful and sad self-pity.
The memory was very clear, now. His surroundings disappeared from his consciousness. It became black. An image of his daughter lit up the darkness of his mind. The image was of bad quality, like some memories are when tried too hard to remember. The image was fuzzy, but he could make out most of his daughter�s face and her beautiful, blonde, curly hair. In the memory, his daughter laughed in innocent merriment. Sean wanted to reach out to her. It was just an image with a voice now, though. He could still hear her, like it was yesterday, or maybe the day before. Then came his wife. She smiled bashfully as she said, �I do.� Sean remembered how astonished he was when he first saw his bride, as she lit up her dress on that day. She had the same beautiful blonde hair as their daughter.
Sean remembered the day he left. Before he had walked towards the enormous cargo plane, he had slung his bag over his shoulder. He had stood there with his wife and confused daughter. His wife was crying but making a failed attempt to hold back. He gave her a hug and held on for as long as he could. As he did so, his daughter had wrapped her arms around as much of her daddy as she could hold onto. He had wanted to stand there forever, holding onto his wife and daughter, that he loved so much. However, he had known what he had to do. He had let go of his two favorite girls and said his last goodbye. It was as if Sean was holding a small heap of beautifully, glistening sand in the palm of his hand, and the wind had just blown it away. And there was nothing Sean could have done about it.
Reality came crashing into Sean�s consciousness again. There he stood, in the middle of this town, staring forward into space. He was surrounded by sand and people that he did not know. Someone passed him, staring at him. His mind began to spin uncontrollably. A feeling of immense grief dissolved in confusion filled Sean. It felt like his mind was detaching from him, ready to bound away in despair. Something deep down inside began to call out, then began to scream out. It became louder and louder, until eventually, Sean found himself screaming out in agony.
After what seemed like an eternity spent in the deepest, darkest chasm of hell, Sean found himself on his knees. His shaking hands were buried in the sand, as he tried to grasp the Earth. He sat there. He could feel the sand against his heavy pant legs. He wiped the tears from his face and found that he had gotten sand on it, too. He lightly brushed the sand off of his wet face and then began to stand up. The plaza didn�t have as much people now in it, as it would have during the morning or afternoon. Nevertheless, Sean had created a scene of himself. Most of the people had stopped completely in their tracks to ponder this spectacle. Sean looked around at the people who surrounded him. He noticed that his helmet and rifle had fallen off. He bent over and tried to quickly pick them up.
As he stood straight up again, he noticed the man in red, that he had bumped into before, came hurriedly out of an adobe house and walked quickly towards the makeshift barracks. His clothes seemed a little bulkier than before A guard, standing further away than he should have been, began to shout, �Stop, stop.� The man openly ignored the guard. The guard pointed his gun and began to run to intercept the man as he shouted for his immediate stop. The man in red began to run as well, maintaining his course towards the barracks.
�Oh shit,� Sean said quietly, grabbing his rifle. Sean held his rifle in one hand, while he hastily grabbed for a clip with the other.
The guard opened fire on the man in bursts, making a tat-tat-tat sound. He largely missed, with bullets slamming into the sand and ricocheting off the adobe material. But one bullet managed to find its place in the man�s leg. The man in red, nevertheless carried on relentlessly, only limping now. Sean loaded his rifle and aimed. The man in red was within five yards of the entrance. Sean opened fire as well with desperate incessancy, unleashing the full power of his clip. Sean couldn�t hear anything but the loud tat-tat-tat sound emitted from the gun and echoed around the plaza. Sean�s whole body shook as the powerful gun drove round after round through the air at the man in red. Sean�s bullets hit everything around the entrance of the barracks, kicking up spurts of sand into the air and chipping pieces from the adobe wall. Two or three bullets entered the man�s back where it sprayed back blood in response. This knocked the man on his stomach. For a quick few seconds Sean thought it was over. The area seemed quiet, when suddenly the building exploded in a powerful blast that knocked Sean back on the ground. Fire came bursting out of each window and opening in the building.
