Good! Bye

✌️

Since I began this literary science experiment in November, part of me has always been planning to delete everything I’ve posted. This is the main reason why I’ve been so careless about what I’m putting out there. I realize this was not a well-thought-out experiment. I had no hypothesis, no idea what to expect. I haven’t exactly been using the scientific method. My goal was simply expression, more based on the feeling of desperate necessity than anything else, but Substack is not a therapist. The people reading are usually not mental health professionals. They may be equally or more fucked up in the head than I am. They may not be equipped to handle the sparks of madness I emit. They could be a tinderbox ready to catch fire. I should be wearing a headband made of caution tape. Someone could take my most deplorable idea and run with it. That worries me.

Governments are corrupt, and hand in hand with Wall Street and corporations, they have been destroying the world. I’ve been pretty vocal about my opinion of powerful individuals and organizations. Still, I wouldn’t resort to violence over it. But there are people out there who might be teetering on the edge. A single poorly worded sentence could be the gust of wind that blows them into the deep end of the pool. God forbid someone goes on a shooting rampage inspired by my under-informed opinions and misguided showers of sparks. Given the current state of affairs, especially in the USA, I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to consider this as a very real possibility.

I’ve written previously about the topic of influence and how we can’t fully understand its scope. I do know that our influence is more far-reaching than we can realize. I would prefer to offer some hope and inspiration rather than just cynical critiques of human nature and my paranoid delusions, but I don’t always have it in me. To quote the great George Carlin: “Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist”.

It’s not safe. This experiment is ill-advised. I have no advisors, no consultants; just myself. Like I said, ill-advised. I went into this thing blind. That’s part of the fun. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve definitely gotten more out of this process than I could have hoped for, and I’m grateful for that. Most of the time, I really have no conscious idea why I’m writing about the things I do. I just let it flow. Much of the writing I’ve done recently has been driven mostly by emotion and skewed intuition. Hazy perception tainted by pain and disappointment, not logic. Sometimes I think I should do some editing, but I also feel that I would be editing my version of the truth into something more palatable, and I’m conflicted about doing that. Even if my version of the truth is incorrect or misinformed, it still speaks volumes. It is a true representation of my state of mind, even if I have many of the facts wrong. That’s why it’s potentially unsafe for human consumption, especially for humans with a lack of mental stability.

I have found a wide range of talented artists here, each with their own unique perspectives. Even more have found me, which I find amazing. It’s been an eye-opening experience overall. So while I still might delete everything I’ve written, I won’t delete my Substack account like I planned to. I have discovered too many great people that I would miss hearing from if I did. I’m hooked. Engaged. They got me. That’s social media for you.

The thoughts that have inspired me to write this have been circulating since I began writing again a few months ago. To be honest, the social media component of Substack is a major turn-off for me. I generally despise social media and everything that it represents. (The portrayal of an image we would like others to believe, one that is rarely rooted in reality.) Not telling the whole story, just the good parts. It’s a digital fantasy world that always ends up bringing out the worst in humanity.

I’ve found that on Substack, some people do tell the whole story, or at least they do their best to. And sometimes we only tell the worst parts of the story, which is just the other side of the same coin. Pain, anguish, and trauma on full display. I guess that side of the coin is more interesting than the portrayal of perfection, but it’s still not the whole story either. Everyone’s version of the truth is different, and to explain it all in detail would take lifetimes. We have to make do with the highlight reel. Unfortunately, this allows us to pick and choose. We tend to want to show only our triumphs and leave the more inconvenient parts out.

Many people believe beauty to be something which comes close to perfection, reaching for and stretching towards divinity. I feel that this is true, but we are also not Gods. Nature is perfectly imperfect, that’s what makes the natural world beautiful. We are an extension of that. Our imperfections are actually the things that make us perfect. Perfectly human, natural. In the constant flux of reality, it’s impossible to reach a “perfect” final state of being, because conditions change and we must adapt. Perfection is not our lot; that state of being is reserved for God alone. Chaos is an essential part of the natural process. The closer you’ve come to complete and utter ruin, the more beautiful you become in my eyes. If you’re still breathing and still trying to find a way to shine, you’re beautiful. Like truth, beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. I feel there must be such a thing as an ultimate truth and ultimate beauty, but we can never even catch a glimpse of it in this life. It’s in our peripheral vision, at best. When you attempt to look directly at it, it disappears.

What’s the point? Dont ask me. I just let it flow. 🌊