On Achieving Immortality

My brain is a miraculous piece of faulty engineering. To put it bluntly (yes the pun is intended) I'm about as sharp as a beachball. My mind ends up working overdrive 24/7 and several times during the day I catch myself saying "Wow! Is that ever brilliant! I should blog this!"

This happens consistently when I am away from the computer. It happens often when time constraints, or the environment prevents me from blogging.

Then, late in the day, when I am sitting at my computer, I open a Blogger window, expecting to write about every subject I had considered over the past day.

But that blank screen staring back at me, seems to cause my imagination to become equally blank. And then I get really pissed off. I managed to use every ounce of creative energy before I could make it to a computer.

I have some mental issues that I cannot adequately explain. But I can do my best within these entries to convey, to the best of my ability, not just what goes on in my attic, but my feelings on my purpose in life.

I am not happy with some of the cards I have been dealt. I think it's unfair that I can expect to live 75 years and accomplish everything I want to in my life. I don't think it's fair that out of those 75 years, a full-third of my time will be spent asleep. I am too ambitious and I have too much to accomplish in my short life. I also think it's unfair that once I depart for the great beyond, my existence will eventually be forgotten. Every brilliant thought of mine, every proof, every fact, every action, and every argument I ever had will disappear. I have been on a mission to achieve greatness for an undisclosed number of years, and I really don't want to think my efforts have been in vain.

Steve Jobs used to tell his employees that their mission, as members of Apple was to make a dent in the Universe. The greatest people that have ever existed have left visible (and metaphorical) marks in every one of us. You don't have to look further than Mohammed, Buddha, or Christ to see the kind of impact a powerful, charismatic, and loving person can have on this world. Philosophers, artists, composers, and scientists throughout history have enjoyed similar admiration, spewing out their "gospel" to the world.

Everyone of these people believed in their craft; as do I. I may be a mere mortal, but I have seen how so many people have managed to cheat death. Oëtzi is likely the oldest human being that we know a considerable amount of. His mummified remains, and his possessions have told us much about prehistoric technology, diet, and even gives speculative insight into prehistoric culture. If you would like to know more about the Iceman, I suggest you read Brenda Fowler's book. Being preserved for many millennia has made Oëtzi achieve a form of immortality. Sure there are remains of hominid species that are millions of years old, but they usually don't tell us (comparatively) a lot of information, especially with respect to primitive culture. One of the most fantastic finds in human evolution were the footprints at Laetoli, which proved that our ancestors have been bipedal for at least 3.5 million years.

Musicians, philosophers, playwrights, and authors have been able to achieve immortality. Scholars have been able to translate and decrypt some of the oldest texts ever found. The Dead Sea Scrolls, for example is likely the oldest translation of the Bible. Conversely, the Rosetta Stone allowed us to decrypt ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Ancient Greek literature, such as Homer, has been translated, allowing us to learn the history of the Greeks.

The great authors and playwrights, Chaucer, Shakespeare, among countless others are still alive in our minds and our hearts. They shall live on through the ages, just as Newton, Einstein and even Darwin will.

But there is a catch. These people will only life on as long as we allow them. This is largely connected to our society, as well as our ability to communicate through spoken and written means. Eventually we will all die off. Eventually, the human race will cease to exist, and everything we have sought to achieve, will be in vain.

The dent we have created in the Universe will eventually close.

The Frayed Ends Of Sanity

Things haven't been going well lately. I'm beginning to think I have a sleep disorder. Pick one: Narcolepsy, or Sleep Apnea. I am consistently tired. I can't focus for any considerable length of time, I can't stay motivated, I have absolutely no energy, and I spend my days in a hazy fog that borders on delirium.

I have been wanting to write a few more entries to this blog, but when I sit down to write, I find that I have about as much energy to write little more than a paragraph, and I am the kind of person who likes to develop develop his arguments. After reading what I had written, I erase it and do something else.

I have a very sedentary job. I spend the entire day in front of the computer, but it's doing work that is not terribly exciting (data entry and report writing). Since my employment, I have been less active. When I first took the job in 2001, I was playing gigs on weekends, which required a lot of heavy lifting (those amps and speakers aren't light), so I was getting some exercise during the week. Last summer, I decided to take up jogging, but that idea was eighty-sixed when my knees seized up on the first jog, and I couldn't walk for ten days afterwards. So much for getting in shape.

I do not have low blood pressure. In fact I usually check it about once a month. I am always 120 / 80. Perfect score every time. I however think, that sitting for extended periods is weakening my heart, and I am getting poor circulation.

For the remainder of this week, I am going to take a break at 10:00 and 3:00, go outside for a jog around the block, get some fresh air, and see if my condition improves. In addition, I think I might have to revolt and bring music into work. My boss hates music being played in the office. He considers it a distraction, so for the last three years I have had to listen to the incessant buzz of fluorescent lights. That's enough to drive anyone insane.

I have said to myself a number of times how much I despise my job. Perhaps it's not the job I despise, but the environment. The job is in my educational field, and I used to like it, but something has to change.

But there is something else wrong. Fatigue has always been a problem with me, especially in the mornings even my Kindergarten teacher wrote in my report card "MC Fro does not deal well with mornings". Some things don't change even after some twenty-five years. I have fallen asleep standing up. I have also fallen asleep while driving -- more than once. It has been a miracle that both me and my car survived.