All Sean could feel was the surging pain sent through his spinal cord as he landed flat on his back. Sean winced in pain. Then the pain seemed to quickly disappear. He sat up quickly to assess what just happened. The building stood engulfed in flames. Sean knew that nobody inside had survived. Morgan Stiles was dead and so was the captain and everyone else in the squad. He now was confused again. He wondered what to do now. He was all alone. Everyone in the world that meant anything to him was now gone. He stood up again, grasping his rifle. He looked behind him to find his helmet laying a good fifteen feet away. Then he turned back. As he turned back towards the blown-out barracks he sighted two men coming from his left, towards where he had woken up.
He waved to them and they waved back in response. Sean took another dismayed look at the barracks. Suddenly, Sean saw, to his right, two suspicious looking men. They were carrying guns. The two men from Sean�s squad came running towards Sean. They hadn�t seen the two other men with guns. Sean screamed as loud as he could to get the two squad mates to turn back. They couldn�t hear Sean. The two suspicious looking men held up their guns and opened fire on Sean�s squad mates with that same tat-tat-tat sound. The two squad members quickly fell victim to the violent hail of bullets aimed at them. After each of them had been hit numerous times, they both fell to the ground, bloodied and torn. One man pushed his torso up with one arm and opened his mouth to scream. The two offensive men to Sean�s right opened fire again, finishing the man.
Up to this point, the two men hadn�t seen Sean. Sean�s whole bodied quickly filled with the most petrifying anger he had ever felt before. His breathing became heavy and loud. He changed his clip again, this time more slowly and vengefully. He raised his gun and aimed at the two men. One of the women behind Sean screamed out in the terror of the moment. The two men looked directly at Sean and stood there shocked. Sean squeezed the trigger with every ounce of strength that he had, focused in the one finger. He didn�t even hear the gun, nor did he care. He only saw the quick sprays of blood that followed the entry of each bullet.
The two once deadly men laid down in the sand. Two other civilians also laid dead behind the two dangerous ones. Sean felt that he should be satisfied. He wasn�t. The anger still flowed in him, only stronger now. It was like some explosive liquid flowed through his veins, ready to combust. Then he remembered his wife and daughter. He fell to his knees and planted his face firmly in his wet, sandy hands. He wept now harder than he had before.
�Why do we do this?� he said quietly to himself, �Why?�
We must end this,� someone behind him said.
Sean then felt a quick, piercing pain in his back. It was a shocking and blindingly painful feeling at first. Then he could feel the cold metal blade pass through his body. He saw his mother and father taking him to school. He saw his high school graduation with all the cheerful people. He then saw his first job interview. Then he saw his bride. Then he saw his wife in the delivery room. Then he saw his daughter playing in the long grass of some lovely green field back at home. Then his mind went black and he saw and remembered nothing more. The young soldiers body laid there in the sand, motionless. Everything in his life is gone and so is he.
-Men are aggressive because women are attracted to it.
-Common people ask "What?" Intelligent people ask "How?" But, people who really affect the world ask "Why?"
-If the observation of something disturbs that something fundamentally, then would the observation of our own consciousness disturb it?
-Why do people say that life is so hard? What do they have to compare it to?
-If there is one way to describe the entire universe, why can't there be another one?
-If person A can prove to himself that he is real, and person B can prove to herself that she is real, and those are true, then why can't person A prove to person B that both she and he are real and visa versa?
-Men think about science when they realize that women are too complicated.
-Never take a girlfriend if you don't have a job, whether she is materialistic or not.
-Love is the only thing, that once you've truly felt it, you know it's absolutely certain, yet it completely defies logic.
-In life, there must necessarily be a great division between one's reality and one's passion. In all lives, at some point, they collide. Some of these collisions leave dents, while others leave craters. A natural harmony between the two of these would be a life decorated with perfection. This is, of course, impossible.
-Olsen Twins: Starving Since 1995
-Boyscouts: Keeping White Kids White since the 19th Century
-If you're a woman, it's perfectly okay to eat a piece of pizza with as much grease and cheese as you want as long as it has some vegetable as a topping, and you get a diet coke with it.
-People don't kill people; people with battle axes kill people
-Going commando? How often do real military commandos 'go commando'?
