Out of Apathy, Pt. 9

There was not much of a wait before the food arrived and was quickly devoured because of the thrill and excitement of this adventure. After paying the bill an ample tip was left on the table in hopes that it would help provide a little bit of happiness for the waitress with the sad eyes. While filling up the tank with gas, the sun began to rise on the horizon. The orange and purple glow that had been slowly growing brighter now revealed the top of the brilliant yellow orb that was the sun. Reflections from the sun made the wasteland surrounding the truck stop emit its own gleam. Everything looked as if it had been illustrated by soft brush strokes, and the depth of this panorama became hypnotizing. When the pump clicked because the tank was full, it seemed to destroy this euphoric state and renew the dismal surrounding's reality. Jumping back into the car, it roared to life and sped off down the highway continuing the trek onward toward the coast that was, who knows, how far away.

“You belong to me” by Patsy Cline was playing on the radio, and despite the loudness of the wind rushing through the open window, her distinctive voice could be hear gently singing, “Fly the ocean in a silver plane, See the jungle when it's wet with rain, Just remember till you're home again, You belong to me…” The air seemed to be moving and responding to her voice. It was whispering the words at the same time as she was, emphasizing each line as if it were the most important words one should ever hear, and that missing even one of them would be like missing out on the very essence of existence. That voice was so easy to get lost in, staring at the horizon with the sun rising on the casting its warm rays down. Just like at the pump, the scene was mesmerizing and the surroundings melted away until all that was left was a comforting glow, the feel of the wind and the sound of Patsy Cline’s voice.

This wave of euphoria is normally something that many seek throughout their lives. States like this are not easily come by and for most require deep meditation and relaxation, and yet it just seemed to happen. Perhaps that is the key to attaining peace within one’s self. Not to spend years studying the words of long dead minds, not to work hard practicing ancient techniques and not to spend years trying to ignore the surroundings through meditation. All that was required was to simply become lost in the surroundings, not forget them. To let all the senses run wild and take in as much as was possible, that was the key. In this place, the sensation of an entire Universe becomes vivid and though one is lost, they find themselves. Normally, all of this is a good thing, but when the car is cruising down the highway at seventy miles an hour and drifts into the path of an oncoming truck, it is not the most desired of places to be.


Many people say that just before death one’s life flashes before his (or her) eyes; however, this isn’t the case. When death comes upon a person, it is swift like a hawk diving down upon its prey. There is no time to reminisce on past experiences, only time to sigh and say goodbye before sleep envelopes all of one’s being. Depending upon the death that one is about to meet other actions might occur, such as: the face contorting into a horrific expression of disbelief at the prospect of the terrific pain that is surely to come, a cry out to loved one’s who are sitting next to the bed waiting for the final moment with baited breath in hopes of a large inheritance, or various other small things that don’t seem to matter much because the end result is still the same. There are times, however, when not everything goes as planned even for such a merciless killer as death.

After the inevitable happens there are those who look back upon their body and feel a great pain at the loss of all their earthly pleasures, so they attempt to return to their now lifeless bodies. Death’s grip is strong, but some individuals’ will is far too much for even death to hold back. So these people return to their lives on the mortal plain and talk about the things they have seen and the icy grip they felt as they were being torn away from their bodies. Not everyone has the same experience during this time though. Some people say that they see a white light at the end of a long tunnel, others say that there is a voice calling to them and they run toward it, another group says that they see their loved ones at the end of a long path, and still others say that there is just nothing in death, but a vast emptiness. Such questions about what happens after death have plagued humans since they began to think and reason. Their fear of death has developed into belief structures where all-powerful beings exist and guide them through life and death or into a belief that when they die they will return to the Earth in a new form.

Many people scoff at the idea that once one dies, he/she is simply dead and does not exist anymore. His/Her essence simply ceases and doesn’t go on to greater things. Most don’t like this because it is not a very comforting thought, but there are those who believe it nonetheless. But can one really believe such an idea? For sure one can talk about it and accept it, on the surface, because it is such a simple idea, but to truly believe in something one must accept it in it’s totality and try to understand it completely. In this finite life that humans live in, where life begins when they are born and ends when they die, can one truly fathom the idea of not existing? Human minds are finite things and one cannot completely comprehend the concept of nothingness or infiniteness. There is always a search for the beginning and end to life and everything.

With recent developments in science there has been the Big Bang Theory which gives people a starting point for the Universe, but this theory still begs the question, “Where did the stuff that was in the big bang come from?” The idea that the cosmic stuff of the Universe has just always existed is a seemingly ridiculous notion to humans. An even more mind bending notion for humans is that there was nothing before the big bang simply because time did not even exist before the big bang, so how could something exist without a reference to time (and space since there was no space before the big bang either). Is it desperation that drives humans to refuse to accept such notions or is it as simple as that there is no possible way for them to comprehend such an idea and it must be left up to their God. In the end, perhaps the afterlife is what one makes it and it really only exists in the mind, which persists outside of space and time, and exists forever like an endless dream.