I cannot drink coffee - it makes me ill. I end up drinking about two or three cups per year, and then I am reminded why I do not drink it in the first place. I drink copious amounts of cola in a day -- probably nearing a liter per day. By body has grown accustomed to the daily dose of caffeine, and instead of it giving me a swift kick in the rear, it does little to help my alertness. In fact, if I do not get my daily dose of cola, it's headache city.

Please don't ask me about other stimulants or amphetamines. I don't even go near the stuff. I like to sleep on a regular basis. I'm just sleeping at the wrong times.

In other news... Yesterday, I played my most successful game of NetHack. I was playing a wizard character who couldn't seem to do anything wrong (at least at the beginning). Unfortunately, my kitty starved to death before I entered the Gnomish Mines. Using Force Bolt liberally, I managed to get my character "Zappy" to Gnometown. But then I was stupid, and I annoyed the priest. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by wolves and patrolmen. I had very little mana left, and I died rather quickly. Note to self: Don't annoy the Priest!

* Ah-Choo! *

Thanks to overexerting myself and getting very little sleep the last number of weeks, I have managed to catch myself a cold. This is the first time I have been sick in over two years (I'm not counting acts of self-indulgence). I took the afternoon off work, and I should be getting some rest instead of playing on my computer.

Not only is this a sick day, but I am considering this day off work a mental health day. I feel like I have been going slowly insane for a number of weeks now. I am in a desperate need of a break, and a full nights' sleep.

I think it would be an adventure to spend a little time in a mental institution. I would consider it a demented party game, when the men in white show up at my door, strap me in a strait jacket and haul me into the back of an ambulance. I'd have a heyday bouncing off the padded walls, muttering some post-apocalyptic gibberish to the observers whom hide behind two-way mirrors, while they all write "clearly insane" in their notebooks. I'm sure they'd give me injections of some unknown substance; "vitamins" they would call them, that would instead sedate me or make me impotent. They would take away my whiskey and cigarettes, and I would probably raise hell with the nursing staff, begging for a fix. I would go even more crazy, not having access to a computer, likely trying to make an email client out of a calculator and coconuts. And those therapy sessions, every one I'd feel like I'd be giving the sermon on the mount, telling everyone else that it is in fact, they who are truly insane, and I'm here to cure them -- only to be thrown into isolation without dinner or cigarettes. I'm sure after a while both the nursing staff and I would grow tired of my little game, but at least I would have a carefree holiday for a couple months.

I am sure this would be a fun game in this day and age, but I would not have wanted to be committed to an insane asylum in the 1950's. The treatment of mental patients for much of history was an exercise in human cruelty. These nightmarish practices still haunt people today, to the point where many people will deny the fact they have a mental problem for fear of what treatment they would receive at such an institution. Electro-shock therapy, and lobotomies were common practices not so long ago, practices considered more like butchery than therapy. By today's standards, these therapies resemble the torture practices of the Spanish Inquisition.

I'd better lay down before I start writing about some other depressing topic. While I recover from this nasty cold, you may all send cards, flowers or money.

They're Coming To Take Me Away

I had mentioned in an earlier post that I had been searching for additional ways to customize this site for your enjoyment. I was looking for some sort of interactive web application that would be fun, but would also be a little reflective of my personality. There are a million quizzes you can take on-line and share with your friends -- it's a great way to get your email address included on a Spam-mailing list. If you want to find a bunch of fun quizzes, go to theSpark.com. Just don't blame me when you start getting 500 spam messages a day.

Alas, I had stumbled upon 4degreez.com, which featured the personality disorder test. Knowing that I am already slightly off my rocker, I had to take the test, and show you the results. See? I truly am crazy! Now I wonder where have all those disability cheques been mailed to? Perhaps I should first inquire if the mentally ill are unfit to work.

Other modifications to this site are planned for the not-too-distant future. It may take a fair amount of time since my access to a computer is still very limited. I believe I may enable comments to be left by my legions of adoring fans. I might give it a trail run. However, if there are a bunch of abusive comments left, then I might just disable the feature without warning.

I have finished reading Pirsigs' Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It was quite an enlightening read. I must admit to you all that there were answers in that book -- some of them were to questions I had been asking, but it certainly did not answer all. It probably had raised another few dozen questions, so I'm somewhat back to square one. I do however, feel enlightened to some degree, even though I wouldn't say the book has changed my outlook on life. I'm still grumpy ol' me.

I have done some considerable thinking on the messages contained in Pirsigs' book, and have come to the conclusion that I really don't want to discuss the content, as I imagine some post-modernistic narcissist would message me saying "No! You've got it all wrong! Blah blah blah...", and I really don't feel like starting an on-line flame-war. What I find most intriguing of this book, is that every person who reads it will get something unique out of it. I'm sure everyone will agree with that statement.

I have often wondered how close I have ventured to the frayed ends of sanity. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance has demonstrated that I have, at times in my life, ventured very close to leaving the world of the sane. That doesn't mean that I would become a danger to society -- there are plenty of of truly insane people out there whom are relatively benign. It's only the sociopaths that seem to get all the attention. The rest of us insane folk would rather just live in our own little worlds and not raise such a stir. We just like taking walks on the wild side. Everything is just that much more surreal.