My brain=Carnival of Dubiety

Word. I like it when the first sentence is just a word. Don't you? It looks bullshit free. It feels like 0-60 in dt seconds. But it also reminds me of unimaginative writers who use this scheme to compensate for their platitudinarian horseshit. But what does that mean? Don't all of us seek comfort in cliche? Isn't familiarity reassuring? I'm confused. Like a kaleidoscopically entrancing sort of confused; has a caffeine like aftertaste.

We are so boring in our ways. Most of us. Take a cue from children. Uninhibited, agnostic, instinctive little creatures. Bah. We know all this. We know that our individuality deserted us a long time ago. We are slaves to money. And rightly so. Can't do shit without money now. So we earn some. We save some. We get all choked up when we spend some. We assign value to everything from peanuts to Britney Spear's hair based on supply and demand. Demand. Strong word. Reflective of primal consumerist instincts. People buy clothes not to cover their bodies anymore, but because they NEED NEW ONES. No harm in looking good in public. And if you're going to ridiculous lengths to get new clothes, well, you're just passionate. Aren't we all passionate about something. Nice word passion. Lets us get out of just about anything. That and retarded. "Why did you rape this woman?" "I'm passionate/retarded." "Jury?"

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I am cloyed by it all. The alluring money, the promising government, the opinionated citizens, the plastic wrapped comic books, the frequently asked questions, the patients waiting room, the highest ever grossing ticket sales yet, the whole shebang. Even the one area I was interested in doesn't seem appealing anymore: Academics. The bureaucracy scares me. To become a teacher, I must awaken my inner superficiality, laying to rest my dignity. I must publish meaningless papers to capture the empty gaze of corporate scum, for "recognition". Ofcourse, I can strive for an honest route, but what if I fail? A deeper question now haunts me. What is the ethical thing to do? A still deeper question now rears it's ugly head. What are these ethics based on? Isn't there a subjective nature to right and wrong? Who decides this? God? Bite me. (Edit: Jonathan Haidt addresses the dilemma very convincingly.)

A bath tub filled with hot water is always relaxing. For one thing, everything looks magnified. I am quite the make believe artist. Wink wink. As I push on the water, I notice something delightfully strange, because I've read about it. The waves in the water can now not be just of any wavelength , but can only be multiples of a certain wavelength. Because the water is bound on all sides, what happens at those boundaries is a given, they are fixed points. So that enforces the water to move in a limited number of ways. But the number of multiples of this certain wavelength is another infinite set. How remarkable! An infinity in finite space. Perhaps every object encloses a certain flavor of infinity. It keeps me up at night.

This recursive tortuous quest to find meaning for everything is consuming me. How do I switch off? Without robo-tripping. How do I just lay off? Here is my lullaby: We are human beings. Our thinking only caters to our survival. Everything else is a bonus. The bonus is not limitless. There is only so much we are capable of perceiving. We've seen optical illusions, we've studied the fabric of space time, we're spending billions to save string theory. All because what we can sense is confined to a room in which logic does not arrive at the mythical "absolute truth". These words are inventions by us to communicate among one another. They are incapable of addressing, in George Carlin's words, a "greater wisdom". We might evolve into know-it-alls, but I strongly doubt that. As long as our incentive is survival, we'll never know the truth. :(

I feel like Rupert right now. I found him on plognark.