Too much and Never Just Enough


Nope, not another article about any idiot Trump. It's all about me, as usual. In that way, I'm indeed like Trump. At least in my blog. Me and my feelings and my thoughts and my blog- it's all I seem to write about.

In the past silent while, my shunt has been its mercurial self, and hence, I haven't been myself. Ideas galore, fatigue, and bone-weary from the ineptitude that I think I show. Also, I constantly ask myself what difference my writing or painting or singing or reading or coding or parenting or my life itself- makes. If I am to be Hemingway, I'd already been one, won't I? In my rational moments I know it's not for others that I write, but my self. In my other moments that seems selfish. On the other hand, without serving my purposes, am I some other kind of unnatural being that is completely altruistic? Not even plants are that. Surely, not my kind of living thing called humankind. So there! My brain not-withstanding, I am a writer and I shall write and blog and journal whenever I am able. And my seven-eight readers shall read.

Music is the one panacea to the constant thoughts that swirl like a jellyfish in my head. This morning, I was once again watching Aretha Franklin's Kennedy Center tribute to Carole King. Autoplay on YouTube took me next to Stairway to Heaven, a tribute to Led Zeppelin. My only previous exposure to the band was from what my then-teenager brother used to listen, probably their hard-rock, drug-fugue albums. Hate is a very mild word for my reaction. That music made my skin crawl; my then-probably-undamaged-brain wanted to leak out my ears. I remember threatening my poor brother with maiming or mutilation if he ever listened to that band in my vicinity ever again. So he never did, and I never heard this beautiful piece until now.

It takes a damaged person to recognize another, and that is such a wonderful side effect to suffering. The story behind the band reads like a Gothic novel, and most of them are still here. Redemption by simply continuing to live, despite the pain, is a beautiful thing. In a perfectly uniform Universe, no matter would exist. You and I would not exist. Then I have no reason to complain about irregularities in my physical body because, by all uniformity considerations, it shouldn't even exist, healthy or otherwise. Sure, humans make the most preposterous laws and then more ridiculous self-serving addendum. But beyond the pointlessness of our existence, I am indeed glad that I exist, and that suffices!

The point was Led Zeppelin. Beautiful music and the most brain-twisting from the same people. It's an evolution. Just like my growing enough to listen before hitting mute. It's all in a theme. There's no O-Henry twist at the end of it all. Hindsight is 20-20, but I don't have 40% that. So, let go of the need for logic- there's none. It's indeed a stupid human race, but we never had a choice in which form of life we would assume. Merely fortuitous happenstance. Saying thank you and surviving when it's tough; flourishing when it's not!


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