Bogus Lies (and) Ordinary Greatness

I started, what I call, articlulate writing years and years ago. Some of it was free associate writing, automatic writing, or what ever you chose to call it. It was, and still is, a fun outlet for me. Some of it, no one has ever read before. A lot of it .... maybe nobody should...


Showing posts with label enlightenment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label enlightenment. Show all posts

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Death?


D E A T H ' S     L A S T     B R E A T H



In the end each is alone.
Another one? Another lachrymose article? When is he going to pullout of it? It really is getting repetitive. It moves from death to dying, to the end of life with nothing in-between. I'll bet that ...
Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. I admit it again, I have been writing downer article after downer article. But don't worry, I'll pullout of it, someday …
The end is a funny thought. What does "The End" mean? Are there different types of ends? Can there be a new beginning after… All right. All right. That's it! I'm going to pullout of it now! I'm done (for a while anyways) contemplating things such as "To be or not to be, that is the question…"
Speaking of that famous line written by Shakespeare, did you know that William R. Bent, Jr., a Yale Professor, once used a computer to show that a trillion imaginary monkeys, all typing rapidly, would take more than a trillion times the age of the Universe to come up with that line from hamlet,
"To be or not to be, that is the question."

It seems to be that Mr. Bent might have put the computer to better use, even if it was to play video games… But then as Mack McGinnis hit the nail on the monkey’s head when he said,
"Progress isn't always for the best. Smoke signals never got an Indian out of bed at 3 a.m. to answer a wrong number."

Speaking of computers, we all think of storing bits of information when we think of computers. But then brain isn't too bad at computer-like tasks. Human memory is roughly estimated to be capable of retaining 100 billion bits of information, which means that a typical adult brain holds 500 times the information in a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica.
That's some computer! It would seem that we don't need computers if we just used the natural tools we have. But we do need science and progress because like Bill Vaugham said,
 "Thanks to science you can fly almost anywhere in half the time it will take for you to wait for your luggage after you get there."

How about contributions from people like Californian William McLellen who built the world's smallest motor? It weighs one half-millionth of a pound and is smaller than the head of a pin, measuring a sixty-fourth of an inch on all sides. It has 13 parts and generates one-millionth of a horsepower. It can be seen in operation only through a microscope. It was built using a toothpick, a microscope, and a watchmaker’s lathe.
What can this motor be used for? What would one-millionth of a horsepower drive? It could probably move a nose hair. It could probably drive a turntable made for fleas. It could possibly pass undetected through an airport metal detector, that way, in case the plane has engine failure in mid-flight you could replace it with Mr. McLellan's motor.
The only drawback to this wondrous device is that it probably takes 500 volts to power it. What type of power cord would it have? How many quarts of oil would it need? Would it take only lightweight oil?
What is the source of the most power available to man in the known Universe? It is static electricity from rubbing your shoe across a rug and touching someone's neck. A close second is a transistor battery when touched to the tip of your tongue. How about the jolt of a first kiss? All these rate high above a wall socket for delivered volts. Did you ever go swimming? Hopefully, not during an electrical storm. Nor near an electric eel, as they can deliver a shock with more than four times the voltage of a wall socket. That's a hot fish!
Did you know that the temperature at the center of the earth is nearly as hot as the sun (5,000 - 6,000 degrees Celsius)? Sunshine bears down upon the daylight side of the earth with a pressure of two pounds for every square mile, but the earth only receives 1/2 of one-billionth of the run's radiant energy. In a few days that's the heat and light equivalent to burning all the oil, coal, and wood on the planet. But we can get much hotter than then sun and the center of the earth. A lightning bolt generates temperatures five times hotter than the surface of the sun. If we could only use the power around us in nature there would never be an energy shortage, for the energy equivalent of just one ounce of anything is enough to keep a 100-watt light bulb burning for almost one million years.
I think I'm personally going through an energy shortage. It's a real possibility that I'm getting senile. Symptoms of aging can appear early. By the time we're twenty we may already display an age related drop in intellectual ability. The brain of an eight-month-old human fetus is actually estimated to have two to three times more nerve cells than an adult brain does. Just before birth, there is a massive death of unnecessary brain cells, a process that continues through early childhood and then levels off. So no wonder I've been complaining of headaches the last few years.
I take 200 vitamin pills a day, and people wonder why I look so unhealthy. But after my stomach is filled with these vitamins there is no more room for food. So unwillingly I am on a diet of 50 calories a day.
Truth is the bitterest of pills to swallow, and now that I have rambled on, from one subject to another I have lost all the readers before the finish once again.
In the end each one of us is alone.