Watching late night TV gives a glimpse into the severity of some people’s delusions and their unwillingness to accept any sort of reasoning. It seems that some religions are so hell bent on keeping their afterlife an exclusive resort that they will persecute anyone who believes otherwise. The largest example that comes to mind is those people that fall under the denomination of Christianity. More than one church of this sect has stated the fact that not believing in their God, not having faith in "his" presence in everyday human life, and not affirming that "his" son died on a cross somewhere in the Middle East for their sins is a one-way ticket to hell. Yet they proceed to refer to their God has benevolent and merciful. Furthermore, when the curious mind searches for any sort of proof or logical argument towards this belief system and even more simply, their God’s existence, the response is simply that one must have faith and accept it.

Faith seems to be quite the controversial word. For the religious mind it is the end of all arguments, but for the curious or scientific mind it seems preposterous. Initially one who is not part of a religious sect would consider the word faith to be mere fluff, but further understanding of the word can help to show that it is not just a word meant for the religious zealot. Through science, evidence is gathered and piled up. Scientists then use this evidence to come up with theories about the subjects they have been researching; these theories are then tested rigorously to see if they hold up in reality outside of the paper. If the theory survives the assault the scientific community accepts it and may turn it into scientific law, at least until another, more accurate, theory comes along. However, though there may be mountains of evidence toward a theory, one can never say that it has been proven. This is because most of science uses inductive reasoning to justify its theories. Inductive reasoning implies that the outcome is assumed from the evidence, but isn’t shown directly from the evidence. This is where faith comes into play; a scientist must take a leap of faith to go from theory to law. She must have faith that her evidence is accurate and well founded, and that all her calculations were done correctly. If she believes all of this then she has faith that her theory is true.

An example of this sort of faith and where it fails is Isaac Newton. Newton developed his three laws of motion and through testing they were found to be mostly accurate and were accepted as laws of physics. Then in the early twentieth century Albert Einstein changed the way physicists looked at their field by showing that Newton’s laws were lacking. Einstein was eventually able to shatter the faith that Newton’s laws were entirely accurate and represented reality. From that event a new faith was born, a faith in Einstein’s new laws. Faith can be broken down even more into everyday life. A person may have a friend that he trusts whole-heartedly and he would never think that this friend would betray him because he has faith in their friendship. This person can never say for sure that his friend will never betray him, but he is willing to accept the friendship on faith based on his prior experiences with this friend. An even further simplification might be the simple notion of color. One can identify the color and is reasonably certain that whatever object is blue will remain blue, but it is just as likely that it could change and become green. Yet based on this person’s previous experiences he will have faith that the object will remain blue. All of this breaks down into philosopher David Hume’s problem of induction, which has yet to be resolved despite the attempts of many philosophers. In the end all that remains is faith. Not faith in God, but faith in science and scientific theory. Taking this into consideration, one can’t help, but ask themselves: does knowledge of anything outside of mathematics really exist? Or, do the definitions within mathematics really exist?

Out of Apathy Pt. 8

She smiled as she leaned back to stretch her body out in the still night air and continued on her seaward path. A gentle roll over onto her stomach allowed her to look down upon the city below to examine the happenings of the night. The city seemed dead at first, the streets vacant and lifeless, but as she began to cross over the city’s center the scene below became illuminated with various colors and shapes around the sculpture in the town square. Small swirls of yellow and orange colors showed where the streetlights emitted their effervescence. Blurred dark shapes moved about in rhythmic harmony to some fast paced music that was out of audible range.

In the glow of the lights she could see the movement of laughter from the people below; though she couldn’t make out any of their features. She had now become enveloped in the great impressionist painting she had been viewing from her window. When she escaped the city and looked down again, she was over the ocean and could see her reflection in the dark water below. More shocking than all the events she had been experiencing and witnessing was that she appeared to be part of this masterpiece as well. Her features had softened and the contours of her body became just groupings of shape and color. She could no longer make out the expression on her face, all she saw was dark spots where her eyes and mouth were, and bright specks of light in the middle of her eyes where the brilliant moonlight reflected back out. The absurdity of her appearance made her laugh to herself, but that same time she couldn’t help but feel taken aback by the beauty of it. It was as if when all the details were removed from the images she saw, she could finally see them as they were meant to be.

Now she finally realized that, though the fine details do much to accentuate the things she saw, the colors and shapes underneath those details are what make them beautiful. In some ways the detailed edges of refinement of this raw paint scheme hinder its ability to express itself. They confine the colors into concentric shapes and trap them inside walls not allowing them to affect their surroundings, to blend seamlessly into the background. What an atrocity it is to confine the artwork of the cosmos! To limit the expression of billions of billions of billions of sub-atomic particles swirling about at incredible speeds because of the will of the strings that guide them on their course, what kind of creature could think of such a thing! Yet there in lies the problem. It is the human mind that builds these ramparts. The brain searches for edges to every shape, a beginning and an end, without these limits a human brain would cease to function.


