Plot Line

Plot Line
Current mood: chipper
Category: Life

Only the story of my life involves chance encounters the moment before I'm meant to catch an airplane; then drives me head-first into Colorado characters-turned-business men and strangers I already know; my story careens me into dark humor, the jokes of which I just barely get.

You gotta love falling in love all the time with laughter and stories and people. Lucky me for living in the thick of it. Makes me want to climb a tall building or water tower or mountain and welcome myself home. What awaits?

I'm wondering about the possibility that I create the universe with my consciousness. Can it be, that all I deem as real is real only to the extent I can imagine it to be? Can that "tree falling in a forest" question possibly have an answer? Too, is it to be believed that each action has infinite possible reactions; all simultaneously playing out? How do so many people worry about celebrity weddings and eating disorders when we could be figuring out (at least, discussing) quantum theories related to being itself? I'm begging the question of whether something only becomes real when we lay our peepers on it. Some tell us we only perceive inanimate objects as still; in fact, their very composition is of millions of hurrying, flipping, folding atoms. And if you could speed the molecular composition, you might find cans of soup, a sock, a conch shell, a spoon and a stick walking along a highway out west under the bright orange fireball. I digress.

I'm also thinking about age and the strange mechanics of a mind; how like computers humans can seem. A little dust of age settles like a fog over certain transmitters and blowie!—you no longer know what you had to eat (indeed, if you ate at all) or to whom you last spoke. Are we all doing this incessantly throughout life? What makes some memories stick? Why does dementia in the old affect memories in reverse order? What makes consciousness any different from automatic synapses, when one sees how vulnerable the psyche is? Or is consciousness part of a higher level of being; something separate from brain wiring all together? I think it's more than bah-humbug coincidence that so many things overlap.

No answers so far; I'm working on teasing them out. Ah, so very much to wonder about as I sit here surrounded by ghosts.