-Acid Rain: Keeps me blonde :-)
-When God made the heavens and the Earth, he made lettuce. Then he decided lettuce wasn't shitty enough, so he made cabbage.
-How do you describe the height of an asian in one Japanese word? Nihai! (for white people: pronounced Nee-High)
-Maybe I'd have better luck if I objectified women.
-American males wear more dresses than any other male population in the world.
-"Merry Christmas" can never be used to threaten or scare someone.
-If you want someone to to take you seriously, you should probably get rid of the balloons.
posted 9-27-05
Most people would like very much to have a conversation with God. Many people claim to actually have such conversations. They claim that God speaks to them in tongues and dialects of human origin, and hands down to them scriptures and written instructions through His prophets who write with human mechanics and grammar. They orate and dictate to us the English, Spanish, French, Arabic, Japanese, etc. doctrines of the greatness that is God. They sit at their bedsides and ask God, in their various languages, to make things so, as they wish. They believe that a righteous God will set right what they have done wrong and expect purpose of their selfish needs to be reality. I think what these people really see in God is a politician. They see a human figure that will speak in words and not in actions. They seek a purpose of their own and not of a universal purpose of existence. God communicates with action, more specifically with purpose behind those actions. People may want it to be sunny so they can enjoy the warmth, but sometimes a rain cloud is really what is needed for growth. And as regards the grandeur of God, doctrines and archaic religious tendencies are completely unnecessary. The problem of not being able to understand God lies in not understanding His world. Knowledge is the ultimate insight.
This morning, I went for a run to the beach just west of the university here. Nothing was more greeting to my flat-footedness than the sand underneath my shoes. As I collapsed on my rear end onto the stretch of beach that lay before the eternal succession of waves, I sat and stared into the sea. I thought of how miniscule I was compared to the �Big Picture�, and how it showed by the fact that I had run an infinitely small length of space, compared to the 4.3 light-year marathon to the sun�s closest neighbor, and was completely winded. Such a comparison makes the Great Wall of China look like the shoestring of an atom. I reached hard into the pile of billions of tons of sand that I sat on top of and held up a manageable amount in the palm of my hand. My first thought was that the ingredients of the entire universe, a universe no human will ever comprehend or even dare to fully imagine, are encapsulated in a grain of sand, any such grain of sand that sat now in the palm of my hand. That basically means that neither I nor any human will ever fully comprehend the grain of sand, as well. God made this entire, grand universe, either by some grandiose, elegant design or by some massive, yet low entropic chaotic assemblage, and we don�t even understand the grain of sand. That is the grandeur of God. And you think you�re so smart.
Posted: 10-5-05
"I have already said that I am not involved in the 11 September attacks in the United States. As a Muslim, I try my best to avoid telling a lie. I had no knowledge of these attacks, nor do I consider the killing of innocent women, children and other humans as an appreciable act. Islam strictly forbids causing harm to innocent women, children and other people. Such a practice is forbidden even in the course of a battle.... The United States should try to trace the perpetrators of these attacks within itself.... intelligence agencies in the U.S., which require billions of dollars worth of funds from the Congress and the government every year. This [funding issue] was not a big problem till the existence of the former Soviet Union but after that the budget of these agencies has been in danger. They needed an enemy. So, they first started propaganda against Usama and Taleban and then this incident happened. You see, the Bush Administration approved a budget of 40 billion dollars. Where will this huge amount go? It will be provided to the same agencies, which need huge funds and want to exert their importance. Now they will spend the money for their expansion and for increasing their importance. I will give you an example. Drug smugglers from all over the world are in contact with the U.S. secret agencies. These agencies do not want to eradicate narcotics cultivation and trafficking because their importance will be diminished. The people in the U.S. Drug Enforcement Department are encouraging drug trade so that they could show performance and get millions of dollars worth of budget. General Noriega was made a drug baron by the CIA and, in need, he was made a scapegoat."
-Osama bin Laden (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osama_bin_Laden)
I don't want to fight.
Why should I have to fight?
Who wants to fight?
Do they really want to fight?
What makes them fight?
Do their wives make them fight?
Do their children make them fight?
Do their mothers and fathers make them fight?
Is it the land mines that make them fight?
Is it the deafening mortar fire that makes them fight?