The water was as smooth as glass beneath her, and she could make out the entire scene above her in the illustrated sky. As she stared deeply at her reflection, she could feel herself descending closer towards the sea. Lower and lower she fell, until she closed her eyes and curled up to brace for the impact in the water, but when nothing happened she opened her eyes again and saw that she was now inches above the water. She stretched herself back out again and dragged her fingers through the water, which was surprisingly warm. There was hardly a sensation of temperature change between the water and the air surrounding. The only real noticeable affect was that her fingers met with some resistance in the water. Looking back in the direction she had come from, she could see the ripples caused by her fingers spreading out causing tiny distortions in the reflection of the sky. This made the image come alive with movement, and the stars began dancing in tiny circular movements like pirouetting ballet dancers.

Turning over onto her back to examine the sky once again she noticed that the stars above her were moving in sync with the ones she had seen in the reflection. She shut her eyes and rubbed them to make certain that she wasn’t being deceived, but when she opened them again the stars were still twirling about an invisible point. To test her now formed hypothesis she lowered her hand back into the water and watched to see if there was any effect. Sure enough a subtle movement began to drag across the sky making the movement of the stars more violent, but no less graceful. This made her smile, to see this kind of Godlike impact she had on the fabric of the cosmos and to be able to manipulate the movement of the heavens to suit her fancy. At this point she became curious as to the extent of her effect on the sky.

Laying her hand flat just above the water, she jostled it side to side to create a blur of the image above. The violence above her was surprising, but not disheartening. Stars blurred and spread out; striking one another, their colors blending together in odd shapes and hues, and the ripple effect was so severe that the stars looked as if they were collapsing in on themselves with the crashing of the tiny waves. Perhaps this is just the way God felt in creating the Universe, standing on a pedestal of nothing but imagination, pallet in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. Spontaneously creating an explosion of color without shape, then slowly and methodically shaping it into strings, quarks, nucleic particles, atoms, and on up to galaxies to fill the black void of nothingness, so that he wouldn’t have to be lonely anymore.


Some philosophers have questioned the existence of the world, and all that exists within it, with exception of the person thinking such things. In the process of such a maneuver one denies the splendor and beauty of the world and at the same time absolves themselves from being responsible for living. Not the sort of living that the average person does, but actually living. Filling themselves with the breath of all living things that surround them, taking in all of their surroundings, and deciding that life isn’t about just making ends meet, but is filled with riches of experience. Some of these philosophers deny that anything of substance can be gained through experience. What an absurd claim! The fulfillment of experience provides the brilliance with which one gives meaning to himself.

For the young swimmer and painter of the skies, her experience is the only thing that makes her days bright. Being locked inside of her own thoughts only draws out painful memories and weighs down on her like the cross upon the martyr. How can one possibly hope to gain any knowledge of meaning and existence having never truly existed? George Berkeley said, “To exist is to be perceived,” this statement says much about those who would deny experience. At the same time it also demonstrates the necessity of experience. One cannot know anything of the world without first going out and seeing it. As if the entire world doesn’t even exist for those who enclose themselves within their own blinded point of view on the world. Maybe that’s why something suddenly snapped and the car whipped around away from those strangling city lights across the ocean from the swimming girl; the realization that time continues forward, whether or not it is used in any meaningful way, and the distant feeling that someone was yearning and feeling the same way. To give up everything is to gain everything. Like reading a Kerouac novel there was nothing, but possibilities in the glow of the high beams.


Stopping off when the gas tank was reading below the bold “E” a brightly lit truck stop provided the necessities. Before refueling the car certain abdominal pains needed to be relieved with nourishment. After placing an order with the tired looking waitress named Dorothy, a deep sigh emitted from her as she turned to walk away. She was not that old, but the years of working in such an environment and smoking a pack of cigarettes a day had leathered her face. The deep grooves on her face and the eternal frown that she wore showed her desire for escape from this life she’d been given. Each line is a reminder of where she was and what she had become. The youthful beauty she once proudly wore had faded and become distorted through years of abuse.

Her life must have taken a downward spiral early on as she must have been working at this place since she graduated high school. Every night she points her finger, passing blame on whatever is around her trying to avoid depression by turning it into scorn. She blames her children, saying that if she hadn’t become pregnant right after graduation her life would have been better. She blames their father, who disappeared shortly after finding out that she was with child. Tears provided her only comfort late at night when she was all alone in her small trailer a few miles from the truck stop. When she was working she tried to put on a smile for the truckers and was usually successful, but to those who can see beyond the surface there is nothing except sadness in her eyes. No matter how much she tries to blame others, she knows that her life was her own doing and her own decisions.

She said yes to the boy with the pretty smile in the car that night, she decided to give up on her hopes of going to college and becoming a lawyer, and she stopped trying to overcome the obstacles that came her way to take the easy path of acceptance. Of course, none of this may be true, but that is the story that her face told. The weight of an entire ocean of sadness isn’t a mistakable quality in the frail human form.

Out of Apathy Pt. 7

The air was calm and cool, hinting of the early autumn chill. The boat rocked and swayed as the water gently exerted itself against the port side of the boat in a hypnotizing, rhythmic fashion. The sun had hidden itself behind the horizon and the last of its residual rays disappeared. The velvet night sky was interrupted by the brilliance of the full moon hanging low on the horizon, seeming to rise up straight out of the ocean. It was larger than she had ever seen it before and seemed so close. She lost herself in its glory for a moment and nearly fell overboard reaching out to grasp at the glowing orb.