'nother one,
èim  Uhr


P.S. Progress is relative. When a person becomes a millionaire he moves from his modern downtown apartment with all the latest contraptions to a nice older home in the country for a bit of the simple living, and calls it progress. Progress is what brought television to even the lowest income families. Research has shown that watching T.V. causes rats to become listless and apathetic. Thus they are less prone to biting the children.





Monday, January 21, 2013

The Fair Path


The Fair Path

Have you ever been alone in a crowd before?
More precisely, I should ask, have you ever felt alone in a crowd? A buzz all around that somehow goes past or around you, never quite sinking in. Smiles, conversations, jokes, eye contact – that never reach you. You feel invisible at best – shunned at worst.
You may want to run, but there is nowhere to go.
You must move away from this uncomfortable state. There must be a change.
There are two possible roads ahead.
You feel like a boulder rolling down a hill when you come to a fork. All the difference is ahead.
One path is within. The other path is without.
One option is to move outwards. To reach out. To force the situation. To attempt to becoming a part of without the need for an invitation. To take a risk. Stepping out from oneself. To extend a hand, an opinion, a thought – with the knowledge that it may be turned away from, shunned, unwanted, rejected. To take the risk of being a fool, a busy body, obnoxious. The geek trying to break into the click. To expand the bubble around yourself to include others. To open up and be vulnerable. To risk appearing stupid or a social misfit. Trying to gain friendship at the possible consequence of garnering distain.
The reward for this path is you may become part of the buzz. One with the crowd. Known and no longer invisible.
The possible downside is that you are no longer invisible and now all your flaws and awkwardness is out in the open for all to see. Perhaps you don’t fit in and never will. Perhaps being invisible is the best you can do, the most you can hope for.
"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." – Abraham Lincoln.

Then there is the other path. The other direction. Instead of turning outwards in the hope of a connection, you can go inwards. Turning away from the trappings of the outside world. Moving toward self. To focus your attention to what’s inside. Your feelings and thoughts. To delve into your beliefs and emotions, to circle downwards deep into your personal cave. Trying to find you center and what makes you tick. What makes you unique. Searching for love of self and a deep inner respect. To find that place of knowing, that space of oneness. To seek the stillness, to explore through meditation.
The reward for this path, this direction, is pure radiance of being. Knowing that nothing can really hurt your pure essence. You are all. You will find that needs are merely flights of fantasy that we create out of the nothingness of fear. All is within and all is love.
The downside of this path is that sometimes when we go within we can spiral down and around until it becomes a narcissistic exercise. Self-worth somehow turns into self-importance. "We are one" becomes we are the one.
Sometimes seeing the beauty, weakness, and perfection in another is also the quickest way to seeing it within. Yes, somehow seeing the weakness in ourselves and in others becomes important. For it is only when we can see and come to terms with weakness and realize that they are just blocks, barriers to cover perfection. All weaknesses melt away in the light of true examination. Many times this is easier to see in others than in ourselves. Deep secrets become antidotes when the weight of darkness is lifted off.
Many times it is easier to move beyond judgment toward another than it is to do the same for ourselves.

