Fly and Flea

So it ends up that not all people experience the world through words.
Who knew?
Not I, said the Fly.
But the Flea was all like: With me, the trip is visual; I see pictures behind my eyes.
Well, don’t you narrate the pictures? said the Fly.
Sometimes, but a picture says a thousand words, said the Flea.
The Fly disagreed, saying: Are we limited to a thousand words? No! We’ve got all the words in the universe.
All the pictures, too, interjected the Flea.
Huh, the Fly said, slipping into deep thought — It looks like my mind is not such a broadly applicable example of brainworkings as I supposed. If the Flea sees life while I hear it, mightn’t others smell or feel or hear it as music as opposed to prosetry? Perfectly viable hypothesis… What influences our thought processes to make them unique? Could I consciously decide to see or taste the world? It’s all very strange, thinking about other ways of thinking, trying to mold one’s thoughts into another, incongruous shape. What a trip it all is! I wonder what the Flea is thinking? What does life look like projected on his inner eye? Since I narrate pictures with words, perhaps he converts words to images… synesthesia… how’s that spelled? I see some words as photographic images like tree and wing; I smell some nouns, like trashcan and compost; I also feel some sounds in my bones, like when I hear the mewling of maggots or the swish of a swatter. Are these all associations, though? Are they all just muscle memories or does each reflect on the mode of thought in use at the time? Because I use words to organize my headspace and communicate, does that mean I remember mostly in words? Maybe. My most vivid memories are visions with inside feelings, a hint of olfactory sensation, a touch of tactile firings and bitlets of conversation. Interesting… How will the Flea’s testimony add up? —
Hey, Flea, said the Fly.
The Flea was caught up in a daydream, imagining a whole metropolis riding the belly of an Irish Setter, the follicle-towers shining in the sun, fleas of all inclinations living in harmony, marching or meandering any place that strikes their fancy, maybe through the well-tended, sprawling landscape of the feeding grounds, where the skin is thin and translucent, glowing pale pink with rivers of the darkest red a flea could dream of…
Hey, Flea! said the Fly, louder.
Yes, Fly, said the Flea, languorously.
I was just thinking about the nature of memory and perception and, suppose that you and I are looking back on this moment any length of time from now, how would our recollections differ on the basis of our established thought processes? What will we each experience in our retrospective, respective mind’s eyes? What do you think? asked the Fly.
But the Flea was distracted from the Fly’s suppositions by the play of light on his infinitely mirrored eyes.

Dimension

We live in a multidimensional world. Nothing is simply black or white, left or right, flight or fight; it's much more complex and detailed. Things can be two-dimensionally circular but never in my life have a discovered a linear function in practice outside of 8th-grade algebra. Sure, it can be convenient to paste the whole everything to a series of 1-10 scales, but that's just lazy thinking, and innaccurate to boot. Things are a billion million cooler than that.

Word Overload?

Is there such thing? In this age of information sharing are we simply too exposed to the written word? I find myself unable to remember much as far as quoting goes; I'll remember how a passage made me feel or the general gist of it or where it lay on the page but in order to memorize any number of syllables I must use time and energy I generally put towards reading something new. Sure, some things stick around: a four line poem, a textfromlastnight, a bit of conversation, a note read years ago, a facebook status, a thought; but I feel I hold a lot more than what I can call to my conscious. A vast land of literature exists in my head, if only I could access it! Instead, I constantly build new horizons with every sentence. Should I be taking time to improve my recollective muscles, or is there a deadline, 451 style? I feel like words immortalize ideas, setting them in metaphorical stone. But that is an all-too-comforting thought; just too good to be true.

So many words! So little time.

Hey, kids!

Don't you think the world is beautiful?

Don't you think humanity is, as a whole, compassionate?

Don't you think that, were you in a situation that merited it, you would sacrifice something of yours to help someone else?

Don't you think that everyone wants basically the same thing: freedom and security?

Don't you think we all have more in common than we don't?

Don't you think that whomever's writing the rules to our society has never really known a single person?

Don't you think miracles happen every day?

Don't you think?

Don't you love N'Sync?

Been Trippin...

Wow, guys. Just (but not simply) wow. The world is so wide and wild and wonderful and warring; wow. What a place we inhabit.
This time space on this space space is so intensely, joyfully, painfully psychotic that it drives everyone mad. And this madness is so apparent to everyone that it has become commonplace, granted, granite.
Remember the whole Columbus day debacle? A holiday, celebrating a man who inadvertently caused the largest genocide and racial enslavement in the history of man, kept on the calendars for generations because it was misunderstood. The people stayed ignorant and content because they got an extra day off work every year and who really cares why anyway? Why is the question that caused our expulsion from eden, why is too hard to answer, it opens a box deeper then Pandora's, chock-full of more why's. Why is just too inconvenient.
Whatever.
Why is my personally favorite. That and How. How's pretty rad, too. Actually, any question is just way cool. Even if it has no answer, especially if it has no answer.
Well, here are some tidbits from my journal, the Journal of a Ridiculous Girl Who Knows Lots of Words and Likes to Show Them Off, Like a Jeweler and his Precious Stones:

