Had one of those long conversations the evening before this one. A few hours discussing ideas specific and vague. We spoke of doubt and death and the electricity of thinking you’re about to fail. Those cataclysmic sort of failures, as far as feelings in humans go.

But when you talk for hours on end, the out loud thoughts wander to weirder and wilder topics. I had scratched out in a notebook, at one point in the five plus hours, an idea. About how we haven’t evolved past the point of processing at the speed of pen and paper, despite so much being at rates far beyond that, in this our modern world. Information faster than any verification can keep up with, often of matters most profound. And barely enough processing time of one ideological stance before the next half dozen arrive at the doors of our perception. Existential woes on personal and species levels all while attempting to navigate the hard facts of staying and being alive on this planet.

I suppose it’s no wonder so many folks seem so easily shook from the more stable mental standings these days. Myself not entirely excluded.

In my own personal universe, the ever-looming list of deeds that need doing appears to be growing in girth and temperament. And with all these objectives to meet, I still spent half a day tearing down a bathroom ceiling, despite its low priority status on the list. Still, it felt good. To change a physical space on its way to new progress. And some days, it helps to just destroy something, particularly when it is something that could use some destroying. Something that holds the necessary potential of reconstruction. Or rebirth.

Now, to just master that with all these metaphors and other metaphysical concerns. All while the biological clock ticks and ticks and ticks.

That aforementioned idea of doubt- what a dastardly one that is, right?

A feeling I have not irregularly known. And although the doubts I cast upon myself appear the most prominent, they are not entirely lacking for company. It can all be doubted, right up to the very nature and possibility of this existence we seem to perceive. And that’s a point that has been argued in the past and present by genius and idiot alike. In popular culture and the more potentially pompous high idea kind, as well. How can we even know what is truly real, let alone have a handle of the insecurity of emotions held within and with out us?

Makes the old noodle fry, a bit.

At some point, I had said to my friend that I envy those who will see all of our lifetimes as part of the piece of their history. Just a century marked by changes in geopolitical and technological tensions, clashing with the established, but certainly decaying perspectives that had arrived before. This era may even have a name, maybe one so painfully obvious that we couldn’t possibly arrive at it, even as it stood before us the whole time.

Or one so far from what can be seen now. Some unforeseen occurrences ushering in some wide-reaching alteration of human life on this third stone from the sun. A defining thing, be it of glory or ghastly demise. A thing so massive that all before lay in waste, perished upon some new irrelevance. And one that casts a reciprocating echo on the way to infinity that no future can ever shake the sway of its influence.

Like how we get to know about collapsed empires and plagues and middle ages, and so on. Those who come after us get to see our successes and failures in a clear and concise manner, verging on increased sterility as more and more time separates.

Oh so obvious, how could they not see? They might say of us.

I know I need to press my weight into achieving more accomplishments. Not that I think it will ever ultimately solve the existential itch I never seem far from. But the genuine temporary relief is still needed. And I need to clear the way for the new attempts, perhaps still consciously unconceived. Attempts that may greater serve the growing dependency on the whys of being alert and alive, despite their destiny of always falling short.

But I have plans for the creative, and the need to clear the overgrowth of bureaucratic demands. Many, if not all, started in some way or another.

They tell you time is the most valuable resource, but it is difficult to see when you form an arrogance based upon the perceived abundance. But more cannot be made of it. And exchanges are out of the question once a thing has come to pass. It is just forward. Be it in the organized line, or something more akin to a freefall- we are getting on ahead of where we were, even if the only thing we do is watch our minds and bodies rot.

So I’ll move on, for now. And see what else I might get at before the day requires I retire from this seemingly active consciousness. I’ve been of a mind to better master my dreams, though the thought sends shivers in a far from limited manner. That dreaming mind of mine, is the one place all these high-minded arguments fall away. No protection can be made from the unadulterated nocturnal thoughts. But I’m certain there is value in it, as the difficult deeds so often hold.