.valis.

When did everything become so detail-oriented? I find myself asking this more and more these days, rhetorically, of course. It would be daft to expect an answer to the question. Still, it hangs in the air, like a word balloon from a comic book, visible to only me but somehow sensed by everyone else. Like the thundercloud that follows cartoon characters. Its a curse of my introspective nature, I suppose. Some people question the details, and what they are, and what they represent; I question the need for them in the first place.

I've been biding my time, waiting for the right moment to... I don't know yet. My mind has started to feel as if its preparing for some momentous flash of insight, when I will suddenly understand everything; I'll know what's wrong with me, why the world is that way it is, why the planets are misaligned, what the hidden secret of pi is, the name of the gnostic god, how many licks does it take, the actuality of the universal constant... It will all be revealed. But... my practical side realizes this is a blind rationalization, and that more than likely I will spend my entire life waiting for a moment that will never come. Though I suppose that's life, such as it is. We swim in the spaces between content and context.


I don't pretend to understand the whims and whiles of my brain chemistry. Philip K. Dick said, "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." As a generally faithless person, this brings me some small comfort.