we know of an ancient radiation

first off, some beach pictures. who says oregon is cold? the anthill-looking lump behind matches (in his huck-finn-rolled pants) is actually a colossal spire of rock far-off in the surf, and the kiddos are rooting around for shells, sparklies and shinies (of the larger persuasion in the sediment scale). matches does not actually know the couple in the last one, but certainly they were photogenic~




and after much searching, m finally found a piece or two of sea-glass.

every time matches sits where he is currently sitting, people somehow decide to swarm in on both sides of him and light up cigarettes and/or cigars. what does one do in this situation? m was here first. that will be item number twelve that he misses from colorado: government fume-control.

matches is currently being battered about in the gauntlet to try and control his own thoughts, and thereby his destiny. had a few discussions on the subject, and it was basically decided that as human beings, we have the ability to control what (and when) we think about. these loose thoughts define our consciousness, our moods, so it seems best to cord the reins in your own hands, to actively defend against the haunts and the wraiths that may steal your attention and motivation. we all do this economically on a day-to-day basis, but certainly there exists subject-matter that tends to dominate the playing field. this is the sort of chess game that matches is talking about.

so far it is proving to be a tricky tricky endeavor; there are rules of physics here that mattress is for the most part unfamiliar with. it seems to be a game of blinders, a strobing vision...toying with distraction as a means of passing the time. it works, it fails; life is a grand experiment in the liminal middle-grounds. occasionally, a volcanically-dynamic moment will come along...some epiphany, something that eclipses everything else. those are the easy times. certainly m's mind can carry him to lofty heights, but he lists upon those clouds and cannot maintain his balance for long. those are usually when he feels on top of his game...the best, most true incarnation of himself that is possible. surfing on a rocket. the turbulence is part of what makes it brilliant; pinwheeling chaos only making for prettier colors. this is why matches used to take philosophy classes shortly after dawn, when they will set a precedent for many following hours.

"An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day."
~ H.D. Thoreau

this game of escapism and ignoring is not easy on most days, though. one would think that after living for 24 years, the mind would be a little better understood. but matches bailed on his psychology major long ago, so he cannot map himself with terms and buzzwords. probably for the best, he thinks; self-discovery is a dish best-served single. sarah told antimatter that the latter should read select parts of 'the secret', which he is reluctant to do because the goldmine of his bookshelf has always maintained a measured skepticism for anything that oprah latches onto. but, it is always nice to have some tangible sentences, or even just words, to hang your own cloaks and ideas about yourself on. so maybe he will look into it, if for nothing more than to stretch his vocabulary, and thus his ability to express himself even to himself, into the depths of some psychological dimension.

can he control his mind when he is dreaming? not yet; those are the worst and best times. but at least that has helped him to understand something else more, if only by a shade.
dreams are a brilliantly-strange manifestation of identity anyway, so perhaps it is better to focus on the infinitely-more malleable conscious thoughts for now : ) it's always possible that the latter will follow suit, and then matches may be left with a flush~ a formidable hand for most any occasion.