Archive for February, 2016

Intervals of Time

impulseresponse

I wrote two articles yesterday (to be published soon) that included discussion of small intervals of time – milliseconds. Small intervals? To certain quantum functions the passage of milliseconds can be glacial. Today I am thinking about my friend Rob, who died a year ago. That makes me think about other endings, yet nothing really ends.

A year. Another interval of time. What happens in a year? Sometimes profound changesnewshoes are realized. Usually not. We cycle and basically stay the same: Another New Years Day (of hope), another Valentines Day (nice for some, not so nice for others), The Super Bowl, March Madness, a summer vacation, checking Facebook, a birthday, a few dozen trips to the grocery, neurons fire, cells divide, a new pair of shoes.

For Rob nothing happened.

Time seems to stretch out in front of and behind us, but that’s just our perception. It’s a perspective we use to give us context, and hope. There will be less tread left on the tires in what we call a year, but you’ll still expect them to work when you pull out of your drive as the sun does its thing in our linguistic definition of its interval of time.

Tires and shoes can be replaced. Many things can. Individual people can’t, but can the feelings we associate with them be replaced? Love is pretty good at finding a way – a recipient. We usually do replace people in the focus of our lives. We have a linguistic distinction for that, too. We call it “moving on.” And we sometimes say time heals all wounds.

Comforting perhaps.

Until you realize you don’t know anything and we really just made it up. We did. Time doesn’t pass linearly. It doesn’t really “pass” at all (look it up). It’s just a quantification we put to what’s for us a mesh of thoughts, feelings, beliefs and memories. There is no real moving on, as hopeful as that might sound. We make all of it up. All of it. The evidence is right in front of you. Your real experiences often don’t quite feel like they truly match the convenient, bottled up things you were told. The more aware of this you become the more unsettling it is, therefore we have a lot of incentive not to be aware. We brush the beginnings of that awareness aside, in favor of the comfort.

Everything is in an unquantifiable moment. Until there are no more.

 

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Poisoned Well

QWERTYFireYou may have inadvertently picked the poison that contaminated your well, but it doesn’t matter. Your fate is sealed. The choice you have is to drink and die fast, or not drink and die slow. If you have enough hope for a miracle, then by all means try the slow way.

Beginning of the End

This post probably should have happened before now. This is me announcing my intention to discontinue this blog. Not today, but soon. There is not much more to say, having already written about many topics that have been compelling to me over the years, without being able to get into the backstories that have driven a lot of it. Cathartic, and hopefully useful and enlightening to some, but the job to do is going to morph into being the job done to the best of my limited ability and will. There are a series of thoughts in process that I’ll finish for the sake of closure, but I want the few readers I have to be prepared that the end is coming. Much better this way than having it be a surprise. All of the posts will remain in place for the foreseeable future.

BWTreeRail

When the Music Dies

Just about every important aspect of my life involves or evolved from music in some way. My relationship with it has morphed over the years. It’s been there through creative droughts as well as periods of inspired output.

It feels…dead. Synthesizers, guitars, and recording equipment sit dormant, waiting for some new inspiration. It isn’t to be. When I look at them I feel anger and frustration, because there can be no joy in it anymore. Piles of lyrics sitting around, dozens of musical ideas in various stages of completion. Opportunities. Yet the idea of returning is too difficult to push through.

When the inspiration dries up, what does one do? You keep going to work. Waiting, hoping, striving for something to change. Without some perturbation it becomes a sleepwalk. I’ve been able to see people sleepwalking through their lives. Swore I would never do that.

So now what?

There is an axe…



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