There are two kinds of hard rock fans. The first enjoy Brian Johnson’s vocals, as do I. We all loved Back in Black. The second, remember when Bon Scott came out with bagpipes and a kilt, and I’m in the group too. He gave zero fucks. And Angus Young was thrashing half-naked even as a boy dressed like a schoolboy because he was one. Then Kiss blew up and merchandised everything that a logo fits on. And Ozzy was snorting ants in the parking lot on a dare because he said he would do anything, and he certainly did even more than that. I understand that impulse. “You can’t possibly swallow that whole thing.” “Give it to me. Right now. Give it to me.” “I don’t think that’s safe.” “Now you’re the voice of reason? Give it to me.” Oh yeah, Motorhead opened and Lemmy never looked down from the microphone and made punks look like hippies, which in a way they are. I have the word punk tattooed across my neck. I get to judge.
Pi revisited
Pi is a never-ending unfolding of an unlimited process. To the right of the decimal point, the numbers appear never to settle into repetition. For all intents, it is random in a way no intelligence, organic or artificial, can improve. In these ways, pi is a perfect proxy for what can never be known. No matter how long we look.
Perfect
What do you want? Perfect? Perfect shames and mocks you constantly. Should I bother spending half my life learning how to spell words that no one ever uses? Would that be perfect? Would a perfect score on the SATs make me perfect? Dial down a little when you judge me. Full disclosure? I’m almost the opposite of perfect. My brain articulates well. Don’t confuse that with I know what the fuck anything means or what I’m talking about. I’m the same sapient primate that you are.
Silence
Now watch me move the middle. I eat beauty all day, and then I reckon it a mess. Secrets, lies? They can’t be trusted in my ears or mouth. I’m good at lots of things. Silence is not one of them.
The ear of the mind of the soul
The difference is I was finished. I didn’t want it anymore. I’m not sure I ever wanted it. It felt like I wanted it. When I was holding it. I watched the heart of it beating. And I thought about what would make it stop. The heart is the ear of the mind of the soul. I wanted silence.
Calm air
There is a calm, creative air that my air breathes. And my best words are an approximation of this air. The wind blows harder occasionally, and it changes what I have to say. How about this? Know I love you. No matter what comes out of my mouth for 42 seconds. It’s going to be shitty. And it’s going to be true. And then it will be done.
Human nature
I don’t know how I know, but I know I know. That seems solipsistic, but, in fact, it is the opposite. I don’t know myself at all except looking backward. I constantly amaze myself with what I’m capable of doing. If my life were a movie, I would nudge you in the theater every three minutes, asking, ” What the fuck did he just do?”
Give me three minutes around you, though, and I will know exactly what you’re going to do next. I know human nature, I just don’t know mine.
Count
This is the new beginning. The new originals. The new today. This is not countable. It is impossible to count. Impossible to accurately measure. If the universe has a bookkeeper, then this is accounted for somewhere. But for all real purposes, there will be no count. It’s a thought exercise. Like wondering how many potentially fatal doses I’ve ingested, or how many times I’ve actually been close to death. No one is counting. But it is a set of integers greater than one and less than infinity.
Sociopath
Of course, we all have the ultimate responsibility for who we end up being. By the time that happens–is happening– blame has almost no real value anyway. And culpability is only recognized by the small subset of the guilty who possess insight and the ability to feel guilt.
Everything is nothing
Peace seems like a silly word to use here. Which is weird because I’m a pacifist. My rage looks in the mirror and hates what it sees. The milieu is safe. I’m pretty sure I’ve never hit someone in anger on purpose. Your conspicuous rage baffles me. Which is weird because there is a storm in the center of me that will never quiet. It’s the sun and the moon and the stars, all at once, burning a fire that never stops.