July 2nd, noon, en route via minivan to CA
I can feel a cry lurking behind my eyeballs. It's making me grumpy, not letting it out. I miss Fairfield. I miss my house and my people and my security blanket and my hate of all things known. All I've got now is trepidation over the unknown and Anna, which is all fine and good but I want plural people. I guess we're driving towards them. New ones. The only place left to truly discover it the space between strangers' ears and within their chest cavities. Human eyes have seen everywhere else, even taken it a step farther and inhabited just about every place, 'possible' or not. So, in order to quench our inherent thirst to be the First, we must venture into the Final Frontier, into ourselves, into the essence of individuality, into hearts and minds and souls never before witnessed and touched. And, as this is a most subjective field and births never seem to cease, we'll never run out of territory to bolder, blindly venture into.
The Mayans had it all figured out. Too bad the white man came, raped, pillaged and decimated every other race in the world. Funny how the most ignorant, bloodthirsty and disturbed rise to the top. La creme de la creme. God damn, we are such assholes. I am grateful, however, for all that is, because without one seemingly insignificant thing, there may be no Talking Heads or CocoRosie or Fairfield or me as I know her. And I like these things. They're my jam, my love, my certainty.

July 4th, 11 am, outside janky hotel room
What little I know of the Californian and Coloradan Gold Rushes parallels perfectly with what little I have yet experienced of what might be called the Californian/Coloradan Green Rush. Hundreds of broke Americans hear rumors of unheard-of wealth, success and lots and lots of richness-striking in the midst of a Depression and head West where rivers of cash, mountains of gold and fields of green diamonds, glinting in the sun, wait for anyone with the audacity to take them. These fantasies still prosper in the collective dreamscape of our people. Only the currency has changed. Goes to prove that humanity's vision and desire stays constant through generations. The West will always exist as an allegory for Freedom. Funny how the farther you go in this direction, the closer you get to where you started.

July 12th, 3 am
Drove a lot today, most sans GPS, which is different. Seems like everybody's got one, guess they're necessary in such a complex, sprawling metropolis. Or is everyone just lazy and antisocial? One comes with the other in this day and age. Suburbs. So much suburban redundancy. It hurts your brain after only a short time.
The end goal of our labor must shift to something more meaningful than a boat or "tail" (a base, degrading term for the Goddess incarnate's most apparent, powerful and misrepresented areas: her tits, her ass, her mouth and, above all, her pussy. These are not to be taken lightly or without proper respect. They are noble, potent, holy elements, anything but the vulgar, evil, shameful hunks of flesh and organ they are made into in the minds of some. Men can be total assholes. Show some fucking respect.). The whole enterprise of work and merit and ownership is fully misguided; there's no heart in it. To labor for such mean achievement as a lay or a new (totally, modernly 'pimped out') entertainment system is a waste of energy. And so much momentum is carried into that black chasm, from which there is no return. What bullshit.

July 13th, 12:20 pm
There's nothing I hate more in the morning than chums. Fucking chummy chipper chitchatting chums.

July 14th, 4:40 pm
Classes I would like to take:
-Developing the Inner/Musical Ear
-Tying, Untying and the Philosophy Behind Knots
-History of Mechanics through the 70's (emph on automotive)
-The Evolution and Subtleties of Conversation
-Apocalypse Survival 101
-A Study of Creole Dialects
-Modern Conspiracy Theories
-Ethnobotany
-Literature Literature Literature
-Basic Massage
-Building Fires
-Improving Memory Retrieval Function in Your Brain
-On the Subtleties of Scotch
-Manifestations of the Goddess Throughout History
-Social Tact
-Magnets
-Oration: Recitations and Spontaneous Gibber Gabbering's
-Viable, Immediate Sustainability
-Cartography
-Basic Programming and Tech Savvy
-Music Music Music
-Types of Shells
-Cephalopods
-Getting Stuff Done in the World
-Sewing
-Gardening
-Finding Your Yes
-Stars: Astronomy (micro, macro and everything in between), Constellations and their Mythology, ExtraTerrestrial Life, lots of Field Trips

July 15th
Banagrams:
Finnish Proletariats Kazoo With Passion and Defiance Beseeching Diana for Toutelage Degrading Themselves Merrily in the Presence of the Goddess

Black Needles Protrude Grotesquely From Dry Cracked Husk AGimpseofRed Dead Widow

Image of Theo as Sprouting Bean

These Yet Untested Hands

July 16th, 11 am
How do you help someone who doesn't recognize their own victimhood? How do you free someone who doesn't know they are oppressed? The world's pretty fucked up right now. Gotta DO something.

I've got dreams, kids. We are going places.