Despite the brightness of the moon, more stars that she had ever imagined could be seen. Lying down on the deck, she tried to soak up the scenery surrounding her. It filled her with such exuberance that she could hardly contain her joy, as if all these stars, so beautifully constructed, had been placed there just for her at this very moment. As she was breathing in there was a noise outside of the vessel. Sitting up and peering over the railing she could make out something floating in the water that resembled a slightly human form. “Salut?” she called out to it. Hearing no response, she called out again, squinting hard to try and make out what exactly it was. More splashing occurred and finally the light of the moon cast its gaze on the figure of a man floating on his back drifting away from the boat.

The body didn’t appear to be at a loss of life, but was floating of its own accord. Though she could plainly see all the features of this man, she couldn’t discern his face despite her best effort. She felt compulsively drawn to this man, who was drifting further and further away from the boat. Her curiosity and the gravity that the man exuded were so great that she leapt into the water and began swimming after him. The water was strangely warm and felt pleasant around her body. Looking for her target, she engaged in pursuit, quietly skimming through the water. She was astounded how effortlessly she traversed, almost as if she were swimming right through the air. Yet, the faster she went, the farther away he was. After struggling for what seemed like an eternity she gave up the chase and turned over to lie on her back to stare at the sky. To her great surprise there was a sudden warmth around her and a feeling that she couldn’t describe and the man was right next to her. Hearing his breathing and the water splashing against his body, she turned to look at the face of the person she had been so vigilant for. But before she had the chance to see his face the loud singing of a drunk outside her open window roused her from her sleep.


Looking about in the dark, her eyes were unable to focus on the clock to check the time because of her sudden arousal. Her throat was parched and she got up to quench it. Like a lion let loose from the cage, she threw the covers off and bounded across the room. The air had grown cool from the open window, and she wanted to make her trip as quick as possible so as to not catch a chill. In the dark of the room, she lost her footing and stubbed her toe on the dresser next to her bathroom door. The throbbing pain surged its way up the nerves in her leg causing her whole foot to tremble from the sudden jolt. As she fell forward she grabbed onto the door to the bathroom and regained her balance. When the lights flickered on she shut her eyes quickly to avoid the burning of her unadjusted pupils.

Standing there, after the ordeal with her foot, she had forgotten why she got up in the first place, and it wasn’t until she saw the glass sitting on the counter that she remembered she was thirsty. After drinking her fill of the luke-warm tap water, she made her way back into the room and over towards the window again to shut out the, now cold, night air. On her way to the window she looked back over to check the time again, now that she was fully awake, but as she stared hard at the red blur on her nightstand she couldn’t make out any digits. Rubbing her eyes she looked again and still couldn’t make anything out. Chalking this anomaly up to the trauma of the bright bathroom lights, she continued on her way to the window.

As she approached the window, it occurred to her that there wasn’t any chill at all from the window and that there wasn’t even a breeze moving through. This was odd as there was always a coastal breeze blowing through the window. Stepping closer to the window, she looked up at the sky and the familiar stars that she often stared at from this spot, but was struck by the image that she saw.


Yet another oddity occurred to her looking up at the deep velvet sky. The starry night appeared as if a late 19th century impressionist had painted it. The deep black of the night backdrop was replaced with dark blues and purples in great swirls like windswept leaves. Amidst these great curls of color were bright and huge stars with sharp accentuated points, the stars were so large and vibrant that she thought if she reached out they would cut her hand. But the most astounding feature of this odd night was the outstanding size of the moon. Like a huge plate it hung in the scene of the night, consuming almost the entirety of her area of vision when she looked directly at it.

The moon’s features were soft and the usual definitions of the craters couldn’t be seen. Instead there was a blending of light and dark areas with no real edges to speak of, and even the outer rim of the moon itself seemed to just fade into the background. Other buildings surrounding her home, which normally existed at the same level as hers, were far beneath her and she looked down upon their rooftops almost seeing straight through them at the people inside the homes. As she leaned farther out the window to look at the streets below and watch the late night wanderers walk by looking like ants that have lost their way. She leaned back to stand back up in her window when she realized that she was no longer standing in her room.

Turning around she could see the room that she had been in moments ago, and not only that, but she could see herself still standing in the window looking out into the night. Despite this incredibly strange scenario she had become involved in, she didn’t feel the slightest bit of alarm or fear. In fact, she felt perfectly comfortable looking at herself in the window, as she began floating back away and towards the sea.

Out of Apathy pt. 6

This girl has been encountered before, though her scent has never been smelled, the taste of her lips has never greeted the eager palate, nor her touch been felt caressing the skin. Through the lens of another admirer, her image has been seen and recorded into a permanent memory. She exists as both a real and imagined persona, but neither of these two has communicated with each other. The imagined is being searched for, while the real will be the end result of the search. Full knowledge of this is kept in its rightful place within the mind, but the prospect seems so great that, though disappointment is a grim possibility, it fails to hinder the progress in any way. In all actuality the real persona is more than could ever have been imagined. All the pedestals and ideals of this female have fallen short of her grandeur. Her looks are unmatched by even Dante’s Beatrice, who guided him through the paradisio and into the warm glow of his God.

