It’s Tuesday morning again. Another Tuesday. This one is the 20th of September, in case anyone in the future is reading and wants to know what day this post was on, and is not reading this on the site proper, where the date is—I think—displayed above the post. I’ll assume that anyone who cares about the date and is reading it today already knows what the date is, as well as the year.
There’s nothing really new to report, obviously. As has been the case for a while now, I haven’t written any new fiction, haven’t done more than pick up a guitar, strum at it, and think about how shitty my playing sounds before putting it back down again. Standard issue things to do, you know?
It continues to be dreary and rainy around here, though we have it easier than Puerto Rico, where the hurricane has knocked out power for the whole island. That hurricane is not expected to head toward us at all, though it did just now really start to rain rather heavily. The train stations are all covered though, so the rain doesn’t matter much unless it becomes quite windy, and right now there’s essentially no wind.
I thought it might rain as I was headed toward the train station—not just because this is south Florida and it’s been raining every day, so why should it stop, but because I could see tall, pillar-like clouds looming, even in the night sky, lit by reflected urban lights below. They look nifty, but the shape of them, and the updrafts that no doubt exist within them, cooling all that airborne water, make it all but inevitable that rain will fall.
And now, as if conjured, the wind arrives, and speckles of rain are appearing on the screen of my laptop. At least it’s somewhat refreshing. If it becomes too prominent, I may have to pause and put the computer away to protect it. But if that happens, none of you will be able to tell unless I tell you about it. Weird, huh? Well, no, not really I guess. I think that’s just me—I’m the weird thing here.
Anyway, the rain is already slacking off some, and there’s only the tiniest of breezes remaining. Further bulletins as events warrant.
I suspect that nearly all the noteworthy events in my life have already passed, though. There’s very little else to say, though that doesn’t seem to stop me from saying it. I “talk” to all of you, because I seem incapable of talking to anyone else. That’s my fault, not anyone else’s. I’m a faulty mechanism, what can I say? I’m faultier than San Andreas. I’m buggier than the Amazon rainforest*. I’m not a very good device. Not to say that I don’t have some remarkable design features, but none of them are really specific to me; they’re standard in the model. The ways in which I am not standard seem to be associated with problems, which I guess is often the case.
Or maybe that’s all just egotistical in its own way, even though it’s fundamentally a case of self-loathing. It’s probably just as arrogant to think that one is exceptionally bad or imperfect as to think that one is exceptionally perfect or good. But there are more ways to be imperfect than to be perfect. At least, it seems like that would be the case, though frankly, I’m not even sure what it would mean for a person to be perfect, and I’m not sure that anyone else knows what it means when they say it, either. People use the word without really thinking about it, though to be fair, I don’t hear people referring to other people as perfect very often, and good on them that they don’t, since I don’t think anyone is perfect by whatever standard you might choose**.
Well, the train just arrived, but like yesterday (which I didn’t mention then) whoever is driving it today stopped way “sooner” than any of the other drivers do, and so I had to follow the other people who hadn’t gotten up off their asses early to wait for it to arrive, as I had, because I try to plan ahead. Also, someone is sitting in my usual seat, which makes me unreasonably frustrated. I know I have no claim on any particular seat or anything, but I try to do my stuff consistently so there are fewer surprises with which to deal, but that doesn’t seem to work.
Here’s an aside, though. This is one of the trains that’s running the automated PA announcement system, which tells you which station you’re approaching and reminds you to check for your belongings before you get up and leave. Then it says, “Please watch your step while you’re exiting the doors.”
Am I the only person who finds that last sentence irritatingly a-sensical? “Exiting the doors” seems to imply that you were, until that point, inside the doors! But no one is inside the doors. The doors are barely three-dimensional; no ordinary, human-scale organism could actually be inside the doors. Passengers are inside the train cars, they exit through the doorways, they don’t exit the doors!
If the person who wrote and recorded that announcement—which has annoyed me since the first time I heard it—is out there, can you please just come and kill me? You’re one of the things that makes this planet so intolerable, and it would be just as well if you could help me leave it, since I’m looking to do that anyway.
I want to say that I feel like I’m losing my mind, but the problem, if anything, is that my grasp of reality is too persistent and consistent. My weakness, if you will, is my relative inability to delude myself. I can see the chaos (in the mathematical and poetic senses) for what it is, as well as the infinite stupidity*** of everything out there.
It sometimes seems that I can literally feel the yawning emptiness of the cosmos, but I know that’s an illusion. I’m no more capable of truly conceiving of the infinite than is any other finite being. But it does sometimes seem that I can feel it, just vaguely, looming above me and above everything, as well as beneath me, since “above” is a relative measure, and we are surrounded in all directions by mostly empty space. Sometimes that’s even comforting. You know, like the song says, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”
I don’t know what point I’m trying to make. I don’t think there is a point, either to this post, or to anything else. It’s just another post, just another Tuesday, just another meaningless instantiation of “atoms and the void”, to quote Democritus.
I wonder if that was his real name, “Democritus”? It seems too coincidental to be what his parents named him. I know “Plato” was a nickname; I’m not sure about Aristotle.
Oh, well, what does it matter? He’s dead, and he’s been dead for a couple of thousand years. I always knew he was smart****.
*Which I like better than the Microsoft rainforest or the Google rainforest. Ha ha.
**Unless you choose some cheesy standard such as “perfect at being who you are”, but in that case, everyone is perfect, which is just another way of saying that no one is, so it adds nothing.
***No matter how large an intelligence is, as long as it’s not infinite, then its stupidity, or at least its ignorance, is always infinite. I know, that’s probably an unreasonable standard against which to measure any intelligence or anything else, really, but I never claimed to be trying to be fair, just that I can recognize the endless abyss of lack that lies beyond the realms of anything finite that exists.
****Well, no I didn’t. I haven’t existed always, for one thing; I’ve only been around for just shy of 53 years, though sometimes it feels like it’s been millennia. Also, I hadn’t even heard of Democritus for the first ten years or so of my life, not until Carl Sagan talked about him in Cosmos. So “I always knew” is just flagrantly inaccurate. It’s a bit like how people say things like, “that email never came”. I always want to say, “Never? You waited until the end of time itself, and the email still hadn’t arrived? I mean, never is a really long time. If you wait an infinite amount of time, anything possible that can happen will have happened, so it seems truly impossible that the email never arrived. EVERY email should have arrived if you waited long enough to legitimately use the word ‘never’.” But I hold my tongue…usually. It gets my fingers wet, though.