Jonas Doll

Amid. Medi. T. Ation? Ration? Mountain. Named. Sensation.

Back. I'm back. Trying to bring back that vague image, a mountain scene. British Columbian forest slopes. I don't know the names of many flowers or trees. I can experience nature with the best of them, but when I write it's metaphors or just plain meta.

This is a lull. A kind of meditation, a distasteful kind to my current mind.

The image was a forest scene near Kokanee Glacier, one of mother nature's greatest gifts, frosted peaks to crown this valley. Staring up at the peaks from an already lofty altitude, a different breed of vegetation up here, short clingy trees with integrity - life, still below the tree line. The image was vague as it always is in my mind's eye, spotty with cataracts, but the feeling was so fucking strong. If I could synesthetically translate my thoughts to vision - well maybe that would violate some cosmic law. Perhaps it would be incompatible with this being the best of all possible worlds. And you know that in the best of all possible worlds, the best thing to do is to strive for perfection, or something perfectly imperfect. Ah, slipping through the mists of meta, trying to see the mountain peak in what I feel OUGHT to be the vision.

Let that fucker flood in photons, I want to SEE. I want to BE part of it. But for that, I must DO. I must do it, find the action. My value-primed impulses tell me life demands action. I've had dreams, I've been a connoisseur of sleep, but I can't sleep now, too angsty, too lacking something. What could I do, I don't build landscapes in Bryce or Vistapro anymore, I'm not going to let silicon simulate my imaginational riches. I could try to square the actual glacier with my daydreams but I'm not driven to do that. Life is about action, but what about drive?

Amid body atrophy. I don't feel the entropy, I'm distracted with nothing, a big neon nothing. Actually I'm writing because it's better than nothing. And nothing else will satisfy, not that this satisfies. Novelty is old news but perhaps it will make a retro comeback.

I'm coming to be obsessed with the problem of novelty. It seems that the flagship of this fleet of malaise is the running out of things to do artistically. The funny thing is, this is particularly heinous when extrapolated to all of society, but why should I care? "All of society" is a personal projection. I'm not obliged to feel the imagined pain of the universal chorus. And mind is a renewable resource, we keep churning it out. Why should any fresh mind care how many iterations I've been through? We've got the tips of the fractal pouring out of loins all over this globe.

It can be a real drag seeing everything in terms of civilization. What are we to do, grit our teeth in forced smiles and journey onward in a desperate and dirty search for new ways to laugh? Is this the new QUEST FOR FIRE? Ba dum ching! Thank you thank you, I'll be here all week.

Children are our future. Not me man, I'm not going back to school. I won't be responsible for the new blood. I won't be sending the next gen into the prehab clinics. Let Zoe enjoy her Jonas doll. I'm honored, quite sincerely, it'll be my immortality.

Most of us feel a horror of seriousness. Because we, yes I'm making broad statements about humans again, we invented seriousness, and we turned it into an artform, and then we developed comedy as a reaction to that serious stomach-churning canon. Now I wonder what the Greeks talked about when they drank their ergotized beer. A bear ate amanitas and Mr. X. loaded himself with blanks. As far as I know, "Barkivist" is an original word I came up with, at least according to google. But the trees own that word, really. Hey this is just a branch off the genetic tree. This scummy colony of humanity is using me as an agent for the metabolism of humour. It's a bodily function. Eat, shit, binge and purge. Shoot up, cut up, reference Burroughs. Where's a blade runner when you need him?

Did I really change my brain that much, or was this shift due anyway? Is this just the expiry date on childhood, or was it a bad chemical combo?

I needn't be this serious - I watched Larry Sanders episodes today, ones I'd seen before, and laughed a lot. It sucked me into that hilariously wretched world. Part of losing my identities has been me opening up to the idea of becoming, say, a Hollywood asshole. I've gone as far as thinking I'm due to play the devil. Not PAY the devil, PLAY the devil. For God's sake. But shouldn't I be a saint first? Or perhaps I've got another millennium to go through playing the middleman.

There were times when I would expend the energy to reorganize a ramble like this so it would make a pretty coherent package, perhaps even a poem. There may be more such times. Maybe. Linear. Linearality is a bitch goddess. One time I blew my mind and thought I was perceiving forward and backward in time at once. It's been a while since I've lived a good paradox and been aware of it.

Hmmm. I know there is more to be explored in meditation. This isn't meditation, this is rambling, interspliced with an occasional thought, and an even less occasional sensation.

Oh hell, I'm going to sleep now, and wait for a 1200 micrograms techno track to wake up me (it's my computer alarm).