As I write down word after word, I contemplate the reality of fantasy, the abundance of stupidity, the morality of complacency, the monotony of continuity, the impossibility of integrity, the incomprehensibility of eternity, and the sweet gift of serenity and tranquility.
And I start meditating about the brutality of ideology and the ferocity of idiocy, the audacity of curiosity, the scarcity of charity or generosity, and the legacy of hubris and greed.
And as I write this words on the computer, I speculate about net neutrality, data mining, eavesdropping, deep packet inspection and the encryption of Skype. The names Mark Zuckerberg, Jack Dorsey, Larry Page and Sergey Brin come to my mind and I wonder, how I would explain the secrets of life or anything meaningful in 140 Roman characters.
I reflect about the ability of language to express the ongoing turmoil in my brain with millions of neurons sending electrical impulses back and forth. I start seeking for the questions that can never be answered and for the answers that don’t solve anything and I think about Gertrude Stein and the “Lost Generation” and I think about the International Brigades in the Spanish Civil War and about Hemingway’s cats down in Key West in Florida.
As one idea leads to another one and from there to another one and as the chain reaction in my brain continues unabated, I’m musing about the trickle down effect of corporate bailouts, which has reached now all billionaires and also most of the millionaires and I think about the necessity of cutting social welfare to make funds available for further bailouts, which in the end will benefit everybody except people who do not hold large amounts of corporate shares.
And I think about the Crusades and the Spanish Conquerors and the countless souls that were saved because the delinquents were baptized before they were burned alive, torn apart, or cut into pieces. I think about Abraham and King Solomon, Jesus and Muhammad, and the sex appeal of the Pope (god bless him, he is one of the few bright spots in the dark picture of world news).
I think about the illusion of hope, Obama and Osama and the Nobel Peace Price, I think about just wars, preemptive wars, and holy wars. I imagine the red button and reflect about the morality of obliteration and the ethics of annihilation. I agonize about the acceptance speeches of Nobel laureates Barack Obama and Menachem Begin. Benjamin Netanyahu comes to my mind and I think about the Benjamin’s and Adolf’s of the world, about the Holocaust, about the firebombing of Dresden, about Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I ponder about nuclear just wars, nuclear preemptive wars, nuclear holy wars, Erez Israel, Armageddon, and the “Second Coming”.
And as more and more synapses in my brain receive action potentials and the electrical impulses flow in the axons of my neurons at a faster and faster pace like positrons in the Hadron Collider, I start confusing a choir of agony aunts with vestal virgins, the Bilderberg Group with a charity organization, Fox News with journalism, a group of barking dogs with talk radio and a flock of carrion crows with phoenixes emerging from the nuclear ashes.
But that is as far as it goes, because fortunately I remember again the breathing exercises and mediation practices, that helped me over all the years to cope with the craziness of life. So I sit quietly for some minutes and then I hear Princess Min Ki scratching at the door and I let her in and pet her for a while and she sits beside me softly purring.
And as I calm down and the epinephrine levels diminish again and the dopamine and oxytocin levels stabilize, the storm in my mind subsides and the only thing that emerges from the debris of useless and confusing thoughts are the lyrics of the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. Many artists have recorded this song, but I like the version of Ray Charles best, though he is by no means one of my heroes. I prefer his rendition of the song even to the versions of Nina Simone and Patti LaBelle.
When you walk through a storm,
Hold your head up high,
And don’t be afraid of the dark,
At the end of the storm is a golden sky.
And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown,
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,
And you’ll never walk alone.
You’ll never walk alone
I realize now that I’m tired and that I should go to bed and sleep. I better put this text onto the blog right now because maybe tomorrow I will consider it as too edgy and trow it away and it will never be published.