violins

I have wondered all my life how it will be to hear my violins play. One day I’ll look up into someone’s face and the chords will match, a duet of notes running in tandem, constructive waves stand still in the moment of met glances. One plays, the other compliments, notes compile and structure harmony in the most beautiful sense, and we make music. Whatever my thin tune had sung throughout my solo existence, he pairs his own tones into a song I know and have never heard.
Sometimes I question if I have heard that duet, but have jarred the rhythm so thoroughly that it has unraveled in my own hands.
Maybe Ben Gibbard expresses it better,
“and then I felt the scrapes
from a slippery subway grate
oh how you laughed at my complete
lack of grace
but I could not recall
a more perfect fall
cause when I looked up into your eyes
it didn’t hurt at all and I thought
be still my heart
this could be a brand new start
with you
and it will be clear
if I wake up and you’re still here
in the morning”
I guess that is the realization I’m waiting for, a perfect fall.

color of shadow

I think, act, and function entirely as an artist. Since the right side of my brain has been so actively used as to make me entirely right brained, it’s the only way of functioning I can muster.
In one of my hundreds of walks throughout campus, I decided to look at everything as if I were mixing paint to paint my spectrum of sight. I was surprised to find so much color to the world, even if I am in Utah.
I particularly liked color of shadows, sky holes in the trees, and the color of bare branches against the winter blue sky. Shadows have amazing colors, favorites being the underside of the orange buildings of Heritage Halls and the pale blue of the sky reflected in the snow shaded by trees. The branches of trees turn a strange purple or yellow against the sky, completely contrary to the expected brown, white, and gray of conventional concepts of the average tree. Sky holes are the bright little patches of sky cut out of the general shape of the tree, and are brighter than the rest of the sky.
Said respectfully as possible, God must have been an artist.

significant

Physical Science 100 has disturbed my perspective of the normal world into some absurd realm. Forces push upward simply by being there and having something else push on it. For example, my unreliable rocking chair actually has the audacity to push upward on me, while I exert force by sitting on it. Otherwise, I would sink into the chair and lose all my organized particles among the floor particles, the chair particles, and my scattered miscellaneous clothing particles.
Little things come to exert force on the enormous, like mosquitos hitting a truck exert the same force as the truck does on the stupid mosquitos. Mathematically, the amount of acceleration makes up for the mosquitos’ puny size.
Walking back (again) from the sterilized BYU library one night, and feeling very puny and stupid myself, I found comfort in watching my battered brown doll shoes take long strides over the dark, icy concrete. Whatever my size, my steps pushed the earth back while the earth propelled me forward. To the silent night and the marching bulk of mountains, I was significant. That night I moved the earth, in whatever diminutive degree, and the earth moved me.

blinded

I find that most of my philosophiphizing (yes, that is made up) comes when I am very cold, alone, and extraordinarily tired. