Sunday Morning Thoughts: 7.22.18

This one started Sunday morning.

Early.

So early, we believed it still be Saturday night.

Such wonderful fools.

So, what did we mad scientists speak of? Us two friends after making elegant racket, then discuss all the consequences.

Of everything. Of nothing.

Speaking of life, with knowledge but not quite fear of death. I thought of things that hadn’t been thunk in ages. As did he. We wonder for a point to it all. And though I must confess we did not find one, not exactly, we still rose the next day in search of one. The quest. The journey, or such. Venturing through another hungover Sunday.

The show was a success, in case you were wondering. The proof of which came in both later-on comments, and instantaneously in the form of applause that seemed even larger than the healthy sized group present. It is nice to feel that way. Small victories and the like. Particularly if the road there may have been arduous, long, inconvenient, etc. To feel, at least in some slight sort of way, a deed was done good and just. Mountains climbed and other motivational poster type nonsense.

Now, it may be the madness speaking- and the only confirmation I have of such ideas was found with a fellow madman- but beyond and better than the feeling of a thing well done, is scheming the next thing to be done well. We discussed the potential of the destructive nature of such a force. Motivation. Ambition towards more accomplishment. And though it is dangerous, we both have read too many comic books to not try. We might just end up with superpowers.

But radioactive enhancements or no, the strive still goes onward. And I know he and I are not the only mad ones. We both know others, perhaps even in hiding. Which is alright, for a while. Can’t imagine living that way. Though I’m sure many can’t fathom how and why I do what I do.

All this talk almost makes it seem as though my mind is void of doubt. That I am so committed to my own personal cause that there is no question to the authenticity. I assure you, this is not the case. As can be seen in the measurement of my most recent success rooted partially in vanity. Art, sure. But my face and name, made up ones and the other kind, are tied to it. What they might think of me can always rise to the top. But the more important, or more sympathetic approach would be to measure in how what you do quantifies with others. What someone else gets from your existence. That sort of thing.

Not to say I don’t consider such wonders in others. It’s just not first for everything. And if you make any kind of art, in the broadest sense possible, it is a selfish sort of act. At least in attention paid by the maker. For example- I write this and other things because I feel the need to. I pluck, strum and drum together relatively simple compositions of tones because I feel the need to. I perform said sonic constructs in front of other people, because I feel the need to. I don’t immediately think of what it may do for those who have to deal with the after effects of these means of madness- but I always do. Eventually.

Because models of expression are made for the self, but they survive in a society. Or are destroyed by it. The desire within propels it into the present. The consumption outside pulls it along into the future.

I don’t know if what I do will go very far with me in this life. Not really. I can say even less about whether any of this will survive beyond me. But a little bit of past and present evidence and the itch to go forward move things along quite well. And I do aim to make it last. Some famous last words.

I’ll be doing more of this expression business later this evening. Another one of those mad scientists I know made himself his own TV studio. And I’ll be damned if I don’t go sweat under those lights tonight. You can watch from where you live. Live. Or after. Technology, right?

I would tell you where, but you should know. The trail of what I do is easy enough to track. And you probably already know who I am.

There aren’t too many people who read this that are unaware of my secret identity. Which is perhaps reckless. And that can be good for you, here and there.

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