May 18th, 2001


These are the things...

That happen when I have lots of stuff on my brain and no way to get them out and no real desire to discuss them with anyone.
I put things into search engines.
Sometimes... I get stuff like this...
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    Kill me

The brain

is firing and clicking and stalling and whirring around and I know .. I KNOW it is going to spill. It's going to spill something fierce. Where and when I do not know.
I've got my suspicions. Gotta make it spill where it will count.
I've got people here who are playing this game with me. Where they just keep assuming about me. And when I try to correct it, it just adds fuel to their fires of misconception. So I'm left mute. Chop off my hands, cut off my tongue, talk shit about me without knowing enough and then assume that because I'm not saying and doing all the right things to change your mind about me, that it must all be true.
That you are the king of perception and that you've seen right through to the heart of it.

The hell of it is, I've got mere aqquaintances doing it too. People who have thus far been only words... only capable of being mildly convinced of their existence in any sort of concrete and tactile way. They're all too wiling to put me in a box and slap on the lid. Pat and taken care of. All wrapped up.

pisses me off, yes it does.

Makes me want to shake people, yes it does.

But more than that, it makes me want to give up on them. Kick them right on out. Take a big eraser, a bottle of white out, a pressure washer.... make them not exist.

Of course, I won't do that. I don't give up on people too often.
maybe I should look into that.
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There is no such thing as coincidence.
No such thing. It's a concept born of fear and dismissal. It's the last refuge of the dangerously logical. It kills joy and strangles hope.

Chaos *is* order. Chaos negates the possibility of coincidence.
Things don't happen for a reason.
Things don't happen for no reason.
There is no point. There is no purpose. There is only is.

At the base of our tiny view of chaos are patterns.
The circle- the infinity. No beginning. No end.
All points are the bloom. All points are the decay.
There's no coincidence in the circle being an enduring and cohesive concept in a multitude of wildly divergent world religions and cultures. Our world is a cyclic one. Undeniable.
Nature has been considered the ultimate chaos. It is anything *BUT* chaos.
No wasted effort.
Do you really think that our lives, cyclic, intrinsically tied to the seasons, the tides, the pull of the moon, the benefits of the sun, the wax and wane of the simple day... do you really think that our lives would be bereft of the same on point and graceful modes?
There is no such thing as coincidence.
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