Is it the dead wives on the street that make them fight?
Is is the dead children that make them fight?
Is it the dead mothers and fathers that make them fight?
I don't want to fight.
But these men want to fight.
These wars they want to fight.
Do they see who they fight?
Do they see who dies when they fight?
Do they see that it is men, like them, that they fight?
And that it is not only these men that they fight?
But, it is also the women that they fight,
And the buck-toothed children that they fight,
And leave dead on rubbled, ashen streets when they fight.
I don't want to fight.
I see no justification that these men, these people, should fight.
If I could sail out into the sea,
And discover a reason to be;
If I could rocket into the sky,
Just to ask God why;
If I could peer through the looking glass,
Simply to understand at last;
If I could turn over a rock,
To find a key for that lock,
I would have done it already.
When God made all the sand and stars,
When God healed all the wounds of men�s wars,
When God skillfully shaped the Moon and Earth,
When God gave man�s heart its worth,
When God turned black coal into roses and stems,
When God turned coarse earth into gleaming gems,
When God wrought iron from the sun�s fire,
When God forgave man for his hatred and desire,
To suit the senses of men was not his duty,
Rather he intended to orient it for female grace and beauty.
There is a hotel on Melancholy Lane,
Where you check your baggage,
But still somehow weigh the same.
For this lonesome night, this is your home;
They will accompany you to your room,
But you will still somehow be alone.
Through the entrance and despite your youth, you feel faded and old,
And despite the cloth and heat,
Through your skin and down to your bones, you remain rigid and cold.
On the nightstand will be a lighted lamp and a black, bolted phone,
But no light shall shine and no one calls:
The only conversation comes from the floor which groans.
When your luggage arrives, not being what you sought,
The baggage will just be empty,
And you will have already forgotten what you brought.
Searching for remedy and service, down the halls you roam,
But you can find no one of aide,
Through passing figures, you opt just to continue and you moan.
Checkout time comes as soon as morning breaks,
A time remarkably removed from now,
Until then your eyes blur
And from disappointment, your head shakes.
This place looks different to me,
The sun peers through different curtains
In this new place I seem to be.
I awake facing a new wall today,
This wall is a shade darker,
And its texture curves in different ways.
Placed near is a new nightstand not there before;
Before, there was a desk.
This item appears just fresh from the store.
I've awaken in a brand new place aparently.
Today this is my home.
Will I awaken tomorrow, with a new arrangement to see?
I have to leave this town, today.
There must be some way to leave,
There must be somehow, someway.
Can an aircraft carry me far over those hills,
Out of this awful valley,
And the yellowish-orange depression it enstills?
Is there no train that leaves this evening, at least,
To save my intent of intellect,
To prevent my mind from being devoured by this ignorant beast?
Is there no vehicle that can drive for miles,
In any direction, in any manner,
And just keep driving for a long while?
Some I wish to take, and some I wish to leave,
But those I wish to take, I can never have nor keep,
And those I wish to leave continue to follow without reprieve.
I have to leave this town, today.
All here is unresolveable,
I simply must leave without delay.
In my life, I have used logic to create a human soul.
It has been as successful as air to fill an empty bowl.
Can black ink alone color a page?
Is it time alone that brings a man to age?
Can a librarian alone fill a bookshelf?
Is it a neuce alone that makes a man hang himself?
Biology can describe life just fine, of course,
But can it describe yours?
There once was a God,
Perfect and true.
He created the vast Earth,
And thought he was through.
The good, green Earth,
With its great blue ocean,
Wasn�t quite complete.
And He had a crazy notion.
�Why not create Man,
And let him be free,
To chose his own path,
To follow the likes of Me?"
Any limit falls
A good push and down it goes
Bricks or Infinity
David writes a sucide note
Every night before bed
He pulls the piece out;
Puts it straight to his head.
He feels the shame of his life
Is too much to bear,
So, why doesn't he just end it,
Right then, right there?
He puts it back down,
On the table to rest
Because above all,
David is afraid of death.
Forgive me Father
For I have sinned.
It�s been seven years,
And I will not come again.
I was reared per your will,
And basked in the sunlight of your candle.
