other random thoughts

plot twists: what if a person could bifurcate into two alternate universes? however, like the heisenberg uncertainty principle, each half (or double?) could only know certain aspects of reality. one half would retain the consistent memories, because to it, its desires would have been fulfilled, and thus, there would be a "stream of consciousness" as it were. the other half would lose memories, or at the very least, lose memories of the person he once was; he would be free from desire, and hence, paradoxically, be empowered with the ability to "see desire." however, he would no longer know what it means to desire himself, and could no longer remember the stirrings of desire.

man longs for two things (at least): to participate (to be in love, to be at war, etc.), and to not participate (to be at peace, to sit in the throne of mastery). the two can have a cyclical or dialectical relationship; that is, one may serve as the goal of the other, or one may turn into the other (in the manner of yin and yang). however, it is equally possible that the two can be in direct conflict, as in the situation of a man who falls in love, and yet retains a deeply spiritual aspiration to be free from desire. this, in essence, is the "embodied" heisenberg uncertainty principle; you can only know the specific location, or the specific velocity, but you can't know both simultaneously... you can only know where you are, or where you are heading, but you can't know both simultaneously...

if the monk-half loses memory and a "taste of desire," then he is empowered with the ability to see desire, in the form of strings. these are the red strings that tie people to their destinies...

***

i can't seem to shake this funk. this morning i felt nauseous. i had to head into kaneohe to work on someone, and in the midst of grey drizzly rain, i did so, taking gulps of air to quell the need to throw up. i think i am quite adept at working through most discomforts, but i still need to pay back in the end...

my dreams have grown more disturbing of late. they have little specificity or clarity, but are more like water-color blurs of decay and rot... yes, at times, i feel as though i am rotting from within. i suppose i am. i guess i simply hate this feeling: of trudging through life as through shit or molasses. i have many aspirations, but i also have many (more) responsibilities... we must, of course, pay the piper... always pay the piper.

i slice up life into context. it is the only way i can stay alive, retain a semblance of responsibility. in this boxed up moment, there is clarity. i know what the problem is, i know what to do. but outside of the boxes, outside of the partitioned moments, there is only a roiling, swallowing sea... and i haven't even a skin to separate my innards from bleeding out into it...

while driving back across the h-3, the rain fell in rustling curtains, and the shadows of the mountains were concealed by their white. i thought of that white, of blank slates, of oblivion. and how danger loomed within it, the solid shapes of consequence hidden beneath their palimpsestic cover-up... sometimes the shapes of the trees would float up out of nowhere, and i would glimpse rivulets of white, the collected waters, dropping in waterfalls...

i thought about the "kipapa" story... this would be the mechanism of oblivion, and of entering the dream... not unlike the initial fog of elsinore (?) in hamlet... yet another fragment to incorporate.