October 25, 2017



          First deadline flouted.  My philosophy professors would be disappointed.  Actually, so am I... a bit.  I suppose things are different when you accept yourself as a graduate, and no longer a student.  At any rate, what's done is done, and I am big enough to forgive myself.  Moving on....

          Recently I awoke in the dark from a dream which I found so fascinating, that I started talking to myself aloud about it (though in whispers).  My memory of the dream faded quickly as it most often does, but the conversation continued for some time.  It came to be about the nature of opinion, and the difference between what a person thinks is true, and what a person believes to be true.

          No religion in this essay/poetic-prose experiment.  I'm not talking about Faith or flying-leaps.  Here's how it played out:

                    "What do you think?  This planet, is flat, or is it round?  Or is it both, or rather, either flat                       or round depending on you perspective - whether your perspective, I mean, is terrestrial                       or orbital?"

                    "Well, I guess you're not counting mountains and valleys as making the earth other than                         flat, I like to think of it as being a matter of perspective.  After all, one could follow the                       equator all the was around the planet without ever leaving the surface.  Such a person                           would need little more than a rugged vehicle, a large vessel, the requisite quantity of                             fuel for the jeep, the barge, and his own body.  It would be one hell of an undertaking,                         but I imagine not so much so as flying over it in a rocket ship."

                    "That's your answer?"

                    "No, actually I think this planet is spherical in body.  A great big blue spaceship."

                    "And you think you're right in this?  That your opinion on this matter is correct?"

                    "I do."

          And right then, right in that moment, right at that spot.  That was the place something became so very clear to me.  I think that the earth is a sphere, yes.  I am aware that I could very well be mistaken.  I won't get into how or why, but I will mention that it has nothing to do with conspiracy theories or any such thing, just a rudimentary knowledge of some high-grade physics and non-academic metaphysics.  The point is that I do, in fact, think that the world is round, but as to the value of that opinion, I don't think I'm right.  I know I am.  In other words it is my opinion that "whatever", but even though I know that I could be wrong, I absolutely belief that I'm right.  I don't believe that I'm not wrong, mind you.  I know that I could be; it would be crazy to believe that I'm not.  But believing that I'm right is not the same as believing that I'm not wrong.  And so I do....

          And I can't help it.  There's absolutely nothing I can do about it.  Even recognizing it and acknowledging it does nothing to prevent it.  I only hope that maybe possessing this understanding and self-awareness can help me get back a little humility without self-loathing.

          Ah, hope!

          Around 18 months ago I was struck with an idea for a novella with the title, The Gospel of Judas.  Here it is, the better part of two years later, and I've written several thousand words.  Several thousand useless, useless words.  None of what I've written is cohesive.  Some of it is rather coherent, sure, but nothing fits with anything to compose any kind of structure.  Even rudimentary structure would be something to work with.  Alas, all I have is a stack of consciousness streams with no confluences.  So I had this idea....

          The truth is, I haven't exercised these muscles for more than a few years.  The muscles that allow you to hold an idea complete in your mind and then, over time, disseminate and translate and transfer that singular thing into, say a hundred pages of text.  So my idea was to begin a workout program,  wherein I choose one idea, possibly random, and write a short essay about it every single week.  An essay, of course, is composed of no fewer than three paragraphs, so here we go.

          My hope is, of course, that with a bit of practice, I'll be able to rediscover my more professional literary abilities, and apply them to the creation of my very first masterpiece.  I haven't a clue what sorts of subjects I'll be addressing, but I will be posting something every Sunday or Monday, and always at night.  However, since I enjoy flouting deadlines as a form of rebellion and assertion of prowess, virtually nothing I've claimed above can truly be relied upon.



Catch me if you can!

Zoki