we keep it locked like dominoes

it would seem, lately, that thoughts are being marginalized by the rapidity of their succession and replacement. matches believes that this case spreads far beyond his own individual experience, that it dips into the generalities of the gene pool and is becoming somewhat of a problem. investigate yourself and see if your attention span has become somewhat corroded, like a grandfather clock with aged and rusted gears...apply this to any occupation of your time, stir, and see what bubbles up to the surface.

what do we really get out of most immersions of our time? how deep do we actually spiral into anything beyond the constant fluctuations of our lives? most people will pick up a book, read four pages, and move on to something else. get cracking on a job at work, only to commit dallyingly and thrift around the internet every other set of minutes. wrap snugly into a conversation, only to hypermagnetize and push away, only to trail off mid-sentence in the wake of some sidewalk-passing person or interesting two-second happenstance. there is something, some unrest, burrowing deeper and deeper into us....and for every millimeter it gains, it is reflected outward in magnifications and multiplications.

the worst of it is our growing inability to be alone, to self-sustain, to steal away into the darkness and proceed in some intangible direction, unmapped on the radars of others. matches speaks of thoughts, of personalities (which is perhaps an inappropriate word as it begs the question of company...a "personality" is only an applicable word insofar as it defines one person's lines against the silhouette of another's), of whatever that point of consciousness is that sleeps about an inch-and-a-half behind your eyes or around the borders of your brain, depending upon whom you ask~ are you a seaworthy captain who welcomes the storm with a glimmer of madness in his eyes, or do you turn back shivering from the breezes when you feel them winding thicker, and then thicker, like strands curling around the basin of a cotton-candy machine?

a constant barrage of distractions and stimuli takes away our abilities to really be with or commit to a thought....they get both lodged and lost (fallen behind) within the ever-flowing stream of ideas, or events, or what have you in the way of distractions. how often is it that we actually sit with an idea, alone, turning it over in our hands like a snow globe (one of matches' favorite images)? how often does the average person meditate upon possibilities, upon potentials? so often our thoughts fly like darts, straight to the target of utility, and do not stray beyond or beside their prescribed paths. this makes for good workers....but not an imaginative and sane populous. matches has spent a good deal of time at meditation centers in respective corners of colorado...how fascinating an occupation of one's time. how dizzying and without landmarks; so unlike real life where the mountains are always west. it is extremely difficult at first to orient one's self within your own mind, and thus it is so easy to see why people would choose distraction over immersion. but it is such an unreal landscape, such a curious place to travel to. it is always new, always interesting, always morphing seasons with the rapidity of clouds changing shapes...languidly, but look away and...drastically! how mercilessly without a sound color scheme...there are malaised purples swirled in with coralled oranges and green greens.

will get back to this point...chris wants to play dominoes. how odd, considering the name of the post~

"in every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty."
~ ralph waldo emerson