Infinite Space

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"i need no inspiration other then nature's. she has never failed me. she mystifies me, bewilders me, sends me into ecstasies. besides god's handiwork, does not man's fade into insignificance?"

-Gandhi

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the picture above is one of the few things i have seen shown in photographically that has changed me in some way. it's actually more than one photo, taken by hubble, it's of different regions of the "space sky" that have been put together into one large, cohesive, image.

over 3,000 objects, and scientists believe that most are entire galaxies, with planets, suns, comets, everything that that word "galaxy" evokes is in that image.

think about it, it's almost a picture of infinity. of the abyss. the possiblilties of that image are impossible to comprehend.

the picture changed my life. truly.

it makes me think, everytime i see it, just how insignifigant we are. yet at the same time it drives me to understand myself, my surroundings, more than before.

it's almost spiritual, almost religious.

i look at that picture, and, to me, it drives me to learn more. to understand everything just a little more than i do now.

it also makes me ponder my own spirtituality... or at least it makes me understand why people strive to keep faith in god, or whatever higher power they believe in a little more. i see why people want to understand, or believe, that they have a place to go after death because the image is a fearful one on two ends.

on one end, again, the image is the closest we have yet to come in showing the infinite. when i, when anyone, sees the image, they have to think that dieing is a tragedy when we know that there is so much more to see.

so much more that we can't comprehend.

yet on the otherhand, some religions believe their version of hell is infinite. is just blackness. nothingness.

and while this image is the opposite of nothingness, everytime i see it, i almost get lost in what i can't see. there are so many points of light, that really, i can't wrap my mind around the possibilites of what they are. and getting lost in something like that is a terrible why to imagine nothing.

to image nothing as being everything is terrible.

i love this photograph. i love what it shows, what it leaves to the imagination, and most of all i love how it makes me think. how it makes me wonder just how much we don't know.

how small we each are, and how perfect nature (for lack of a better term) is to us.

it just humbles me, it makes me see that humans are NOT some god at the center of the universe.

no, it makes me understand that we are on the outside of the outside, looking into windows of the universe's soul.

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"two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity... and i'm not sure about the universe"

-albert einstein

"if the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe, and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was the dark. dark would be without meaning"

-c.s. lewis

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time: 14:28

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note: no second viewing of up today. probably tuesday.

"Undefinable"

one of the options for my critical thinking final was to write a research paper on what "true love" is. at first i thought that this essay would be a breeze. after all, how hard can it be to push out a paper on something i have written on four or five times in an academic setting?

then i sat down, started to type, and churned out a rough outline and introduction. i read it, reread it, analysed, cut, added.

all of this to just a single paragraph and jotted down nonsensical ideas.

then i took it to class, and realized that i had written it in a way that closely resembled my fiction voice. it read almost like a short story, giving cliched views on what love is. a hand held, a stolen kiss in the rain.whatever.

it was a fucking joke. the one paragraph was just a romance movie reel.

it was, in short, fiction. a fictitious view that i couldn't believe i had written. not because it was bad, i didn't really think that, but it was really my view on love.

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i look at love in a variety of ways, not many that are really conventional. for instance, i don't believe that we only have one "true love".

i think that we all have the person we are destined to be with, and the person we can't have. can't have for so many reasons. commitments, children, jobs, friendships. whatever.

i also don't believe many people are in love, and that for many people "in love" passion drives lives. or monetary positioning.

something meaningless.

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best symbol of love?

best way you can express love to someone? i really thing hand holding does it more than anything else.

kissing, sex, gifts.in truth, that all is just more.

simply, i think holding someones hand is love.

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i love.

i always give off this vibe that maybe i don't believe in it that much, that i just have a devil may care attitude towards it. but the truth is, the truth is, i know i've been in love. i know what love is.

i've felt it.

i've been it.

i've held its hand.

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you listen to songs, you see movies, you read books. all of these mediums speak of love. speak of a word that just is used as a selling point.

selling point, because too many depict some perfect bliss.

some perfect love.

i don't believe in perfect love. it's supposed to have it's faults. your partners are supposed to stumble, to hate you a little, to love you more, to run away, come back, eat and sleep alone after a fight.

say, "fuck you."

say, "goodbye."

it needs everything.

it needs to live humanly before it's love.

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again, i believe in love. i just don't believe in the word being defined in any way.

it is undefinable.

a voice. a god. lifelike and deathlike in just how unknown it is.

full of sadness and misery, but always there to make you into a better person.

it's all we need, and it's all we can hope for.

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time: 20:14 :/
i hate this post.

