Restate my assumptions: 1. Mathematics is the language of nature. 2. Everything around us can be represented and understood through numbers. 3. If you graph these numbers, patterns emerge. Therefore: There are patterns everywhere in nature.

Pop.

It wasn’t audible. More of a feeling. Maybe I did “hear” something, but it was only me. Inside my head.

Just a pop. Followed by relief. Instant relief.

The headache which had plagued me for days. Weeks. Months. Was gone. Obliterated.

A euphoric wave washed over my head. I liken it to being anointed, yet I only know what I’ve read about that. No actual experience. No frame of reference.

That damned headache had become part of my identity. Did it worry me? Yeah, sure. Was I curious about what might be going on in there? Was I having a stroke? An aneurysm? Those kill people, right?

Yes, I was curious, but not enough to go to the doctor. This pissed her off to no end. She doesn’t want to be left alone.

My head feels lighter, somehow. It’s actually hard to describe the sensation. Warm. Wet. Maybe orgasmic.

But wait. Something is missing…

Running through a quick system check. Memory is fine. I can see. Smell. Feel. Hear. Taste.

Four plus four. Eight.

Next level. Close your eyes. How many yellow objects are in the room? Seventeen.

Next level. What is a 27% tip on a $63.41 tab?

Nothing. Nothing comes up. Total darkness. A lapse, if you will.

Panic swells down below. I’ve always been able to see math. Perform it in my head.

My grandmother noticed it when I was in grade school… “How much tip should I leave?” She trusted me… even when I started inflating tips. After all, the service was stellar, she deserves more than fifteen percent.

I recall the Aronovsky film π. No spoilers here, beyond the lead’s debilitating headaches. Is this my fate? Or was it?

Are they gone now? Along with my natural mathematic ability?

I can still quote this movie. Yet intermediate (and beyond) math is just… gone.

Am I still “smart?” Can I survive like this? Adapt? Will it return?

A friend was taking medicine for her bipolar disorder. It caused blindness.

Albeit, temporary—her vision returned after she switched medication.

This. This is why I don’t know what is going on inside my head. The once noble practice of healing has been corrupted by pharmacom and money. There’s no money in cures. Only maintenance.

She loves the accommodations in the local hospitals. The attention. The care. Since spending so much time with her, I have spent more time in hospitals in the last two years than my several decades prior—combined!

Yes, I believe the people at that level truly care. They want their patients to feel better. Yet, if the “higher-ups” aren’t promoting more natural lifestyle changes and holistic healing first… before pumping us full of chemicals or cutting us open? The art of healing is lost. Sold.

Maybe I ought to have my head examined. Maybe the “pop” was bad. It certainly scared me at the time.

However, I am still here. This incident happened seven months ago. For the most part, my mathematic abilities have returned. So have the headaches.

My memory may be beginning a descent… all the more reason to write and see what I can produce. We’ll revisit that in a few months—with increased awareness of forgetfulness.

Again, maybe I ought to have my head examined. Maybe, one day, she’ll convince me.

We did it. We saved the daylight.

While you cherish the saved sunlight, I’ll be painting my windows black.

You bite my lip just for the taste
You’re on your knees, I’m on the case
You take the heat and with such grace
You say we’re done, but here you stay

You said you’re scared, I’ll let you down (I’ll let you down)
Just stick around, and you’ll find out (and you’ll find out)
But don’t you wanna make me proud? (So make me proud)
‘Cause I’m so proud, baby, I’m so proud of you

Do I stress you out? Can I help you out?
Does it turn you on when I turn you around?
Can we make a scene? (Scene), can you make it loud? (Loud)
‘Cause I’m so proud, baby, I’m so proud of you

I like the way you kiss me, I can tell you miss me
I can tell it hits, hits, hits, hits
Not tryna be romantic, I’ll hit it from the back
Just so you don’t get attached (‘tached, ‘tached, ‘tached)

What i'm listening to:

artemas
i like the way you kiss me
yustyna

“What is that smell?”

I closed my eyes and sniffed. It was drifting over from the next table.

Unmistakeable.

Pipe smoke.

Not something one smells often in this day and age.

The fragrance whisked me back to high school. My first girlfriend… and all of the pleasures and pains that surrounded her. Mostly pleasures.

Drive-in movies. The lake shore. Releasing the parking brake, accidentally, and nearly losing the car. The bridge. Those eyes. Those… eyes.

Her sister… another story for another time.

And her father. You see, her dad smoked a pipe.

If pipe tobacco tastes as good as it smells, I can see how one might get hooked. Why, oh why, did they never make cigarettes smell/taste like this?

Maybe they did. I don’t know.

I opened my eyes… gazing into those beautiful, brown eyes. Inquisitive. Studying me from across the table. Filled with love and admiration.

And I smiled. With a subtle craving for tobacco. I may take up the habit.

Lately, I’ve been lamenting the loss of the “old knowledge.” You still catch a glimpse here and there, but there’s less and less of it as each elder dies.

