Stars shine.
Planets spin.
Mechanical
in nature.
Mechanical
universe.
Unyielding
in purpose.
No fear.
No pain.
Cares not,
just is.
Cold burning
reality.
Life.
Somehow
life.
Propagate.
Covering
evolving,
expanding.
Cosmos ignores.
Limitless time.
Moving forward,
limitless time.
Life evaporates.
Ceases to
exist.
Deep time
crushes.
Cosmos
takes no
notice.
Stars shines,
planets spin.
Life vaporizes.
The nature
of things!

Ideas not people
rule the world,
competing for supremacy,
*******.

Conflicting, waring
to gain the
upper hand,
control.

Virus like
as it spreads
through the population
Infecting all that come
in contact.

Ideas are insidious things,
once infected nearly impossible
to ignore.

Populations are
controlled by ideas.
Religious ideas, political ideas,
run gunshot
over millions,
pitting whole
populations
against one another.

The relative nature
of ideas is dependent
on the level of infection.

Where do ideas come from?
Who or what injections
them into
our releam.

Ideas make us
do things,
controls us.

Free will just an
illusion.
Ideas make
us behave as
they will.

Can there be
a unifying
idea that shows us the
way?
Would that just be
universal control?

Are our brains complex
enough
to see the
unifying
Idea when it
finally arrives?

Memes can lead us
into the future,
or undo it all.

I see
them,
clear as
day.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Crying.
Life etched
on their
being!
As they
were.
I see
them
as the
were,
so many
years ago.
So many
lives embedded
on my mind.
There, they
still live.
Slipping away
as the
years pass
by.
All journey
to life's
end.
Fading
into history
as if
never here.
I see them
still, as they
were so
many years
ago!

It
will be
painful,
generational.
Hard
to keep up.
The old
will resist
fight the
loss of
their
world.
Change
will be
blinding,
the fabric of
civilization
fraying
turning to
dust.
Everything
known will
be obliterated.
Humanity
loses its
identity.
It will
happen one
morning
in a blink
of an
eye.
The
other side
beyond
comprehension!

Who’s to
say?
Who’s to
say
what is,
or,
what isn’t?
Who’s
right about
anything,
everything?
Who has
the answers
to all the
questions?
Who makes
the rules
that all
must follow?
What makes
one’s opinion
superior to
another’s?
Who has
the worlds
moral
compass?
Wars are
fought
one against
another.
It’s said
might
does not
make right!
That power
is not
money
the ultimate
goal.
Why
all the
wars then?
History’s
written
by the
victors.
Might
does make
right!
Power is
money!
Humanities
legacy.

Mathematical
construct.
Existence,
consciousness
embedded.
Embedded
within.
Milieu.
Fabrication,
mathematical
fabrication.
Uncertainty.
Complex beyond
measure.
Milieu.
Infinite milieu.
Infinite milieus.
Embedded.
Everything
embedded.
Embedded within.
Within milieu.
All that
appears,
embedded.
Always was,
always will be,
embedded.
Mathematical
milieu.
As a fish
in a
bowl.
Ensconced
within.
Within
forever.

It is a
mirage.
Spun up
in a place
unknown.
Everything
seen an
illusion.
Ghosts,
vapors whiffing
in an out
of existence.
Ghosts
in the
machine.
Infinite
iterations running
simultaneously.
Universe one
of countless
churning to
and end,
an unknowable
end.
Universes
populated.
Populated by
unknowing.
Immersed in
something
beyond
understanding.
Beyond reach.
Vapors, moving
in and out
of illusions.
Forever.
Immortal
they be!

Walking
thru a
hazy mist.
Incomplete
vision of
things I
see. Mere
shadows
of underlying
reality.
Constituted
thus, missing
most of
what is.
Spinning.
Spinning
thru a
make believe.
Living in a
foggy dream.
Looking for
meaning,
understanding
of what
this be.
None seems
evident.
None to
be found.
Spinning!
Like hamsters
in a wheel
spinning
furiously.
Going
nowhere.
Alas,
such is
the state
of things.