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[edit: fixed spelling mistakes... 6/7]

13 Minutes

i am starting something that i attempted to do with my pry, to blog on this "unraveling seems" blog.

for the next 13 days (starting tomorrow) i will be writing blogs within a 13 minute time frame. i want to try this because, hopefully, the blogs that come out of it will be more "me" then the blogs i have so far posted here.

hopefully.

every blog is posted at 12:01am even if i write the post beforehand.

they can also be about ANYTHING that's on my mind, so monday's will probably be about up in

3-d... tomorrows i have no idea.

Without Judgment (Pry, To post)

"Strangely, although music is something to listen to, I think music listens back because there's no judgments. A kid can find something he identifies with. Or an adult. Here's a place you can go to where [there are no] judgments. [There is not] someone telling you what to believe in."

-Marilyn Manson

Does music listen to you?

I don't know what to think of this quote, by a man, that, admittedly, whos music is unknown to me. But something about this quote is so meaningful to me that I can't deny it holds some truth.

Whenever I am down, I can go into my iTunes and find a song that will either uplift me or will be perfect for whatever mood I am; sad, lonely, loved, in-love, happy. Whatever. I can find something that knows.

Or at least fits.

It's odd how music can do this. How I can find a set of words, lyrics, that describe exactly how I feel at the moment in time.

How I can hear music, drum beats, guitar rifts, bass chords, piano compositions, and it just feels right. Feels right for how I feel. How I am. Whatever. And not only do I see these as fitting me "alone", but also I take it all as one, and it still fits. Lyric with sound, sound with lyrics, and it still fits.

Also, music, in many ways identifies who we are. We grow up with some types, myself "oldies", or grunge, or even rap... and it symbolizes our growing up. It makes us remember specific events of our childhood based on hearing a song. Music can recall memory, and sometimes, I guess, memory can recall a certain song. A certain feeling.

Then we grow, and we pick and choose what music means to us based on who we are.

Punk, rap, rock, country, classical, soundtrack compositions, techno, R&B; all these sounds, and all the people listening to the same songs, that millions, or no one, listens to and we still find a way to make it ours.

We grow up and music is ours. We find a popular song, a popular sound, and it probably means something different to me than it would to anyone else. Than the songwriter, than my best friends, to strangers.

Everyone.

Someone else's music is always mine alone. Meaning. Sound. We all hear it differently. It makes us, our music defines us.

It's an old friend to cry to.

It's a new friend to meet.

It's who we are. When we are alone. With friends. In the center of a crowd, our music may sometimes know us best.

It never judges. It's a friend that has so much to say, but who always listens.

Surface

through the eyes of thought you have to believe there is something more inside yourself than what you present to the ones around you on a day-to-day basis. 

i'm not really talking on a conscience level either, but maybe in an "under the surface" way.

last night i wrote this drunken haze poem, and it was not very long, but something in it struck me for whatever reason because it was something that i didn't think outwardly. didn't "project". to others, to myself, it was something below whatever surface hiding behind my breaking mind.

"all these times

shattered like a memory

rising through the mind like a morning haze

and we await the long sunset

where you have been you

and i have been me

next to the seashore

where you remembered 

all the times

that we never shared"

i wrote these  lines and i know what they meant. sort of, i know why i wrote them, and thinking that they were not about what they may look like they are about at first glance, and really the whole thing is really about myself. not anyone.

myself, and what i am doing wasting time. 

i don't know. i think, after last night, that there is so much we don't know about ourselves. about how we feel. about how we feel about others.

destinations.

dreams, aspirations, fears and regrets.

it's all just behind the surface of our minds. just waiting. 

it's all just hard to imagine, and because we can't express...

Maybe

climbing up to the mountaintop where you know the view will only be of polluted cityscapes and hazy skies that lack the baby-blue sheen that that world has forgotten, you think, maybe.

just a single word made into a world of possibilities, it is what is driving you to the mountain's epic top but ultimate letdown. along the way you see cracked rocks, running streams, and an eagle soaring: all of which remind you that the world is still full of some second rate nature that a photograph can no longer capture in perfection.

you continue the climb, thinking about the past, and like moses atop mount sinai, you hope that mayhap some revelation is awaiting up on high. you think, again, maybe. 

it is that word that holds you in thrall. maybe is an exception, almost like saying, "but", just with different defining qualities.

yet, the climb you climb, knowing that maybe is a possible outcome of what is essentially an exodus and an odyssey, is what you feel you must do. it is a driving force taking you further and further away from what could be your personal perfection.

your door to other worlds is ignored as you climb to the mountaintop that could hold death, despair, loneliness, all wrapped up in some hideous approximation of destiny.

yet maybe is all you think of, maybe.

maybe.

Nothing

"The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless..."

- Stephen King, "The Body (Stand by Me)"