Pale skin compliments her unnaturally dark locks, which must be kept up once every waxing and waning period, and also allows the brilliance of her eyes to be seen from across an eternity. When those eyes attach themselves to another a temporal anomaly occurs and everything surrounding the two parties begins to slow to a stop. During this lapse in time (that one could only wish to last forever, but ends despairingly too soon) all the sensations of the world course through eager veins. All the senses become consumed by the eyes of this girl and become amplified to the point of exasperation and utter ecstasy, and just when the body nearly convulses from this sudden flood of emotional captivity, the gaze is broken and time resumes its natural course. It is amazing how two organs used to view the world can have such an effect on someone. After all, what are eyes? Nothing but two liquid covered hollow orbs of tissue, and in most cases are regarded as unpleasant to the touch. Yet the eyes have an amazing power like that which was described. Beyond the simple gravity of the eyes, they also provide a way of determining many different things about a person.

Emotions and personalities are conveyed through many facets, but can be hidden from nearly everything except the eyes. Staring into these “mirrors”, as an author once called them, anger, lust, love, happiness, the entire array of humanness can be seen. Memories are stored in these pools, an entire lifetime of dreams, hopes and aspirations, all residing inside something so seemingly trivial. What a marvel the eyes are! And the eyes of the young girl tell the story of someone who has been hated, abused, forgotten, lusted after, and left behind. Though she hides the trials of her life well, there is no cloaking them within the realm of her emerald windows to the soul.

As her laughter subsides, the girl looks deep into the night sky at the stars and takes a deep breath. She holds the cold air in her lungs as long as she can before breathing it out slowly with a content smile upon her face. The air making its way slowly out of her throat and across her lips makes her feel alive. A night like this is one she will always remember, when she feels filled with the world, filled with all the life that it contains. The surroundings brimming with the things that make life worth living, the color of the sky, the movement of the trees, the sounds of conversation in the cafe down the road; all the things in the world teaming with life in all its brilliance. She sees this and realizes that each and every thing is so beautiful; from the dirt in the ground, to the trees, to the people who inhabit the earth. With all the differences in appearances, species, even the type of thing itself (i.e. trees, rocks, people, animals) everything comes from the same thing, the stars. Every atom that makes up a person, a mountain, or anything on the terrestrial sphere originates in the heart of the solar nebula. In this sense everything is connected and is full of the same life and existence. Everything is one and the same, and every person is in one-way or another the same as another person.

This idea has a profound effect on the girl as she breathes the air out of her lungs, which will feed the plant life, which will expel the oxygen she needs to survive. And upon her death, she knows that her body will become the fodder to sprout all kinds of new life and continue the cycle on and on. Knowing simply and absolutely these facts of life, she can't help but feel so energized about being alive, and ready for anything that might come her way. She knows that every stumble she has along the way only helps her to value this gift more. This night air also has an added feature that is somewhat strange, but makes her feel even more giddy and excited to see what the days ahead will bring. Placing the bookmark back into her book she decides to go to sleep early on this night and dream of the things to come.

Her bed is plain and seemingly uninspired, but on the contrary it isn’t the dressings on it that show its true colors. The adventures, romances, and tragedies within the sheets, in that state of slumber, are what design the beauty of it. Kneeling in front of the bed she begins her nightly prayers. These are general run of the mill prayers of the common believer: praying for the well being of her family and those close to her, for the unfortunate who cannot pull themselves out of the situations they have been encumbered in and placing a special addendum about this strange feeling that has come over her, asking for clarification. The strange thing about her prayers is that no one ever taught her about the Bible (Koran, Torah, Bahavad Gita, etc.) or took her to church, her idea of God developed of its own accord, not a sudden realization, but a process over a lifetime. For her there was always a lingering feeling that something was always over her shoulder, keeping a watchful eye on her actions. Not in the sense that it was interfering on or against her behalf, but was just watching, like the loving eyes of a mother whose child struggles with forming its words or trying to stand on its own.

So she began to pray, not for things in a direct sense, but simply for guidance in decisions important in her life. Whether or not this really had any affect, it gave her a feeling of self-assurance and the confidence to proceed with what she felt was right. She scarcely has time to place her head on the pillow before that dark veil of sleep consumes her. However, the blackness of her eyelids closing is brief, for her dreams come so rapidly that she scarcely has time to ward off the image of her room before they begin. An almost seamless transition occurs. One moment she is in her bedroom, the next she is on a boat out at sea.

Out of Apathy pt. 5

Speeding down the road, the mind races with questions about this decision and its justifications, but if termination is inevitable then there is no purpose in wading through the dense sea of irritated drivers. Furthermore, something else has occurred, like the light switch that kick-started creation. The burden of daily drudgery has finally broken its precipice and tumbled, but rather than allow this to cause collapse into demise, it has alleviated the weights that hindered the spreading of wings to soar away from this dismal existence. An idea to leave behind everything of the past, excluding only the current surroundings, and evolving into something greater and more fulfilling, much like a butterfly giving up its ground crawling ways to grow wings and fly. There is only one need from the past, the one thing that will be strived for to help with this process, something that will help to create this new existence.

