Let slip the dream.

August 21, 2011

I haven’t been writing here because I’ve wanted to keep the Aaron Smith posts on my homepage in some vain hope of keeping that part of the dream alive.  Dreaming precludes work, but work is meaningless without a dream.  I’ve been resting on the former and neglecting the latter.  Time to switch things around, be profound and work, write, speak without a sound.

Aaron Smith may someday leap out from the distant past, and my personal past, with his enigmatic smirk and become very real again (in a post-modern sense).  Until then, onward.

I’ve been busy not working on this new screenplay.  Living instead.  Well, not even that.  I think I’ve been in a waking coma for the last several months.  Like insanity…one cannot self-diagnose in these cases.  I am reaching this conclusion based on my total lack of output since February (or earlier).  And in this retrospective moment, I have been struggling to scream and nothing can escape me.  I am a prisoner within me.  I don’t want to listen to me anymore.

Ummm, that’s not wholly precise.

The wrong part of me does not listen to the right part of me and I am mostly the wrong part of me in many regards.  An internal uncivil war because there’s only one victim…me.  Or so I think.  There are many around me who could claim to be casualties of this war.  Friendly fire.  Shrapnel.  Debris.  Hubris.

Bullshit.  All of it.  Time to get back on track.

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Long time (some bad destination)

August 21, 2011

I wish the world was full of simple wonders for me.  To marvel at a tree, not for photosynthesis and things of the like, but for its august stance, its many-coloured robe, rough skin and roots.  If I stretch my memory far enough, I can recall my first real, startling scientific revelation about trees.  Everyone who lives far enough north or south of the equator has witnessed the leaves annual change of suit and descent.  Although incredible, this is something I’ve experienced since my pre-memory.  This ‘fall’ is part of the natural rhythm of nature, so is not what startled me.  It was the rings inside.  A marker of age, health, climate.  The way this information is embedded in the rings of a tree, like grooves on vinyl or bits on a dvd (to be current!).

Then I start thinking to myself – be weary of rings, for they bind you.  Any kind of ring is binding by its very nature.  We imbibe the ring with deep meaning or beauty, in which we can enthrall ourselves and forget about the being bound aspect of it.

Bound is another one of those words whose various meanings conflict.  In the simplest phrase – one’s bounding (leaping) is bound (restricted) by gravity and it is bound (destined) to be this way.  Discombobulating is not something that can be combobulated, and it’s somewhat upsetting.  What happened to the combobulate?  Maybe it implied too much hope and was therefore struck from the official record.

What came first – the desire (long) or the distance (long)?  They both imply some sort of gap between ourselves and something we want, one emotional and the other physical, one destiny and the other destination.  Destination sometimes sounds like the digestion of destiny.

“Oh man…I have some bad destination.”

And I guess the destination is the consumption of destiny…if you get to where you were destined to be.  Anyways…it’s becoming clear that I don’t really have a destination for this post, in mind or in sight.

I began with the thought of my three year old daughter, who wanders and wonders at everything around her.  I sometimes find myself melancholic over the loss of that simple wonder.  When I really think about it though, I realize that as much as my world is full of complex and often incomprehensible wonders, it is still ripe with the simple ones as well.

I have brought this full-circle and within this ring I have bound some meaning.