Apotheosis
Well-known member
A tornado of names whirl about my head, confused and yet so clear in their disparate slices of my own personality - myself embodied in these cultural caricatures of the best and worst of us. Ozzy Osbourne and Eminem, Hunter S. Thompson and Michael Jackson – these names pulled from the fringe of my present internal melodrama: icons all, these men have been made superhuman as much by their faults and failures as by their victories. But –
The thoughts whirl out of control, one idea leads in five different directions, each then splitting off into its own cavalcade of brilliantly vapid inferences, one after the other then turning, veering wildly as the wheels of inspirations spin out of control – out of control! Whirling, whirling out of control, out of control whirling, up and down, down and up, up is down, down is left and my mind is enmeshed in a network of spiderweb psychosis.
The mind is a curious thing. Driven and apathetic to explore its surrounding in as much detail as possible while obscuring the unexpected, filtering out what we wish not to see so that we always have something to look for. Our minds induce ignorance that our hearts reject. This is why we must close our shutterscreen eyes from the world we know and search for answers in what we think that world could be. Our knowledge is limited, and thus limits the breadth of understanding.
Where was I headed when I began my first recorded rant? God knows, and if not He then Darwin, or some lizard for all I care. I do this now to log thought in a state where my minds’ filter is at its clearest so that, well, I can try to see that way again later, without having to clear it in the first place. The method of clearing is irrelevant, means to an end and all that. Needless to say I’ll be spending the next several hours trying to gather my thoughts on paper, or whatever you’d like to call this digital representation of a slab of white – anyways, I’m calling it paper... to gather my thoughts before they flit away like so many hummingbirds with their inspiration-laden wings’ blurred flapping.
The advantage here, I suppose, is that when future thoughts abandon me I can turn back to those I had once abandoned and gleefully pick them up, like a child finding a long forgotten toy – perhaps he never played with that toy much in the first place, but the nostalgic reunion washes away the mediocrity of the moment, for the child at least. I on the other hand am brought to laugh in delighted despair, such simply blissful moments are unheard of in a world of one. But I digress,
Men are made superhuman as much by their faults and failures as by their victories. But to be superhuman, you must first be human. This is elementary wordplay at best, idiocy at worst – happily, its not the worst, but somewhere in between leaning a little towards irrelevancy. The point is, Those we idolize, analyze, satirize, and demonize bleed just as much as the rest of us. Ozzy bites the heads off of bats, but he also bites the heads off of broccoli - while the ravenous mob minds that turn celebrity into spirituality bite the heads off each other in a bid to prove who can best emulate originality.
I am unique in that I’d rather bite my own head off rather than deal with the rest. To some degree, as I have stated, I see allure of celebrity and think it an abominable social construct. Yet I cannot help but look at the people behind the celebrity and see that each, in some manner, embodies an inextricable element of humanity. And so I find my multi-faceted mirror in those I’ve never met, but who I feel I know better than many of my best friends. I see myself in John’s darkness, Marshall’s anger, in Michael’s innocent mystique and in Hunter’s paradoxical euphoria.
My tornado of thoughts whirls out of control, and I’m going along for the ride.
~S
The thoughts whirl out of control, one idea leads in five different directions, each then splitting off into its own cavalcade of brilliantly vapid inferences, one after the other then turning, veering wildly as the wheels of inspirations spin out of control – out of control! Whirling, whirling out of control, out of control whirling, up and down, down and up, up is down, down is left and my mind is enmeshed in a network of spiderweb psychosis.
The mind is a curious thing. Driven and apathetic to explore its surrounding in as much detail as possible while obscuring the unexpected, filtering out what we wish not to see so that we always have something to look for. Our minds induce ignorance that our hearts reject. This is why we must close our shutterscreen eyes from the world we know and search for answers in what we think that world could be. Our knowledge is limited, and thus limits the breadth of understanding.
Where was I headed when I began my first recorded rant? God knows, and if not He then Darwin, or some lizard for all I care. I do this now to log thought in a state where my minds’ filter is at its clearest so that, well, I can try to see that way again later, without having to clear it in the first place. The method of clearing is irrelevant, means to an end and all that. Needless to say I’ll be spending the next several hours trying to gather my thoughts on paper, or whatever you’d like to call this digital representation of a slab of white – anyways, I’m calling it paper... to gather my thoughts before they flit away like so many hummingbirds with their inspiration-laden wings’ blurred flapping.
The advantage here, I suppose, is that when future thoughts abandon me I can turn back to those I had once abandoned and gleefully pick them up, like a child finding a long forgotten toy – perhaps he never played with that toy much in the first place, but the nostalgic reunion washes away the mediocrity of the moment, for the child at least. I on the other hand am brought to laugh in delighted despair, such simply blissful moments are unheard of in a world of one. But I digress,
Men are made superhuman as much by their faults and failures as by their victories. But to be superhuman, you must first be human. This is elementary wordplay at best, idiocy at worst – happily, its not the worst, but somewhere in between leaning a little towards irrelevancy. The point is, Those we idolize, analyze, satirize, and demonize bleed just as much as the rest of us. Ozzy bites the heads off of bats, but he also bites the heads off of broccoli - while the ravenous mob minds that turn celebrity into spirituality bite the heads off each other in a bid to prove who can best emulate originality.
I am unique in that I’d rather bite my own head off rather than deal with the rest. To some degree, as I have stated, I see allure of celebrity and think it an abominable social construct. Yet I cannot help but look at the people behind the celebrity and see that each, in some manner, embodies an inextricable element of humanity. And so I find my multi-faceted mirror in those I’ve never met, but who I feel I know better than many of my best friends. I see myself in John’s darkness, Marshall’s anger, in Michael’s innocent mystique and in Hunter’s paradoxical euphoria.
My tornado of thoughts whirls out of control, and I’m going along for the ride.
~S