A few weeks ago, I was visiting my aunt and she asked if I wanted a piece of sweet potato pie. She then launched into the story that she had never even tried sweet potato pie. Her neighbor had sweet potatoes that she needed to “use,” so what better use than to make a pie!

A faint memory. It really used to be like that. How much food do we simply throw out?

The Internet is no help in this arena. Go ahead and Google if it’s safe to use milk past date for anything.

Sour milk is sour milk, right?

Banana bread exists because people have both bananas and milk that go bad with time.

Open up an old cookbook. How many of these recipes use items you already have somewhere, at various stages of spoilage?

Yet, we lose that ability over time. Sure, we can use fresh. And might even prefer fresh. But the option is there, and as we’re entering a new era of serious economizing, why not?

Then there’s GPS—and Google maps. Does anybody know where they’re going anymore? Casual driving would indicate the answer is no.

Ever drive in Omaha, Nebraska? The residents ALL drive like they’ve never been there before. Incredible!

I recall in middle school, learning how to read a map. What all of the symbols meant. How to determine where you are. Now we have an app on our phone that does that for us.

It’s so effective, in fact, that the state of Indiana has decided to no longer print the free highway maps that many states distribute.

And that’s a damned shame too. What better way to tell an adventurer, like myself, that your state isn’t worth exploring.

The reasoning? The populace has maps on their cell phones, so it’s redundant.

Yeah, that’s great. And makes some sense. Except, I’d like to point out that I have service with the top carrier in the US… and my phone still boasts NO service in the southern, wooded half of your state.

Speaking of woods, my grandfather, and my father knew their way around the forests on the mountain by landmarks. Me? I wish. I’d get lost without at least a map. If only I’d paid more attention as a young lad…

I guess I’m old enough to enjoy the challenge of looking at something and then figuring out how to get there from here—as I was taught when I was thinking about learning to drive.

Do they even teach that anymore? Hell, do we even do thought experiments anymore?

Probably not. Why do something someone else has done… just Google it.

And then there’s the modern convenience is refrigeration, which has existed most of my life—hence the not knowing what to do with spoiled food.

Yet we existed before air conditioning. We innovated. There were massive warehouses that stored ice wihtout refrigeration. And people knew where in their homes to keep various perishable food items. Pantries. Cellars. The cupboard under the sink.

We used to use windows and shutters and blinds. We used to have a knowledge of where the sun is. Where the wind is blowing from. Fans helped, yes, yet they weren’t always necessary if you can use nature to get some airflow through your house.

Modern houses are built airtight—for better or worse—and get quite stuffy without the constant hum of that computerized HVAC system. However, we may be seeing a return of smaller units and swamp coolers.

It’s early, but i think in this era of renewed economizing we are going to see a tech fatigue. For several decades now, the masses have rushed out to buy the latest tech because it must be the greatest. What’s wrong with using the same phone for five years? Seven? Ten?

The same computer for twenty?

Maybe the manufacturers will build them to last again, because they can… even if it’s not the cash cow of planned obsolesence. Maybe.

It seems all we really have to recall this old knowledge is what we read in books. At least we have those. And if I have anything to impart to future generations, perhaps I’ll write something down as well.

We have become so reliant on the technology. Parents today insist their kids carry cell phones, so they know where they are at all times. Life 360, and all that. Is the world really so terrifying?

Gone are the days of, “Be where you can see the porch light by dusk… when it’s on, supper’s ready! And don’t come home until then.”

I guess I just wasn’t made for these times.

Expectations. We all have them. It’s part of the human experience.

Growth—true growth—is not taking it personal when someone doesn’t behave the way you expect.

In reality, very few people can demonstrate this level of enlightenment. Why? Because from my point of view, for instance, the world is entirely my creation. A matrix.

Everyone else is a non-playing character. The vast majority of the non-playing characters go on about their lives without affecting mine.

There are a few of these players we grow fond of. Some become mentors. Others become friends. A select few might even become lovers. There might even be a handful whom we know better than anyone, and whom we allow to know us as well. These have influence. These can wreck us, at least momentarily. And we still have no control over them.

Our worlds are in a constant state of fluidity. You may be focused on getting your life handled. Reigning in your sadness. Defeating depression. Rediscovering the beauty in the world.

While you’re focused on yourself, I may be dazzled by a lovely young woman whose vitality infects me. I’ve given you your space, along with your one word answers and your tendencies not to share. In essence, I’ve moved on.

We chat on occasion, but the investment is no longer there. If you scroll the thread, it hasn’t been there for months. Years.

Maybe, with your focus on yourself, you haven’t noticed my curiosity ebbing. Until you do. My attention is no longer what you expect—and you don’t like it.

You act out. “We are no longer aligned, and I must release you with love.” No contact. End of the thread. Dead on the vine.

Are you truly healed? To let this bother you so much? Burn it all down, because I don’t respond as you’re expecting. You have closed the door on the past, and you’re not willing to look back and see how your past created you. You are hiding.

