This post I wanted to be dedicated to just sort of a free-association / stream of consciousness writing exercise / session. This should be mediocre...
Right now, as I listen to "Prospect Hummer", I feel like so many things are being traded; that so many comforting vibes are being transmitted through the eyes on a Chicago street corner. I love kick drums, they're so useful for expression of rhythm and of pattern and of a nod. I'm not sure why I am choosing to write this instead of researching some good poems for my anthology project, but it feels right. I feel as though my actions, my thoughts, my entire perception is being recorded onto some sort of nano-alien technology, That maybe my entire life could be downloaded as a .life or .human file onto some infinite bank of history. Not that I feel as though I am creating history, or that I'm history in the making, but... Well wait, maybe I am. Not like a legend that everyone will remember as the 21st centuries first real "Renaissance man", but just as another human proof of reality, not more or less important than any other. I wonder how many terabytes my life will take up on the alien's computer. How would you view the file? Perhaps some sort of injection or rod inserted into the spinal cord like in The Matrix. Shit, maybe I AM in a matrix. Heh, probably. But oh well, when does faith, or even knowing truth as pure truth, ever matter? When does the devout Catholic receive his gold star for having so much faith? When he dies and goes to heaven? For him, yes. But what about the rest of the universe? What about his next life (assuming we are reborn into another sentient shell as soon as our previous body has wasted away)? Will the world still turn after he is dead? Will it when I? I can't answer that question. Not TRULY.
I'm not surprised that this "stream of consciousness" post has turn into another one of my spiritual ramblings. But maybe that's my 'purpose' as they say. Fortasse I am a Renaissance man in terms of philosophy. But I don't like to blow my own horn. I honestly wish I could separate myself from my self. I wish "I", the royal I, the I people know as Eric H Schepper could be cut away from "me", me as in my soul and thoughts and perceptions. If my wishes were granted right now and I was to float through space, through a million galaxies, without the need for food or water or love, I can not say if it would present itself as a hell or a nirvana. Would I enjoy that? Yes and no. No and yes. But damn, I should get packed up and ready to leave for Algebra, which is apparently more important the present moment right now. Thanks, Time. You win.
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