It’s a Friday night. In fact, it’s the Friday night before my favorite holiday just outside a town that is known for how it parties during this holiday. Me? I’m home in front of the computer nursing a scotch. Currently Thomas Dolby is musically informing me that One of Our Submarines is Missing - seems she ran aground on another...
Of course given that I type at the speed of running glass it’s beyond his English underwater antics and on to other things that speak even more strongly to me. In this case, Angel reminding me to “Change my mind and make it betta...”
So, I’ve realized that one of the reasons I’ve been putting stuff here rather than Livejournal has been that lately I haven’t seen what I’m putting up as a journal quite as much as a scrapbook. The things I paste onto the pixel pages sometimes move, but they usually bear the same relation to what’s going on with me as the bits of magazine and newspaper pasted into a scrapbook. Which is not to say that I’m putting things up absolutely randomly. It’s just that the narrative is closely following the title of the blog.
What was that title again?
There was a time, oh my friends, when I would loudly declaim that my definition of life was a continuous change. Now my definition of life only contains continuous change because I’m unable to see that quality missing in any state of being.
Constant change - eternal and absolute. It’s the rock my worldview is founded on after all. I come from a land where much of what most people take for granted as solid and unchanging will get up and leave at the oddest times. Earthquakes and mudslides teach the mutability of matter.
I grew up several yards from the San Andreas Fault. I was literally living on the edge during my formative years.
[While I’m typing this, iTunes has decided to play the bit from Dead Man where William Blake meets, or makes introduction to, Nobody (He who talks long, saying nothing)]
It strikes me that much of what I’m writing here are things I’ve said many times before. With all the talk of change I’m still running in the same tracks in the sand. Well, close to the same. I suspect they keep drifting like a mental Lorenz attractor, my little brain butterfly that might be being chased by Schrödinger's cat...
When I sat down to write this I was hoping that I’d be able to type out a blog entry.
Yay! Success!!
[As I typed that exultation, my computer decided to join in by giving me ragtime played by a deaf woman. (Evelyn Glennie playing the Maple Leaf Rag)]
Oh, and while I’m making random(ish) personal statements: The thing I may miss most in my current life is living in a place where semi-random people will show up for a short while and hang out. I really (really really really) suck at being proactively social. (You know, going out to see people and that sort of thing) Many years ago this Tuesday I think it was said best, “Wouldn’t it be great if you could go to sleep at any party and wake up in your own bed?” OK, never mind. It made sense to us at the time. You had to be there in the context. Still, it seems like a good semi-sequitor to sort of end this drunken ramble with...
[iTunes ends this with Love and Rockets “A Private Future” wich I’m pretty sure we heard that night...]