So in the end I believe it’s the contemplative blend of reflective searching within and the reaching out, and shining out of our light towards the outside world in the hopes of connection that is our most beneficial and should be our ultimate goal.
Understanding ourselves and understanding others is a chicken or egg type of scenario.
Instead of asking which came, or should come, first – perhaps the real road to enlightenment comes from the realization that one cannot survive without the other. For if all is truly one… then there is no difference.


                                                           Sincerely signing off,

 

                                                                                             ò im Uhr


P.S. Again I am always playing the middleman. Walking the fence. Looking for that middle path. I usually end up in the ditch of the embankment that separates the two paths…




                                  Spiritual Path

  
                                                                         Path of thorns





Thursday, January 10, 2013

Once


O n c e

A breath of passion
an out dated fashion
dress on the floor
my hand on the door
as I turn back to look
I see but do not know
all the things I know but do not see
hidden secretes
secretes revealed
revealing posture
posing sleep
cute as a button
buttons relented
crumpled covers
uncovered portrait
one eye open
at least I know
she watches me go

                            êim Uhr





Sunday, January 29, 2012

From the archives... "Article Worth Framing"

#written over 30 years ago - dredged up from the pits#

A R T I C L E    W O R T H    F R A M I N G



Typing my life away. Words appearing on paper, with nothing to say. But today is different. No, my typing has not quickened its pace, I have not taken typing lessons. Typing is just as tedious as ever. No, I have not sat down with something special to say ahead of time. This article will probably drift by word by word just like all the rest in a sea of paragraphs, being fed from a babbling stream of consciousness. Yes, this writer has his "Gone Fishing" sign up.
So what, you ask, is different about today's article? Today I face the typewriter alone. I have, for the first time, not written any of this down ahead of time in longhand. The thoughts flow directly from my head to the printed paper, with no middle pad involved. No change, no chance to update, cross out, add, or disintegrate. Leave the editing to the editor.
Darn, I'm not done yet. I don't want to let this paper sit in the typewriter too long. I don't want the editor to think the paper was yellow before I started. A true vintage work of art.
I have always believed in honesty, and anyone who says they believe differently is a liar. I have always told my readers how it is. If I'm having trouble writing a particular piece I come right out and admit it. If I doze off every now and then when writing I tell of the experiences of my dreams upon awakening. I try to get as close to my readers as possible. I have a theory that the majority of my readers are between the ages of 20 and 30, female, and beautiful. Now you can understand why I want to get as close to them as possible.
But of course this only applies to my articulate writing, when I know that the reader knows that she is reading me, and not just something about one of my characters that I made up, as in a novel. When writing a story about other people and places I really don't care how close and personal I bring my readers in to their particular lives. When I want to bring my readers close to my characters I just use a frame. By using unsung characters as a way to tell and develop a story about other characters whom the readers never come in direct contact with is my ploy to keep the readers far away from the story. After all, my characters have their own personal lives, and letting you into their minds might hurt their feelings. Me, I don't mind you coming into my mind. Don't worry-- there is plenty of room to wander about. But I think of my characters as people in their own right, and I wouldn't feel right about letting you trample around in the mind of someone else. My mind doesn't mind trampling, but I cannot speak for others. It's good to have my mind occasionally filled with something, even if it is unceremoniously trampling and generally mucking about of others, for it cuts down on the echoes and reverberations of thoughts past.
Most of the time my writing is intellectual and emotional, so it is not hurt by distance. My stories can be told just as well from the overhearing of another's conversation as from the contorted drivel from one of my main characters' brain. Creating distance in stories also can create new characters. The people you eavesdrop on become a secondary part of the story. These people must somehow be related to the story they are revealing.
Yes, creating a distance between the reader and the story can be useful in works of fiction. First of all, it doesn't embarrass the characters by letting a total stranger see something that they do not wish to show to just anyone. It resolves the writer from the sin of letting another beings brain be trampled on. It keeps with the intellectual aura of my usual writing. I don't like my stories exaggerated and overblown like the common "fish story." There is an art to creating new, unimportant characters and confusing the readers. I have often noticed that the more confused the reader is, the better he likes the story. Also the use of more characters makes the story longer just by having to take the space to explain their presence, and remember – writers get paid by the word count. So the more words I can force on to the paper … the greater the masterpiece.

