Carbon Dating

When I contend with Brian Greene and other physicists on Twitter, effeminate mind altering geeks as they are, I must come off as a blockhead. I cannot compete with them in the mathematical empiricism which illustrates the laws of nature as necessarily fixed, so why do it then? Before giving a direct answer, it may surprise viewers to learn I once did amazingly well in algebra and Euclidian geometry, and even got an A on my chemistry final dragging my sister bitch on a leash. My acumen sharpened or fogged primarily due to despair. In my home districts, I thrived. Outside of them my motivation struggled without the proper covalent bonds, but I never quite lost interest in how Einstein and those who made nuclear war possible revolutionized astronomy. I did not realize, or had serious memory lapses against what I was taught, that stars start out as frozen gas that clumps together, takes 10m to ignite or fail, accordingly, and that our solar system won the lottery with long odds, especially since brown dwarfs are popular failures which do not result in fusion, in theory. Space generates its own dynamism over extraordinarily lengthy periods through vibration, end of story. And yet, theoretical physics borders on tacky space opera in places. Matter may ultimately be a hologram. Time may be an illusion. Dark energy. Anti-matter. Four forces, weak and strong, magnetism. Are we absolutely certain we aren’t attempting to decode god? We cannot really say all that much about our self-awareness, let alone why the particles which configure life are so different from those which configure uranium, or why disease and age and so many other things generate agony, against which pleasure is fleeting. We know joy when we feel it too, but most of life processes itself irrespective of human naval gazing, which is why androids and android sex and zombies and singularities worry our collective social dynamics. I do not think the laws of nature recreates humanity in alternate universes as neatly as the equations of impaction lend themselves to in popular science. This is where my “yes but,” comes in, even if I risk being a Neanderthal, like Ron Perlman in Hand of God. Perlman is always reprising himself as a caveman, and his canceled series challenges materialism in exactly the same way I feel the need to challenge what epistemology gains through radio waves and optics. The pilot episode reveals a conspiracy through hallucinogenic delusion which, just possibly, might be divine revelation coming at a necessary price. Amazon canceled it, so we’ll never know, as its second season seems to meander in corporate evil. The actor who plays Keith (Dillahunt?) was certainly made up to look like a warrior from Judges, conquering Canaan. Going against the grain of established critics, there are things I’ve enjoyed viewing here, if only to observe, in context, why the West Coast is as fucked up as upstate New York.

My mother’s sister telephoned, since I have stopped using Facebook. We ignored my abominable attitude, and the prospect of moving into grandmother’s nursing home went in one ear, as the saying goes. Mary really thinks she is doing the right thing, oblivious to the fact that my sentience is still vital. Marie, the other aunt, accused me of whining, thus generating the enthusiasm of her former married relation, and then hung up. I have my moments, but Marie is wearying me with this constant punishment, as both she and my father contributed to this gradated wasting of my strength. A generic ten year old Quantum extended my strength, and when it blew on 10/02, I didn’t assume I’d be dead in 6 months. Unless I can move the absolute zero of Satan’s forbidding glacial majesty, exchange power chairs, relearn how to maneuver myself to restore some semblance of self-determination, it is possible, without exaggeration. The disposable underwear, the loss of my fish, coffee, toilet usage, the toll may now be too much. Trudy Richardson may not have defeated me with her illegal tactics, but as I’ve written, the stocky lupus African achieved quite a lot with her conniving, linear mindset. I have no love lost over these murders. First I thought one thing, and then said it’s a black problem, and decided not to ripple Twitter’s ions. I am not Milo, quite, but if the handwriting is on the wall, things might get more interesting still, in my quest, if not for grace, then?