mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Tag: eternity

I have a longing for eternity

When it’s night, I want it to be night forever. When it’s day, I want it to be day forever. When it’s summer, I love the heat. When it’s winter, I love the cold. When I’m awake, I never want to sleep again. When I’m drowsy or dreaming, I never want to wake.

The last one is the only one I have any kind of control over, and when I’m on my own schedule, I tend toward extremes. Up two days, asleep for one. Up four days, asleep for two.

I want to live forever only because I’m living now, I think.

But one day I’ll die and probably want to stay dead forever, and then I bet I’ll get my wish.

”So this is the source of all knowledge, then?”

The protagonist asked, looking at the ruined stone arches and crumbling walkways beneath his feet. The rose-colored pool on either side swirled constantly, probably because of the stiff wind, and the weeds occasionally took on the appearance of familiar shapes or faces. The protagonist assumed it was just tricks of the eye and mind and was thoroughly unimpressed.

“Yes,” said the robed figure standing under one of the broken arches, “This is that place.”

“I guess knowing everything really means knowing everything but masonry, huh?”

“Or perhaps when one has all knowledge, one does not concern one’s self with works of stone,” the robed figure replied.

The protagonist shrugged and glanced down at his feet where some weeds had blown out of the pool and onto the walkway. They moved almost like a sentient thing for a moment before sliding slowly back into the water. The protagonist rolled his eyes.

“Then let’s get on with the omniscience, shall we? I’m already sick of caring about architecture, so it shouldn’t be much of a change.”

The robed figure nodded and disrobed. The clothes fell at his feet and revealed that he was a him in only the non-gender-specific sense. He lacked all genitals and even normal orifices. When he spoke again, the protagonist saw his mouth—his everything, actually—was covered by flesh and the only openings on his body at all were the pus-seeping sores dotting him, head to toe.

“Kneel and drink from the pool on either side of you,” the now disrobed figure instructed, “Drink and know all you have ever desired. Know all and more still.”

The protagonist cocked an eyebrow and knelt cautiously. His hands nearly touched the water when he drew them back to his side, shaking.

“Tell me, good-lookin’, what happened to you with the skin and sores wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with drinking from this pool, would it?”

“When one knows all, one’s vanity ceases to be important,” the disrobed figure said, jaw moving up and down behind a curtain of skin.

“Be that as it may,” the protagonist said, “I am quite vain now, and certainly quite pretty. This is part of who I am. Maybe not my most attractive quality, but part of who I am nonetheless. I want to know everything because I’m ambitious, but the narcissist in me wants nothing more than that: to be myself and know everything. If I know so much I no longer care about appearances, I don’t suppose you could really call me ‘me’, could you? In fact, I think it would mean I’d be you. And no offense, but I do not envy you.”

“This is because you are ignorant, ignorant of the present as much as the future. Even of the past you are ignorant and forgetful. This was a long journey, was it not?” the figure said, drawing the robes back over himself and placing the hood to shade his face once again. “Turn away now, and you will be condemned to your ignorance forever. There is no greater ignorance than the grave, forgetting all, learning nothing, perceiving nothing. Drink and you will live forever.”

The protagonist scratched his chin and looked back into the swirling water. A group of weeds seemed to turn into the face of his father for a moment before coming apart again. The longer he looked, the more people he saw. Brothers, lovers, friends, strangers. All alive at some time and dead now, or whenever their deaths became now. He hadn’t even let a drop touch his lips, but maybe the vapors were enough for him to see with total certainty the eventual demises of everyone he had ever known or in fact would ever know. And then at last he saw his own death, the death he would receive if he walked away from this opportunity now.

He switched his hand from his chin to the back of his neck and continued thinking for another moment.

“You know, as much as I’d love to live forever, I’m also quite lazy. I thought knowing everything might make lfe easier, but if I’m going to know how never to die, that’s quite a lot of work, and I’m not sure I can handle that,” the protagonist rambled, “Plus, there’s all of that pus that has to get all over your robes and after a while it must really smell awful. Not that you have a nose to notice…”

The protagonist frowned then looked back at the re-robed figure, but found he’d already begun to walk away into further ruins.

“Hey, you know everything, don’t you?” the protagonist shouted, “Just tell me what I’m going to choose already so I can hurry up and get it over with”

“You will do the opposite of what I tell you in order to prove a point,” the figure said, “So you walk away from the water when I tell you you will drink it.”

The protagonist grinned.

“I knew this omniscience was load of shit,” he said, standing up again, “It’s just a bunch of doubletalk and horseshit.” The protagonist took a step back from the edge of the walkway, and stopped. “Whatever you received, I’ll receive a double portion.”