But, the alarm has sounded - a call to truth;
I�ve grabbed my suitcase by the handle.
I�ve seen that the veil
Is easily sheared,
But underneath the cloak
Lies exactly what you fear.
Nothing, on this earth, can exist
Beyond the end of its time,
When the clock runs out,
You must lie down and die.
But who awaits you
On the other side of the light?
Look for yourself,
If it resolves your plight.
But you cannot look,
You cannot perceive,
Because at that instant
You cease to be.
Think now,
My good friend.
What can there be
At your body�s end?
How many lives
Have you held in your hand?
How many miles
Have your legs walked on this land?
And the thoughts in your head,
Though ethereal, governed materially,
How will they manage
To escape the finale?
And the memories
Of your good deeds done,
How will they survive
When you are undone?
What more do you have,
To show at the gate,
When the old man
Decides your fate?
And, why would he destroy these things,
These belongings of yours,
If He intended to have you
In His perfect land of lore?
What kind of host
Destroys all that you�ve made
Takes your life,
Leaves you, a wraith?
And, then what does He have,
But an endless sea of empty shells
I think I�d prefer the other way out.
I�ll take my free pass to Hell.
I hear the clock tick,
Tick tock, tick tock
And I do not know
When it will stop
But it does inform
With unrivaled duress
That with each tick tock
I have one second less
A tap on the glass
Or with the blink of an eye
And tick tock tick tock,
Another moment gone by
A footstep in Spring
Brings closer the Fall
And tick tock tick tock,
Winter comes to all.
Do not fret the line,
There is only the thread.
If it should snap,
I would soon be dead.
Not the skin,
Nor the skeleton within,
But this heart that beats
Would not be heard from again.
This heart that beats,
But would not be felt,
Would be a hand that works,
But is not held.
But a hand held,
In the snow,
Will never be as cold
As the soul buried below.
But I remember this:
The flakes of snow that encumber
Are just fallen tears
Which have forgotten the summer.
Onto this I hold.
It is my final strand.
For this reason,
I demand:
Leave the cord be,
Even if it might not be true,
Leave it for me
To hold onto.
For if it breaks,
Oh, I dare not call
To what cold depths
That my soul should fall.
Possibility,
It is your disease,
It leaves you for dead,
Breaks you down with ease.
Opportunity,
You think it has passed,
But deep down inside,
A demon holds fast.
It devours, not flesh,
But, the peace of mind.
Even the right choice
Leaves nothing behind.
You�ll find your youth now,
Easily betrayed,
With every chance staved,
By each wish decayed.
The tree lost its leaves
At the break of Fall
But when Springs comes next,
She�ll regrow them all.
When the frost that holds
The river from the sea,
Is swept up by Spring,
The river runs free.
But, you are something
Rather different:
With every choice cast,
Your very life spent.
Each choice is a death,
Of the moment gone,
And they shed quickly,
With every breath drawn.
Await not the Spring,
It rebirths the tree,
Refills the river,
But, death it brings thee.
What can I do
With a moment so fleeting,
That it steals breath from the singing,
And words from the seeing?
With a moment so quickly passing
That it catches the jay in flight
Suspends him in a ray of light,
Then returns him to his branch tonight.
But, when the leaf fallen from the tree,
Carrying the weight of time spent,
Crashes into the pavement,
Forever shattered is this moment,
A moment not unlike
The bit of sand
Held in your hand
As the breeze blows it into falling strands.
And as the sand slips by
So shines its glimmering beauty
Encapsulating eternity,
Now lost to the sea.
And maybe only the ocean
In its grand breadth
With its great depth
Can contain this moment kept.
But my heart desires so much,
To make this moment last,
That I�ll leave my heart surpassed,
To the ocean cast.
And let it not succumb
To the cold below
But await the flow
To the island that will bestow
To me again this moment
Lost to me before
On this shore,
But then never more.
But what can I do now
With such an instant?
When it came, it went,
Without a spare second lent,
And without my consent.
Here I am again,
Snapped awake in the twilight,
Because I've seen you again,
In my mind, tonight.
