Ryan Dunn (holyloki) wrote,
Ryan Dunn

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What I've been thinking about for the past year yet hadn't realized what.

We are missing everything.
Liz quoted me on something, which in a way was my futher interpretation of something I had read about music being put out on the internet, "There's so much going on we cannot possibly see all of it."

We are missing everything, and yet...it doesn't matter. And that is what we are missing. Everything we communicate goes to naught, because we don't mean 99.9% of it. Almost everything we commit to its own survival will be destroyed, will never matter, will never be consumed by enough people to make a difference. enough things to make a difference. enough meaning to make any change whatsoever in meaning henceforth from its inception.

I lay outside my house on a wicker couch this morning, made by human animals, observing the structures built by people in order to survive our fragile existences, waiting. I wanted to see something, something I had been waiting for along time to see.

I have been searching for something for the past three years.

I believe I have realized the infinite. It seems if it were completely true I wouldn't be writing this to you all, but I have also realized the infinitely unimportant. Unfortunately infinite has come to mean vast, outstretching, incomprehensible size, but we forget it's inverse, incomprehensible multitude via depth.

I watched the leaves turn under the force of the wind, created by the heat currents of the air, everywhere at once, all being missed, unobserved, and yet the leaves turn, the rain falling under the same and more circumscription continues to fall, the leaves maintain their connection to that which they serve, the tree, etc, and you know where this heads and I refuse to bore you.

We lose track of everything in our scattered scurrying to find survival. What matters in our day to day lives besides existing? Every movie we watch, song we listen to, conversation we have...so many miss the mark. We are "generally pleased"[to quote someone whom I'm sure most you recognize since you were as vainly trying to listen to everyone's every word] with everything. So much we create is less than perfect, so much as to be reprimandable. So many creators of art, writing, communication of any sort, lack the ability to truly communicate, and instead of reaching for that one step higher either give up or never had the capacity to understand how arrogant and uninsightful the work was in the first place. So much is lost in this world, and yet we still try vainly to hold onto everything. I'm not sure what we hold onto really is what we should be.

I have been observing recently, how the human animal acts in relation to its normal processes. Eating, defecating, its reproductive habits and rituals, travel, communication, everything. I observe non-human activities, and compare. We are so arrogant.

Because we have developed useless skills, we are self-proclaimed masters of information and thought. But does understanding really bring understanding?
Knowing how to make a fire does not make us any more masters of its destruction and production. Our greatest literature tells us of our faults, how we are unable to control the forces which guide our universe, and yet we are vainly trying at every moment in our lives to not die.

I want to cut time in half and watch you all scramble for the larger half.

I have come to live within the state of not attempting so vainly to retain everything which is not simply pertaining to myself and those I care about. Those I care about, though, does not merely include those I know personally. However, the personal part is what separates. I don't need to know that today, a man with a name bearing no signifigance to his thoughts or emotions, but rather a gutteral remnant of meaning we have lost, stepped in a puddle, or saw another group of humans act in a play depicting something none of them had any part in creating the meaning of, but all take pride in nonetheless. I can live without that play. I can live without a song. I can live without a book, a poem, a painting, a machine. It's deciding upon the values of these things in relation to everything else, including whatever you feel your personal goal is which make them valuable. Too many times we don't take these things seriously, and those other things we supposedly care about are diminished in their presence.

We settle for mediocrity because it is profitable.
Society cannot function without the acceptance of mediocrity .
We must agree for our populations to work, and our instincts make this work.
We are successful creatures because our overall instincts tell us to use each other.
We are programmed to think that the more we absorb, the more useful we are to ourselves, when in reality, we either become useful to no one in our madness or useful to everyone besides ourselves.

Patience within our situations resolves them.

We must accept our inability to bend reality.
Time is only one thing, and if you wait to find another, it will disappear. The set you wanted is already gone.

Live now. Love now. Think now. Sleep now. Drink now. Fuck now. Eat now. Talk to someone...now.
In a second is not good enough any more.
Whatever it is you need, do it. It doesn't need to be productive, helpful, useful, sustaining, anything. Do what you need to do to understand something of your own volition, and stop waiting for someone else to give you the answers.

Myself included.

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