He stumbled into the bar, rejected again. It was tough to be an unsold writer in New York City with revenues as well as patience dwindling. Five rejections in as many weeks! Maybe he was forcing out the novels a bit too fast…
He needed a drink…
Tom Collins. Didn't his brother used to be a wide receiver for the Browns? He dug the folded money from his wallet. The money he was counting on lasting until he started selling was running low. And not yet even one sale. He placed his head in his hands, trying to clear his head. He couldn't, wouldn't! go back home without a sale. As tears welled up in his eyes and trickled down through his fingers, his ears popped, and as they did the mull of mixed conversation dropped to a level of inaudibility and from the table behind him he could just make out what the participants of an interesting conversation were saying. He listened in a half dreaming state …
"…broke into the New York Times with a bang." a man's voice was saying. "He comes from Ohio. Already he's got a huge following, and to think that just weeks ago he was an unknown!"
I think he's gorgeous," came the lovely voice from a girl over twenty, but certainly not more than thirty.
"Certainly the new sensation. By his third article he had made the front page!"
“It's destiny."
"Truly words of wisdom. This one is something special…"
"Where has he been hiding all his life?"
"They say he's only in his teens. I think he's so gorgeous!"
"Surely words so wise could not possibly come from one so young. Where does he get his vast knowledge and experiences?"
"Truly a gift from above…"
"Yet, his words are so deep…"
"Deep, reaching the bottom of my heart... "
"…and meaningful…”
"Bringing his soul along with every word…"
"Did you read his latest masterpiece in today's paper?"
"First thing I do every morning!"
"Wouldn't miss it."
"Well, actually no. I save it for the night. When I can read him all alone in bed at night, sharing our inner feelings. Every time I read him I feel so close to him, like he's right there with me… He's so gorgeous!"
"Well, then let me tell you what he wrote today…"
"No! I told you! I save him for the night! I don't wanna hear…"
"That's not all you save for the night, Sally."
"Actually I get more of a thrill from reading the dictionary than I would if I was with you…"
"But Bob, I thought that you said that you and Sally, last weekend… "
"Shut up, Phil!"
"All a writer has to do to get a woman is to say he's a writer. It's an aphrodisiac." smiled Saul Bellow as he passed by their table on his way out, catching part of the conversation.
"He typed his article today directly from his head, he didn't write it first out in longhand like he usually does."
"I told you," Sally was growing furious, "I don't want to have my night spoiled. So shut up!"
"Hey, I wonder if the editor had to read yellow paper…?"
Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha!
"Hey, I have the article right here…"
"In your pocket?"
"Yes, I cut everyone out and carry it around with me for a week and then I have them framed. They hang nicely over the fireplace. I'm running out of room to hang them, though. I think I might have to buy a bigger house."
"Come on. Come on! Read that article out loud. I haven't memorized the third paragraph yet!"
"Ahem… Typing my life away." Bill read in his best voice, standing and waving his arms about, "Words appearing on paper, with nothing to say. But today is different… No, my typing has not quickened its pace, I have not taken typing lessons. Typing is…”
"I can not hear you! I can not hear you… I can not hear you… I can not he… " Her voice fades away as she leaves the bar.
As the dramatic reading of the article continues people gather around the table. Most of them are very good-looking girls… Those who haven't already, are busy memorizing every word coming from Bill's mouth. Soon the whole bar, as most of them already had the article submitted to memory, joined in with Bill and recited the article, and it sounded no less than a choir of angels, a symphony of words.
For one moment in one bar in New York City people forget everything and simply listened. All forgot their private worries and for one brief moment all was right with the world. Peace and harmony were plentiful and men were brothers as they finally found a commonality that could unite the world and solve all differences. One light that could shin for everyone for the common good and benefit of all mankind and lead us all to enlightenment.
The tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy on the young writer’s face, for young Isaac Asimov now knew that there was hope for him, and that soon he too, would find his place in the writing world, and maybe also write a thing or two.