And I am reminded once more
Of time's most retched essence,
As I lay here alone,
In the full moon's luminescence
Moments before,
A timer appears
And it counts in red,
My last seconds in years.
I am at the bottom floor,
Of a glass building, locked.
I must disarm the bomb,
But my efforts are mocked.
Each twist of a nob,
Or fiddle of the wires
Only takes more time,
Already against me, conspired.
Somehow, I know,
That when it counts thirteen,
My hopes and desires will pass,
With me, completely unseen.
Then, an open door appears,
That allows me to pass.
And I see 12:59 reflected,
As I step out onto the grass.
As the door slams behind me,
I dash to the edge of the park.
I take cover and look back,
At the red numbers in the dark.
A blink and a beep,
And I see the blinding flash.
Engulfed in the flames,
The glass walls shatter and crash.
I feel the heat,
Searing the air,
My vision dissolves
In the deafening glare.
It is more quiet now,
The blaze glimmers and fades.
A splintered sky
Cools and fades away.
I am brought back to friends,
Invented before my eyes,
The memories of them
Made entirely of lies.
But, I remember them
As if I had known them for years
As if we had shared all,
Our lives, laughs and tears.
Among all the lies,
Just standing about,
One sits in the grass,
As the odd one out.
And there you were,
With double braided hair,
As if all this time,
You had been sitting right there.
As you stand to your feet.
You smile at me.
And of all the lies,
This I cannot believe.
Yet your eyes impart
A sudden truth onto my own:
A shared reality
That I once had known.
And here, I am given
This moment manifest.
It's foundations I doubt,
But I dare not test.
If I should embrace,
Would you fall to ash?
If I should touch your face,
Would it shatter as glass?
If I should call out your name,
Would you evaporate into air?
If I should my feelings exclaim,
Would you still be there?
So I kept it all inside,
Despite whichever intent,
So that you might stay
For just one more instant.
There we were again,
Sharing a space.
Not even the sun warms my soul
As did seeing your face.
But upon waking again,
By the impostor moon light,
I lay here in the shadow
Of this cold, lonely night.
Hello old friend,
It's good to see you again,
Have you kept well?
How have you been?
For, your existence,
Is quite pivotal to my own,
If you should perish
So will all that I've known.
If Earth is the mother,
Then you are surely the father,
A parent of all
Stone, carbon and water:
All here made and gone,
Created and destroyed,
Forged in your fiery sphere,
Suspended in the void.
If I step aside just a bit,
Just outside your rays,
Into the coldest of nights,
And the darkest of days,
I would find myself,
In a rather typical place,
In the depth of the shadows,
In the dead, frozen space.
But, an oasis of light,
Heat and order awaits,
If I step right back
Into your gravitational embrace.
Yet, if I stray too close,
As the messenger endeavored,
To sullen ash and scorched ember,
I would remain, condemned forever,
Or as the Queen of Beauty,
Similarly unable from you to refrain:
She thus brought the searing rain,
That now scorches her domain.
Rather, the seat of reverence
Lies between the frost and the flame,
So, at this distance,
I am inclined to remain,
Such that I may enjoy
Your gentle, brazen glow,
And the gifts of greens, ambers
And hues of blues you bestow.
There is not but one thing,
That I humbly require:
That you return tomorrow,
That I may again admire.
A man once asked,
"Son,
What brings you
to the Dark Side of the Moon?"
I could not but stare,
Stare at him there
As he did not but
Return in glare
And in searching my soul
As a fool in the twilight
With a broken flashlight
In an empty house
Abandoned even
By the prudent mouse
Before the sun had even set,
I had found nothing but
The deed to the land
And a mantel worn
But never adorned.
And a seed sewn in a flower pot,
But never born.
The lifeless, gray maple,
Surrounded by the golden-brown lawn
Reeks of gardeners and pruners
Long gone.
I replied, still not quite sure,
"I�m not sure I was ever brought home,
To planet Earth"
To which he replied,
"Son,
That which gives birth,
Gives worth.
Just ask your mother,
Or any other.
When you made your first sandwich
Or your first month�s rent,
Who valued it the most?
And to whom else did it really matter?
So build your home here,
Or even on the surface of the sun.
Whatever you do,
Just make one."