Now, I’m no expert on enlightenment, nor on healing. I am still broken. I own this. Some of this damage has been caused by you. Some of THAT damage still infects my current relationship.

Funny how we keep so much of our past with us. And it’s also funny how so much of the advice out there—including yours—is to avoid the red flags. Walk away. Love yourself, first.

I am grateful you have found self love on your journey. You no longer need others—in fact, you must protect your energy from others. Shattered people. Like me. Bye.

Yeah. This bothers me too. Yet not as much as I expected. I began divesting when I lost interest romantically. Perhaps men and women can be friends, but that is almost more work than an actual relationship. Because something is missing. A level of trust. A level of authenticity. Can you be friends with someone you find attractive? Without letting jealousy get in the way?

I doubt it. Yes, the clean break is best. We are no longer aligned, and have outgrown each other. You no longer understand my passions—and lack of them. And I haven’t understood a thing you’ve said about spirituality for some time.

I have enjoyed your friendship, our camaraderie. We have shared experiences and stories and have influenced each other in ways that will remain. Always. You are a part of me.

You’re just no longer part of my life. Thank you, for everything. And I wish you the best. I hope you find the happiness you seek.

Stop taking things people do personally. None of us really know why we do what we do anyway. Including you.

What i'm listening to:

What Do You Want From Me?
Monaco
Music for Pleasure

There’s this girl. I hear a lot about this girl from my peer group. Hate, mostly.

I don’t understand why.

For instance, why do people think I’m some innocent? That I’m being used? That I’m not somehow complicit in this relationship?

Is it because we are very different people? From very different backgrounds?

Do you think I don’t know her? That I haven’t gotten to know her?

Look, I don’t know everything about her. This is what I do know.

We like each other enough to not leave the other alone for long. We fulfill a need within each other. Beyond that... what exactly do you think I’m looking for?

Are you expecting me to find some “good girl” and settle down? Buy a nice house with a yard and a swing set and a white picket fence surrounding it for our children to play in?

How well do you know me? Seriously...

I am not enough of an adult to get to that part of life yet. That, my friends, is an unfortunate reality.

I am the one who will leave. She knows this and protects herself from it... we have had many heart to heart conversations about this.

I have always treated her like a butterfly. I truly enjoy her when she is around, yet anything I might do to try to “keep” her, will only maim her and potentially kill her. Why would I restrict such beauty? Such spirit?

We are both learning. How to love. How to feel. Psychology of the opposite sex.

And we both have a long way to go before we’re any good to anyone. That. Is the truth.

Don’t kid yourself. I’m not giving away my power or my resources. We invest little into each other. We are teaching each other how to transcend our own idiosyncrasies. Yet I don’t need her—however fond of her I may be—and she doesn’t need me either.

But she doesn’t deserve the hate. It takes two to tango. I haven’t chased... merely extended the invitation. As a butterfly, she can take or leave it.

We have fun together, and life is life when we’re apart—and all of the pleasures and pains within those constraints. There is value in what we bring each other. I sleep like a stone every night, knowing what I know and content with what I don’t. That’s it.

So, please stop talking about her. You hardly know her, nor me, nor what I want... and frankly, this affair is none of your business.

At this moment, no one is allowed in my space.

My sanctuary.

Karma has drawn a line in the sand. And it’s not going to get any better here. Not without a change, anyway.

Are you not disgusted with your life? This was the question that was posed a while back. Being aware of it led me to this.

Yeah. Yeah I am.

Granted, I’m not at work to be liked. I’m there to make money. Yet, most jobs become cliques. And I’m not liked. And not being liked by certain people affects the money.

One cannot remain the low man on the totem pole forever. Not and survive. Nor thrive. Nor maintain his (or her) sanity.

Which revives the question: “What do you want?”

Interesting. I want a challenge. And I want the rewards that come with the challenge. I want the home. And the ability to travel. And I want the girl. Whomever she may end up being.

As long as she’s respectful, beautiful, and doesn’t snore. Yes, it’s that important.

I haven’t craved challenge in a long time. However, since I appear to be immortal, I may as well make the most of it and make a metric fuck-ton of money while I’m at it.

And networking. Some gurus believe networking is important. Essential even. Can someone who cannot win a basic popularity contest network?

I guess it’s time to find out...

What i'm listening to:

I’m Still Standing
Elton John
Too Low for Zero

The final act of love is always letting her go.

Not chasing. Not begging. Not convincing. Just releasing.

If you have to force it, it’s not love anymore. It’s attachment. And attachment makes men weak.

Real love doesn’t need persuasion. It stays willingly.

The moment it doesn’t? The lesson is over. Men think fighting harder proves loyalty. Sometimes walking away proves strength.

Because love without respect turns into humiliation. And humiliation kills self-respect.

Letting her go isn’t defeat. It’s discipline. It means you value space more than memories.

If she wanted you, she wouldn’t risk losing you. Love protects itself. Always.

The final act of love is closing the door quietly and never reopening it. No speeches. No drama. Just gone. Without exception.