There had been a few ideas bouncing around in the old noggin regarding this.

I have yet to commit to any of them. I have that problem at times. And at others, the opposite.

I had thought of discussing the dying idea of the proper gentleman. A benevolent masculinity. The sort that strives and survives on the idea of working towards what it means to be a good man. And how that is different from being a good person. And how there is nothing wrong with that.

We are different from each other, us humans. In ways.

I thought of whether we ever truly change in our lives. And what even wondering about that can do to so many of our relationships with our fellow sentient beasts. Wondering whether we’ve changed. If they’ve changed. Or if neither had noticed that both had.

And for most of the immediate time preceding the initiation of this here attempt, I thought of time.

Funny, right?

Vague and lazily, at first. Which eventually dove into more specific ideas. Whether any time aside from the present does matter. Or if only the moment in which you are should dictate what it is you do next.

And whilst thinking about all of this, time felt no urge to slow down or stop. As I stared blankly at the fleeting present, pondering of some misremembered past and some mad hypothesis of a future. Yet all I could ever know for sure was that which was happening before my eyes. That which went ignored.

And for all my efforts and intentions- what is gone is gone. As what might be could be missed, out of willful ignorance.

So, what does that all boil down to?

I suppose that for all the uniqueness I sometimes believe of myself, my quest is no different than those who have attempted before me. And it is a quest I shall most likely fail. Ultimately. As those before me also have.

Though, to say failure is not quite right. It would be better to say unfulfilled. Because I know there have been glimpses of it.

Apologies. I should specify. I’m not going to though. On a count of impossibility. I can give you the vagueness of it though.

What it is that I seek. What they have sought. What you may seek. Undefinable, perhaps in perpetuity.

The thing is…

Truth.

Horrible, I know. But that is all it ever it is. Scientist, skeptic and poet alike. Journalist, musician and detective. Because no matter what it is that we do with our lives, we always seem to seek out the idea of it that is most honest. Even if dishonesty may be the route chosen.

We look for it in each other. In ourselves. In our societies, both big and small. In the wonder and horror that is all around us. Taken unrelentingly through our senses.

And despite the near whole of humanity searching since we’d been able to navigate our thoughts, we be not there. Some would argue we’re no closer. Some would say nay to the former and maybe to the future. But- we are certainly not there yet. For we still seek. You’d have to imagine that you don’t keep searching after you’d found it. Car keys, self-fulfillment or otherwise. Looking until found. Even if never. In some and any way. This unattainable scratch to consciousness’s insatiable itch.

Which only begs to mind the thought that perhaps, it shall always be unattainable. So, would the knowledge of that be enough to quell the fires of those out to gain some simplified nirvana?

Or is the journey the only thing that keeps us all from total chaos?

And wouldn’t it be grand if I could tell you the answer?

It would, wouldn’t it?

Or if you were able to tell me?

That’d be grander, I’d say.

Yet here we are, the two of us, thinking together through time and space about why it is that we dare to do anything at all. And it may very well be that you are luckier, or, more skilled than I. That you have a sense of self that is without question. That the way is visible and clear. It is just about taking the time to get there.

And to you, I say cheers. Ya bastard.

As I cannot say that I am pure in mind enough for certainty. Or that the thought process is far too chaotically active to ever be certain of anything at all, and especially in the idea of self. That would be far too farfetched to ever be anything of much substance.

The only thing I may have in common with any philosopher is the ability to think myself into holes- and the subsequent ability to go on long winded boasts about nonsense to MacGyver my way out of having to explain myself.

Because.

I spent another week thinking, in between most and during some of the actions that took place in such a span of time. And all the time I managed to wander about with wonder, it was always out to find the truth of that matter. And despite any gusto I had- there is no answer upon my palms. Not that I can see.

Or would want to. For that matter.

For without the positive affirmation of a specific purpose, I continue on. I stick to the means I enjoy and maybe am ‘kind of’ good at, but I cannot say how, and why, and if, they will play into the grander illusion of my life.

I spent another week thinking and I don’t seem to have come up with anything.

But.

In years since I first attempted this, right here, ‘the picture’ or whatever you may like to call it, is clearer.

Still blurry as all fuck, mind you. But the kid who started this did not know as much as the man a-typin’ away now. Though, that kid knew things I may have, or certainly have forgotten. They may not be gone for all time. Forever is for the older man to work on.

And though this exercise is most definitely selfish and vain in nature, I do hope that someone else is able to get some sort of something out of this. Of any of this. Of the poems. Or the stories. Or what may still come forth. Allow me, of you would be so kind, to justify my narcissism. Or better still, see something about this that I am not able to.

Because.

I need you to.

Because I just became worried about word count. Because sometimes the keys are too heavy. Or the hands. But more likely than heavy, these hands are clumsy. The whole lot of it is. Head to toe.

Because this world is one where the folks who live on it should be helping each other. With what they can. And should. And whatever it is that they might be good at.

And I do crave to help others. Selfishly, at least a little. To help myself. But not entirely.

This damn ideology of guilt. Damn near relentless. You can give up any gods or religion or culture you want, but the methods of morality set early in life are hard to shake.
Easy enough to bend around to your own aim though. I try to do that. I think, most folks should give it a shot. Helps folks get along.

So.

Are we closer to truth?

Unlikely. Or at best, microscopically.

I’d say at least a little bit.

Which is not enough. But that’s alright. There will be more.