Sidewalk Philosopher – The Illusion

Sidewalk philosopher. Writer holds no opinion. Edited. -4 hours sleep.

I’ll write it brief, it’s late, but don’t want to burden you with a bunch of rhetoric. And if the heart goes a pitter-patter or the head gets sore, I’ll know I’m breaching some prime directive and back off.

First, consider this: you’re made of nothing. Well, something, but not the bags of bones and water we typically see ourselves. Ask a physicist, there’s a bit of an illusion happening, a fellow in Copenhagen had some theories, like rubbing up against a forceful smell. Vibrations, really. You’re made of rainbow music. Seven colors, seven notes, all synched in harmonious parts and bits, tones and waves—and that’s at a miniscule level. By the time I zoom out and look at my terra firma, I’m as cratered as the moon–another ball of jiggling sunshine farts. Hush, hush, I know you’re the same as me.

But how do you stay in your head? There’s kind of a blending process where the who is conjoined with the what. ‘Who you are’ is really moot, you already know that bit, and you’ve lived in isolation for long enough to realize the difference. That’s why expressing is such fun, the show and tell, “know me, hear me, is it me, is it me?” Yeah, it’s you. You’re swell, kid. You’re a splinter off the old root.

The what is more fascinating. This is what we play with when we play with ourselves. Look Ma, cause and effect. Cherished little bumper cars, dashing and colliding, adorned and bashing, yet not really apart, because the electricity comes down the wire, through the weather spout and into each whirring, determined little motor. Except there’s no wire, just a jump start, but we like the wire. And that’s why we’re always on devices trying to stroke each other. Look, I’m a doughnut for experience.

The goo of the what is actually dependent on three measurable components which I cannot divulge. I’ve promised to keep the secret, unless approached by certain ‘personnel’. Slow down, there is no conspiracy and no impending doom. It’s a jigger of snot, a spritz of padash, and wee measure of fazaa. If I make a promise, I just find more benefit in keeping it.

The Dream State
…is a more accurate reflection of who you are in a grander scheme. You can waste time there, but it’s inevitably the same old grind.

The Return to Earth
This is a not a metaphor for some great galactic happening. Nor is Quetzalcoatl harbinger for reptilian cosmic interface. Nor are the ‘sage minds’ and prophets here to enlighten with some force from beyond. They are all expressions of humility, homecoming, cleaning out the fridge and checking the mail. The goal was here already. There’s no message in prophecy, just reminders that nature occasionally makes a straight edge. The raven returns for to eat and for to sleep.

What you know
Is what you know. You could be a giggling instinctivist or a nuerobotolombotomist. You could have been injected into your suit for ten minutes ago or ten decades earlier—I wouldn’t care too much. It’s not how much you have stuffed in your noggin. If you’re setting up house, do you want a lot of other people’s crap in there? What do you bring to the dance that is you.

Things to avoid
Shapeshifting is one. Don’t try that. Crime is another no, no. Who would you want to bring someone down? Live with a bit of measured honor. And avoid drugs—cause they make your mother sad.

Why write this?
Writing is a tool to form ladders, chain reactions, and doorways. It’s my medium For connection with someone else, you, if I was in auto repair, I’d save a few minutes, no charge, to let you know my philosophy on your car.

I think as a writer, I’m trying to helping clean thoughts, use a few coos and coaxing. The words are like a dustbin: The reader unloads their own baggage thoughts onto the words.

“Some guy wrote it. We both know it. I can move on.”

They’re utilities, writing, music, expression. Do they help fill a hole? No, no, quite the opposite. We can clear out all our associated thoughts and questions and leave this baggage at the theater.

“Well, that clears up a lot of things. I never have to see another zombie movie again.”

Writers help to drain the rot. Make a connection, erode preconceptions, follow my hand and look upon the desert vista… Those spiky columns in the landscape are our oldest and firmest beliefs. The writer will dig them up and smooth them out so you can see further on you own.

They are just our beliefs. Come close, you’re not what you believe you are. We’re not anything like what we’d believe. So enjoy what you know.

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