Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Wednesday, Nov. 29, 2006 - 2:12 a.m.

A soft tune to once again accompany a cold night, and in the dim light I couldn't make out my own expression, blurred and muddled like raindrops on the windshield...this is the person I remember calling Me. I'm travelling backwards through my own life once again, regressing down to some level where my safety net used to be, even back to where I'm keying all of this in to. I've got a vision of a beautiful future where no one but everyone else is exactly as they ought to be, where I'm not who they make me want to be and it doesn't even matter. I've invented everything from the start, imagined most of what I thought would be necessary, but I can ramble. See this miracle of life, existence itself even; this man makes something of nothing and finds no comfort in it, rendering sensations in empty, dead air wondering why the nothing can't be everything he wants it to be. I'm fairly certain it could.

If a nihilist believes in nothing, he takes on the responsibility for everything that isn't as it must be; for in being it negates his very reality. Perhaps this is how I percieve love in my new loveless reality, it confounds my very explanation of the world, it tears apart my vision of my own life's meaning.

Do you remember me? I think we shared our lives for a while back there. I'm still everything I used to pretend I wasn't; but now the rules are all different. We're all grown up, we bear the burden of our maturation, the time of our nativity. Now we drift apart and fly through space with just a hair's breadth between us, and yet in the blink of an eye that we're on this rock I'l never find you again. Nor you, I.

This is why I only say goodbye to strangers; because only then do I trust such a promise of banishment, an oath that for now we seperate back into the infinitely expanding universe, and these points of life won't meet again.

From out of the hearts of exploding stars we emerge, their ultimate sacrifice of billions of years' work, all in a supernova of hope that the right two sparks will meet, the forces of gravity will build the path that one day puts you and I where we are now...and keeps us going on. Every day I accept that this miracle of epic universal proportion had no idea how ungrateful its offspring would be, not even interested in learning its story. We are all born of stellar parentage, my most ancient ancestor a chance meeting of collapsing stars driven together by forces never before seen in the universe, a genesis that would make all that is life as we know it.

With a vast universe looming over my head, I wander this tiny pixel on a tiny pebble in space, wondering how anyone can feign significance. I can't take anything truly seriously anymore.

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future