The wind seems to be pushing the vehicle as if it has become invigorated by this decision. With the windows down it howls in applause and sings a sweet melody of approval. Upon arrival at the domicile, the car is left running outside, while this intermediate mission is accomplished. Inside the article is quickly identified and procured; a profound sense of joy is felt in this occurrence. The feeling that this is something worthwhile is consuming, spreading like a drug through the bloodstream, causing the fingertips to tingle and respiration to become more rapid. It is the picture of the young female, the same female from the dream, the one person that has been sought after for so long without any knowledge. She has transcended a mortal existence becoming something spiritual and enigmatic. No, not becoming, she has always been. It is not her that is changing. Her being has remained dormant all this time, until the right moment when the two paths would collide in a brilliant crash. Is this destiny? That seems to be the only explanation for a scene such as this. If it is destiny then there was never a choice in the matter, and somehow this event had to occur. This idea is a double edged sword because it makes one feel out of control of the decisions of life, and that some outside puppet master is pulling all of the strings, but on the other hand it is comforting to know that some reciprocal part has been created to fill all of the subtle empty spots in this existence.

These two beings begin on separate paths that converge to a point and merge into one. It is comforting to know that loneliness will always be temporary. Some might ask about those that never find their destiny and wind up alone and miserable? From a mortal perspective this is a most distressing idea, but one that shouldn’t be the cause of so much worry and vein searching. Life has no beginning or end, like energy it can neither be created nor destroyed; it is a continuum, constantly changing its states with each passing lifetime. In the same way love holds no boundaries within such a human idea as time, it exists and longs to be found throughout existence. Though the paths may take many lifetimes to converge, eventually they become one and create bliss unlike any dream. It is true that one day the bliss must end because of the beginning and ending of life cycles, but no matter how far the paths separate, they will always converge again in their own cycle. Looking at the picture, no more thought to the future is necessary because the knowledge of what needs to be done is already inborn, and the car speeds back off into the night towards the horizon, with a blissful tune in the air.


The city lights begin to fade in the background and as they do the amount of stars in the sky grows and grows until there seems to be more sparkling white than velvety black. Shades of purple and red provide the backdrop in the cloudy atmosphere of the Milky Way. Times like these make a convertible car the most useful because one can feel as though she is surrounded by the night sky, instead of only being able to admire it through the dimensions of a few small windows. Traveling eastward the shoreline is a long way away, but the sudden decisions and realizations have provided the energy necessary for such a journey. Fatigue will surely be ignored tonight through sheer excitement of new ideals. No amount of caffeine or any other stimulating drug could provide the sensation of accomplishment. It is a high that cannot be made by man synthetically, but is produced only naturally through actions.

By fulfilling some sort of self-important duty, the mind goes into a type of euphoric state in which it feels invincible and able to tackle anything. Perhaps this is why those who create tend to create much. Their accomplishments give them the energy and ability to achieve more and more, while the person who allows himself to stagnate never amounts to anything. It seems that action is the key to all advancement; it is the only thing that makes any sense. This must be why the toil of daily work rituals has been going on so long, and why misery has been the pervading emotion for many years. Never was any action taken to change it, to attempt to create something new or participate in something different. Just like Immanuel Kant had his reading of David Hume to awaken him out of his “dogmatic slumber”, that one incident of immense frustration seems to have jumpstarted a dormant mind full of desire, but stuck in neutral. Looking over the picture of the girl can be seen and her words are repeated over and over, “Où es-tu m'amour? Pourquoi m'as-tu trouvé encore?” The image of her lips speaking those words is still vivid and drives itself even further into the mind in this state. The accelerator is pressed to the floor and the powerful 8-cylinder engine roars as the car gives an inertial lurch and speeds off into the night, while the words, “I’m coming for you love. Don’t worry. I’ll find you…” are spoken and trail off behind the car.


Somewhere far off, across an ocean, a soft breeze is blowing through the window of a single room apartment and tossing the piceous hair of the femme des rêves. Wrapped in a blanket she sits alone in her room reading to herself aloud as she so often is found doing. This habit of reading aloud has made her the subject of much abuse throughout her lifetime because of petty children, and even adults who could be considered children, who think that this makes her slow or unable to comprehend the words. In all truth she prefers the words spoken rather than thought because in this way she is able to speak the words of the characters and thus place herself more into their position, feeling the emotions that course from the author’s pen onto the page. It is therapy for her, this nightly reading. Doing things in this way allows her to escape the drivel of day-to-day life and place herself in some extravagant situation or in the arms of someone who truly cares about her.

At times the situations can become so real that she finds herself genuinely in love with the characters, only to be heartbroken when the final page is turned and the story is over. The breeze caresses the curves of her neck and wraps itself around her nape slithering its way down her back. A cold chill creeps up her spine and she is startled by the tingling sensation, like electricity, throughout her body. The pupils of her eyes dilate causing the brilliant green to become not much more than a sliver around the deep black pool of her pupil. Standing up she shivers and walks towards the window to look out at the night sky.

