WHY DOES ANYTHING MATTER AT ALL IN FACT?

Build a tiny box slightly larger than a foot, 32 cm long to be exact, 32 cm high and 32 cm wide.  Fill it with fine sand. Remove one single grain.

That’s it!

This grain is me soon.

Well the box to be accurate is probably much bigger in 2012 but apparently this was the size of the box in 2006.  Why hasn’t the data been updated? Beats me.

So does that give me a sense of purpose now?  Unlikely.

But I can see my blog, my poor little blog lost in so many other blogs dying slowly of inanition or lack of oxygen to its brain.

The stat said BTW that as of 2006, 200 million blogs were left without updates.

I love my blog or at least I used to.  

To me it was a barometer and it probably still is.

But things change, the old passions are still there 

but deafened, dulled, pooped out.

For instance I can’t believe it has been 6 months already since my rant on Cherie Carter-Scott.  Her trash keeps popping over and over on Facebook and I get as incensed and as irritated as before but too tired to bother anymore, too tired to fight insanity and stupidity and what not.  I mean she is definitely FOS and the world is a sad sad place but some things will never change. 

I am not even sure what irritates me so much about the whole thing: the fact that her trash is so popular or the fact that stupidity makes so much money while common sense starves.  It won’t be the first time nor the last for sure but I am still annoyed at this planet and my short stay on it.

Now on this subject there is a part deep inside of me that is totally absolute about my being right on this subject but then again wisdom is a fickle thing and hard to touch and reach and even harder to prove.  And why does it matter if no one ever sees it and everyone jumps on Cherie’s boat and the boat sinks or floats? 

WHY DOES ANYTHING MATTER AT ALL IN FACT?

VANITY OF VANITES, ALL IS VANITY!

So why can’t I just eat and drink and be merry and never give a fuck?

For one thing I am not quite sure what to be “merry” at to begin with: probably a great part of so-called depression and this whole existentialist crisis.

It seems to get harder and harder to find any merriness these days.

Like the song says: what kind of paradise am I looking for? I’ve got everything I want and still I want more.

Buddhists and Hamlet would say Aye there is the rub, I WANT.

I want, I need. What is the diff?

What should I concentrate my efforts, my energy, my breathing, my every breath on really?

Mornings are as always horrible and nights my, good ole nights, are not much better these days. 

The W5’s keep coming. 

Why, Where, When, What and Who or hoW?

I am not any different than the rest of the box and yet I am unique in my own kind of way.  This is all I got: This brain, this body, this temporary life, these thoughts

-         small electrons floating by the trillions.

Yes I have done my “share”, yes I have produced life on this planet and this life has produced other lives but monkeys can do that too.

All this Whitman excitement about LIFE does not excite me at all because life without consciousness is nothing, life without MY consciousness is no life at all as far as I am concerned and I need consciousness to be concerned. 

Hell I could be alive and not conscious and what would it matter:

coma or Alzheimer’s or what not.

If death is a long sleep as they say well where are the dreams then?

Death is a long non REM sleep if it is one. And here comes Hamlet again.

Soon all my zeros and my ones will be gone and what is left?

The zeros and the ones on my dead hard drives or on this dead blog?

It is all about my zeros and my ones: all those electrons in my brains with their trillion synapses producing all my crazy thoughts and entertaining my momentary consciousness.

One glitch in the zeros and ones in fact and all these last electrons vanish forever lost in space.  That feeling we have when a computer crashed in the middle of writing a long document no matter how important it is. One could refer to “With Honors” with Joe Pesci or StephenFry who retrieved the lost Oscar winning script from Emma Thompson’s computer.

So what is all this?

An old story of the wise envying the fool

or the fool wishing to be wiser then?

What does it matter to all the billions and billions of departed souls whether they are remembered or not?  What does it matter to one single still living soul? 
Two souls die every single second on this planet and the media play favourites on whom they will recall and whom they can’t be bothered with.

As I said earlier this week,

no one commemorates My lai or March 16^th, 1968

or any other drone massacre or collateral damage or what not,

not mentioning the millions and millions of deaths caused by economic sanctions or just some poor sap dying from poverty or even worse sheer stupidity.

And that brings me back to another song I guess, having started with Grey from AniDiFranco, I’d like to end, pardon the pun, with Tom Waits and “Dirt in the Ground”.

Voila for now.

A