Modernity aspires but is built on shaky ground.
Our knowledge so finite, much
built on superstition and ignorance.
The infinite beyond ours to know. Slowly, so slowly our knowledge grows, building on itself expanding faster as time goes on. How much can we hope to know with knowledge being infinite?
How much longer can we follow the word of those who lived so long ago, who knew little more than superstition? Is there comfort in not knowing? Is ignorance truly bliss? Can the human mind as constituted handle the truth, or will it drive us insane? We are the product of our little world, designed just right for the place. It's been said that we can handle the truth. I wonder if that's really so?

I went for a walk at Monson Village today.
A place in the woods where people lived in the 1700's.
Rock foundations were all that was left in each spot. Small signs marked the holes in the ground and describes the inhabitants that lived there so long ago.
But then I realized something more was left behind. Near silence. Breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. Occasionally a bird could be heard in the bushes, the sound of the brook I walked past. This was the world of those who lived three hundred years ago. The scene and sounds flowed through my senses and washed over my mind, flushing out the madness of today. It was stunningly therapeutic for the heart, mind and soul of a twenty first century inhabitant. No noise much at all, no cars, radios, tv, smart phones, computers and internet updating, blasting, vying for our attention our mind and our soul.
Modernity takes over our being, crushing us under its weight of distractions taking away a gentleness Mother Nature nurtured us with.
For us to keep our sanity I think, we need to push back, turn off the machines get back to the times that once were, even if it's just for a sort time in the woods. Let the sounds and views of a world gone by caress you and comfort you, and leave the technology at home!

Staring

at the fire,

crackling.

Dark room

candle flicker.

Soft classical

music.

Christmas tree

lit.

Timeless.

Time has

no meaning.

No meaning

at such a

moment.

Universe

disappears

outside gone.

Only that

scene, that

moment.

Could be

any time.

Could be

any place.

The moment

the same.

Timeless.

Photographs are time machines to the past.
Instant moments in time reflecting back to current eyes.
A street scene of Boston is hung on my wall, a moment sliced
out of time from 1893.

Trolley cars side by side waggling down the street.
Ladies clothed from the sky to the ground bustling around town.
The gents of the day striding along suited with the clicking of their canes.
Horses pulling carriages, delivering produce, moving people here and there while leaving earthy aromatic gifts all around.

Trees in the park that are still there today, leaving shadow memories on the ground.

Each and every person in the scene has a story to tell, they each lived
their lives to the tune of the day.

Each started that day, one day in their lives, they loved, they laughed, they cried and they cheered at the game.
Children in the park running playing just the same.

All gone now, just a moment long past.

Little knowing this moment of their existence would be captured and hung on my wall as a testament to their brief moment in time.

See the
Mona Lisa,
now
reverse the
flow.
Her
image
fading away.
In flows
through the
brush then
straight
to the arm,
past neural
pathways,
beaming
back to the
brain.
Chemicals
flow,
electricity sparks.
****, there she
goes
back to
infinity.

Music.
Emanating
music.
In the air,
universal
music.
Vibrating
from who
knows where?
Vibrating from
everywhere.
I’m here
it says.
From
all corners
of creation.
Hear the
music.
Listen hard,
it’s everything.
Creating.
Simply is.
Wafting through.
Celestial,
music.
The
sound of
creation.

How I choose to live my life.
I'm wired at birth, my personality in place.
I'm sculpted as a youth my environment had its say.
The combination of both molded me as artists molds clay.
With all this in place where do I go from here?
What direction in life will I choose?
How much choice do I really have?
Has the deck been stacked before I'm on my way?
Look all around, all types are in play. The complexity of society in full on display.
Can I will myself away from the mold that I am? Am I trapped by the sculptor, my part in the play determined, I have little say.
I believe if I focus real hard, I can fracture the mold get out of its way. I can over come, move in a different direction, and create my own way.
Genetics and environmental certainly had their say.
I believe I can power thru an creat a better day.
Is it possible, though, I'm just wired this way?