The air outside has an odd sensation within it, and she feels as if something is changing. Looking upwards at the stars, a certain pattern seems picked out and chosen to be brighter than the rest. What the pattern is isn’t discernable, but she notices it just the same and mumbles softly as she returns to the chair to resume her reading. Though she is usually so entwined with her book’s storyline that nothing can disturb her, tonight she is mysteriously elsewhere. Unable to pinpoint why everything is different on this night her face scrunches into a confused expression. Seeing this look upon her face in the mirror she begins to laugh at herself because of the ridiculousness of both her uncalled for anxieties and the pout she is making.

Out of Apathy pt. 4

Silent as the tomb of a long dead memory encapsulated in the furthest regions of the cerebellum, the car ride is agonizing because of the labor to come, but relieving due to the chance to ponder so many questions. Along the road there are no street lights, the glow of the headlights fills the dark void in front of the vehicle, showing the yellow painted line down the middle of the road to keep people from swerving off course. The shining horizon is lit up by city lights; an eerie purple glow fades into the inky black void as the sky climbs higher and higher. A metaphor perhaps on this existence here on the Earth, looking up there is a desolate expanse littered with widely dispersed specks called stars, but down below is a vibrant glow of life and happenings. Then why does it seem so dead down here and so alive up there? Looking at the sky during prehistoric times must have been a sight because there was nothing to hinder their brilliance from the eyes. Painted in various shades of purple, red, and blue with a black background, the night sky would have been marvelous. It is too bad that things like that are largely only imagined for most people because of the rapid expansion of civilization.

Traveling down the road, it becomes brighter and brighter as the city approaches, a sprawling metropolis complete with everything the consumer needs. Sex is available for purchase on most corners, as well as drugs, and one can severely inebriate himself to the point of unconsciousness, such is the existence of so many unhappy people. There are so many warnings prohibiting such activities, but it is a continuing occurrence and one can only ask why would people keep up their self abuse? Perhaps it is to escape the banal of their day-to-day lives. Unhappiness can have a profound effect on the weak willed, and absolution seems to be the most enticing offer presented. Many blame their God for making their lives miserable because they need a scapegoat and are not willing to recognize their own faults. God cannot be blamed, it is merely the creator of all things, and, though its energy exists in all things, it endowed humans with free will to make their own decisions. Just because God doesn’t come and fix every person’s problems does not make them its fault.

This is a truly human aspect, not willing to accept blame for mistakes. Why is this so hard? Why don’t people realize that by accepting their mistakes they can then learn from them for future reference? One makes so many mistakes in life, and there is no time for trivial dwelling. This is just one of the recurring ideas that the late night drive can provide. Is it the silence and loneliness that helps initiate these spiteful thoughts, or is it the world itself seeping through the pores within the cool night air that passes through the open window. A hand extended outside the window provides so many interesting thoughts. The wind dresses itself around the hand, surrounding it, holding it, and moving it in any direction it wants. Passing between the fingers and cooling the sweaty palms, it exists and yet doesn’t exist; it is there, but it isn’t. There is only the effect of the wind, but no real evidence of its existence. Such a beautiful idea, the wind, one can attempt to describe it, draw it, or picture it in their minds, but there is never a clear image because it exists and doesn’t exist at the same time in this world. The wind is somewhere before the beginning, but after the end. It flows through and around all things.

The routine night drive becomes a religious experience. It seems to be the only time to escape from the madness of the surrounding world because there is nothing for miles around except vast, unlit roadway. As the city approaches the stars fade and the night sky glows. The feeling of oneness dissipates, just like the stars, creating a feeling of anguish pulling hard against the chains of working life; a slave to the almighty dollar, to put it in a crude fashion, but in all actuality that is the only way to survive. Other systems that try to eliminate the capitalist way of life fail due to the factor of human nature, and so the toiling must continue. The shining red stoplight is a jolt back to reality, and a signifying mark that the realm of tranquility has been interrupted by the hustle and bustle of city life. Even at this late of an hour, the city is teeming with cars and people. It never sleeps. Like the human body, the city may enter semi-dormant periods, but it never truly rests. The city continues to consume and produce waste; it breathes out its noxious fumes and even changes the surrounding weather patterns. Concrete giants continue to grow and grow in an image some male architect’s fantasized fallacy. Ever expanding, it sprawls for hundreds of square miles, like a mountain peaked in its center and sloping downward.

The main drive is blocked with vehicles, stopped and lined up like inmates. There seems to be an accident far down the road. Further up the road a woman was diligently attempting to put on her make-up before her night on the town, while she was driving, and she happened to cross paths with a man who had just left a tavern with a few too many ppm of alcohol in his system. Both parties were at fault in this situation, but who is to blame? The man made poor judgment for deciding to drive when he knew her was inebriated, but the woman also miscalculated her own abilities by taking her eyes off the road and hands off the wheel to make sure that here eyeliner was just perfect for tonight’s hunt. Fault can’t be placed either way it seems, but it matters not because some outside force has decided that since they were both at fault, both should lose their lives. With this decision made for these two misguided individuals, the job that is being driven to may be lost as a result. Though this would be a legitimate excuse, there have already been numerous warnings given about being late. If the traffic doesn’t clear up in the next 15 minutes there would be no need for dealing with this overwhelming and strenuous part of the drive. Normally this wouldn’t be such a bad proposition, but bills are not able to pay themselves and some kind of monetary funds are needed to sustain life. Looking at the clock and realizing that there is no time to make the venture and then examining the cash content in the dirty jeans pockets, something snaps and the course changes. Finding a loophole the vehicle is quickly turned about and driven off back into the inky black night, away from the city lights and down the highway.