                                                    Successfully Yours,
                                                           èim  Uhr


P.S. Don't feel too sorry for poor Isaac,
I feel that after his 200th book he is gaining
 some confidence and will soon grow up to be
 a better than average writer. 















Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Sun Is Normal


The Sun Is Normal




What is love?
I was in love once, but then the mirror cracked…
My shattered love tumbled to the floor in shards that glistened up at me and my reflected tears.
I doubt that I could ever fall in love again. Love just isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I have never had anyone love me. Nobody likes me, so how can anyone love me?
My heart has never been broken. I am still, basically, in one piece. I have never felt that special ache in my heart, and dryness of the throat that no amount of liquids can quench. When my throat is dry a beer or a coke will usually do the trick. It is said that the sun appears brighter through the eyes of a person suffering from love. Well, at least I don't need sunglasses!
Who needs love? Can't plains, trains, boats, houses, poles, and rocks function just as well without love in their lives?
Love makes the world go around, maybe that's why everyone is so dizzy. You say that love is blind: I say to get some glasses and steady your head as well as your sight. But why is it that those who walk steady fall so hard? It would seem they only fool themselves by believing it impossible for them to ever fall, so they don't see it coming even when it's obvious to all those around that one more step leads them over the edge. Thus, the unprepared fall hurts all the more.
With a philosophy like that you may wonder how I ever hope to keep from falling. But remember, you have to be on your feet in order to fall. I don't plan on falling, especially with my back pressed firmly to the ground.
So this "low" view of the world brings me all the more close to my foes. After all, how low do you have to go to be an enemy of mine?

What is hate?
I hated someone once, but that person found out and left me all alone.
I doubt I'll ever hate anyone again, it always seems to hurt me more than the person I hate.
I have never had anyone hate me… nobody knows I exist (or cares), so how can anyone hate me?
My eyes have not burned with fury for quite some time. My eyes are blank now, like openings of a cave. My brain stalagmite. I can be found starring off into space, or walking the streets late at night just to feel the wind blow through my brain. No thoughts are cleared by the breeze, and none enter by way of it. I only walk at night so as to come across as few people as possible. Well, at least I don't need sunglasses!
Hate makes the world ever changing and exciting. If we could all just get along, it would be boring. We would all be peaceful and healthy – probably living forever. But I’m not sure what the “official definition” of “alive” is. I mean, is a petrified forest considered “alive?” Living forever in a mummified state, the wrappings separating you from any potential conflict doesn’t seem too satisfying. I’m not too sure anyone lives in such a state of bliss today. Doesn't everyone seem to have ulcers? Hate causes arguments. With arguments there is a conflict of opinions, and this many times has been known to lead to enlightenment.
I am a liar. Earlier I said that I do not love or hate. I stated it knowing full well that it is not so. Thus, I lied. For I love to hate and I hate to love. Only the man above can decide my fate. I, just a man, not great, sometimes good, sometimes bad – but most often sad. My tears – dry before they fall – know no hope. Justifying a dope, I still give it my all. For my tears will pass, sorrow will last, but my heart won't fail.
But tears are just water. They can be shed in sorrow or joy. The heart is just a muscle doing its job, efficiently but with no emotion.
I am a mere human. A mass of protein and nucleic acid. I am the result of millions of years of evolution. Cells grouping together, taking on individual functions to better serve the whole. My blood, devoid of its cells and proteins, is just seawater. A soul is untouchable, so it does not exist.

I have no soul.
I do not love and cannot hate.
 I am.
Therefore I am.
But I don't care…

                                                     Normally Yours,
èim  Uhr


P.S.     I love starting out a weird article
           (I thought they were all weird), but
           by the time I reach the end I hate it!
          (Is that why they're always extra short?)


P.P.S.
         I just added this to make it a little l o n g e r.