I Find It Kind of Sad.

     Welcome back.
     Shall we continue?
     Lets begin with a small intermission.
     It perhaps wasn't the most smart idea to have written this as a two-part post. At the moment when I had been writing the first entry, my brain had been on a single track; I felt exotic, I felt weird, I felt like I had been nothing more than a mass of meat and matter floating on a lump of damp space rock as it zooms through the infinite universe. I feel a little different now, and I am having trouble relating my tale in the same manner I had related it earlier. In fact, I hardly even remember what I was going to write today. Nonetheless, I will force my hand to make an attempt, for better or for worse.
     Where were we?
     What do we truly know? What is straight hard evidence? And what is nothing more than a figment of imaginative thought, springing from the complex connections of circuits, wires, and electricity which constantly rushes through our heads? As I pointed out in my story earlier, I am unaware of what the truth is anymore. I want to believe that it happened the way I tell it everyday, and that might be the only thing keeping me sane. It might be the only thing keeping any of us sane.
      In English we discussed a very thought-provoking concept. What if we all see different colors? What if for you, you saw the sunsets in beautiful shades of blue and purple? What if the trees all had ghostly white bark with blood red leaves? What if you saw black as white, and white as black? Would anyone know? Since birth, we were directed at colors and told what they were. We took it for granted and accepted it for our entire lives, but if we weren't would we know any different? There is no way to tell if the lives of others are radically alien. No way to understand the way that you perceive color, thoughts, sensation, or other perceptual senses. That's one thing that begins to scare me.
      Because the only thing that I, or any of you know for certain is that we are alive. Our pasts, which include the infinite amounts of knowledge and memories we have experienced, are nothing more than memories. There is little to no physical proof that they technically every happened.
     In a way I believe this a form of quantum physics. We don't perceive the past anymore, therefore it doesn't exist. We may have trinkets that remind us of the past, but no actual proof per-se. Sure, the stuffed animal you have sitting on the shelf is a constant reminder that you had a childhood, but how do you know that for sure? Depend on a somewhat unreliable memory?
     In the end, that's really all we can do. We have to believe that our memories are true with all the imperfections and discontinuity. Throughout generations, memories are passed down to retain traditions. Memories create everything that exists today, so that poses my last question...
     If everything is created in one form or another by memories, what good is society.
     The answer is, it isn't. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. In a perfect world, everyone would be perfect--and when everyone is perfect, no one is. The fact that we have inconsistent memories and that we all may share memories or have those that stay secret forever is what makes us unique.
     It's what makes human.


I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad.
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had.
-- Mad World, Tears for Fears

(Author's Note: The Gary Jules version from Donnie Darko is a much better version of this song, but I do want to credit the original artist.)


(Word count: 647 words)