Out of Apathy Pt. 3

The Daylight has faded and the children have returned to their homes safe and sound, this time. With the sun now sleeping safely below the horizon the insect retires until the morning to begin its conquest once again. Everyone is sleeping soundly in their beds with fleeting dreams and nightmares to pass the time. The sounds of the world outside have died out and silence is the prevailing attribute to the cool night air. The distant chirping of the nocturnal crickets singing their tune out in a nearby field is the only sound causing a ripple in this silent pool. What an existence to be an insect such as a cricket. Resting during the days in a dark corner of the Earth, and rising at night to sing its tune to the world as if saying, “I exist! I am here!” Only to have its life snubbed by a roaming amphibian, reptile, or various other night crawler.

All at once the chirping ceases. Apparently one poor cricket did not survive the night and became consumed by something higher up on the food chain. The others look on in horror as their fellow chorus member is devoured, but after the terror fades they continue with their tune. What is higher on the food chain than humans? Surely there must be something because like space and time the pieces can be broken down into smaller and smaller pieces, as well as expanded on into infinity. By most standards humans are considered the apex of the animal kingdom, but something must consume humans (besides the occasional feral bear or various other animal attacks). Perhaps it isn’t a physical consumption like that of the cricket, but a spiritual and mental consumption. What being could accomplish such a task? This seems to be a much too close-minded question. The trials of life can consume a person. The heartbreak, the misery, and all of the other drudgery that life throws the way of the average individual can consume him. At the other end, things like power and money also consume a person by bending him to their will. Such things many don’t consider because of the standardized view, but looking into the faces of people one can see how their lives are slowly torn away from them and devoured by some unseen force.

This is the reason for this late night rendezvous, while others sleep someone must work, for the world never sleeps, but continues in an endless cycle. In particular the possessions of large conglomerates must be protected diligently so that they can continue to feed off of the lives of their peons. God must be a pessimist because the world seems to drift farther and farther into oblivion without signs of recovery. As with any situation not everything is bad all the time, but it seems to be on a downward track. Then again maybe it is humans who are pessimists and propagate that attitude, which in turn drives everything farther down. A lifetime of struggle and constant labor until the bitter end where nothing is left but to decay to the point of no return, and then there is relief? A final release superior to anything imaginable is this last breath of air, where some say the soul leaves the body measuring a total of 21 grams according to some statistics.

Turning to face the dark room, the same dingy pair of jeans and stained t-shirt for the habitual ritual of strenuous late night physical activity lay there on the floor. Shipments come and go knowing no time of day, they are constant due to the changing time zones causing alternating launch dates and times. Crates and boxes of all different shapes and sizes arrive from different locations throughout the world. A child’s toy that was made by another child in some poor country on one of the Asiatic islands travels more miles than either ever will in their life time; it passes through countless numbers of hands until it arrives onto the store shelf of some department store and waits to be plucked by a pleading child who will play with it for a week, and then forget about it. Meanwhile at the toy’s source the builder child will toil over another set of toys for a few cents a day in hopes of helping to feed the family. Seems like a sad story that one would hear late at night on an infomercial, but unfortunately it is all too true.

What is it like to be a young child who should be receiving an education, but has to work in order to put food on the table for the family because the extremes in financial prosperity are so far off? This kind of life is what attracts so many people to the ideals of socialism or communism. An equal pay for every family, a plot of land, and everyone contributes to the greater whole of the community. Sounds like a utopian civilization. The only problem is that humans by nature cannot maintain such an ideal because most everyone wants more than their neighbor or just wants what someone else has. “Beware the green eyes of envy…” Thus the power struggle begets the entire system and it collapses. If capitalism doesn’t work and neither does communism, then what will? It seems this question is unanswerable. So the daily grind must continue because the current location advocates a capitalist way of life, and in order to survive one must conform.

The dirty set of clothes is quickly put on as the punch-in time is rapidly approaching. Outside the air is cool and crisp and there is a slight breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. The sky is completely clear without even a trace of clouds. This night is moonless due to the rotation of the earth with the orbiting of the moon, so the stars shine brilliantly in the sky. Certain constellations, like Orion, can be seen due to the time of year, and the staple of them all, the big dipper, is high in the north. Because of the closeness to the light pollution caused by the city lights, the painted clouds of the Milky Way, as well as countless more stars, cannot be seen. This is a disappointment, but one that must be suffered through because this location is where the work is. Stopping and breathing in the night air while staring at the sky it is quite easy to become lost, but it is through sheer force of will that the car is started and driven off down the road towards those sky polluting lights.