And with that the protagonist leapt into the rose-colored waters and sank like a stone into the midst of the weeds at the bottom. He smiled as wide as his mouth would allow the moment before his lungs accepted the water. When the protagonist screamed, no one could have noticed any change in the surface of the water just as no one could have noticed the grin spread across the robed figure’s face. But then he had been grinning throughout the entire conversation.

If I were God, the world would be a very different place.

I would create a species of living things with desires and an intelligence to understand their surroundings. I would leave them without knowledge of truth, but push them to develop morality and promise to reward them for good behavior. I would create divisions and social strife and have them fight for my approval and, unbeknownst to them, my enjoyment.

I would delight in their suffering at every turn, especially knowing how aware they were of it, yet still completely ignorant of the true nature of reality. I would be satisfied with their failures and rejoice with every self-inflicted wound, both physical and metaphorical.

When they died, I would reward them with an eternity of suffering, or at least an eternity that lasted until I grew bored. Then I would begin again and create a new species able to comprehend even more, yet even more misguided.

Lucky thing I’m not God, eh?

Forgetfulness and Memory

Here I sleep.

I don’t remember writing that, but there it is, so I must have. A forgotten event, if it was ever remembered at all. An unrecorded trick of my mind. I don’t even know that it happened, but it must have because it’s there.

As a child I was often afraid of many things, most of them religiously centered. The concept of eternity, really trying to wrap my mind around an eternal existence, still makes me wake up in a cold sweat sometimes. As a kid it was even worse. But I also thought about such things as “What if the entire universe began a moment ago and everything I remember and everything that has happened is an illusion?”

The unfortunate thing about such a question, especially for a child, is that it’s impossible to disprove. Really, it is. There’s absolutely no way of knowing such a things is false, and children need certainty. You just have to say, “That’s not true, it just isn’t.”

Lately the same kind of questions have been creeping back into mind, although not exactly religiously based. If you go back to my very first entry, the conversation with the devil, all it really is is dealing with that question of how much of reality is based on what I know about it. I’m a practical man so I know that reality exists as it is, but in practice I also know my ability to remember things determines a lot of what makes my reality for me.

*re-reads past sentence a few times*

Anyway, I keep remembering things that I know never happened. I keep remembering things I’m not sure happened or not. I’ve lied to others and myself so many times, the lies feel more real than the truth.

A good example is the “crowded hall” story. At my old high school the halls were very narrow and the student population quite overcrowded. At intersections, there would traffic jams and everything would just get stuck all of a sudden, until aggressive young men got fed up with it and began shoving themselves through. One day I was stuck in one of these such jams and had a massive hard on, a holdover from my morning wood, maybe. In front of me was a very attractive girl in a skirt, making it even worse. All of a sudden, the people behind us start shoving, trying to get through and I get pushed up against the girl. Apparently she felt something because she turned to try to see what it was and of course she saw me behind her, just grinning. Apparently she understood why I was enjoying myself because she got this disgusted look on her face and turned back around, but there was nothing she could do. For the next fifteen seconds or so, we were pressed up against one another, then the jam broke up and we went our separate ways.

See that, that is a total lie. Complete and utter fabrication. It never happened, it wasn’t even a fantasy I had. But the traffic jams did happen in the halls and it became a funny story to tell. It was what people expected of me, and I gave it to them. But I’ve told it so much, it seems clear to me. It’s as real as any memory I have.

And then there are all of the other events I have absolutely no recollection of. But they’re real. They happened. As far as it matters to me, they didn’t, but they did. Maybe I get to experience deja vu every once in a while because of them, but they’ve utterly disappeared from existence.

So what about that fake story? Other people think it’s true, sometimes so do I. If enough people imagine a memory to be true, shouldn’t that make it so?

A scene near the banks of the mental shore

I stare out across the tranquil sea, to gaze at an ocean filled with eternity. Quiet, serene, immutable at last, hear o hear! I am free of my past. Here at the bank of my mental shore, the inland once near is at once no more. The sands of sanity quickly depart and the heart of my mind joins the mind of my heart. I turn to look, I look to turn. I know that I want, and I want, no I yearn. Yes, for clarity of a spiritual sense, I yearn to make all this all make sense. A divine act, this sudden erosion. A revelation! A vision of an explosion! A mushroom cloud funeral pyre searing away my last childish desires. A fiery furnace burning with truth to melt away the last lies of my youth. There is no beach and there never was, my memory slipped as it often does. The earth’s always been as it is now.  Knee-deep in mud, I take a bow. The world’s as it is only inside my skull and when I stop thinking the world will turn dull