Just for Today

So i'm growing weary of small town life. I'm starting to feel trapped by my own inventions. I built up a little reality for myself, which is suddenly crumbling apart in the food processor of my brain. The developed self-concept, which was fortified with too much old literature, philosophy, and spiritual books, is falling down on itself. The void, which once was sublime, is now as depressing as it is empty. There is no thinking one's way out of being. Action is the only way out. There is positive action and negative action. The choice not to do is rarely conscious. How much does brain chemistry have to do with this equation? In retrospect, one can find themselves buried in the reality of an equivalent unconsciousness in all the doing they were so busy participating in. With a new existence in the bottomless glass, what seemed to be a purpose driven life suddenly seems like the root of our damnation. If nothing is built up, then there is nothing to fall down. Our world is Bi-polar. We are buried in the consequences of our actions. The idea that we know what we are doing is ever crumbling, as it is ever argued.

In other news, a 25 year old man in Tokyo went on a killing spree with a large knife, wearing a stylish suit, tee-shirt, and Converse sneakers.

The action and inaction of a century of oil addiction has tipped on us and the price of black gold is skyrocketing as the dollar and our stock-market fall. As our role at the top of the food chain wanes, and the rest of the world begins to overtake us in more than just their need for sweet crude and all kinds of fancy food, our past actions start to look like the seeds of our destruction. Nuclear weapons, anyone, anyone? Government sanctioned insanity is the norm nowadays, and we are so deep in the hole of our own irrational righteousness, that the best we can generally hope for is a bad day of depression that we can blame on ourselves. If the machine is sick, how can an individual cog be well? Enter Religion on stage left. Enter medicine on stage right. Redemption in the face of guilt. Another day to trod on into the headwind of our own insanity, pressing on in this labyrinth of the inventions of our fallen selves. The solutions of today are the problems of tomorrow. Around and around and around she goes, where it stops, nobody knows.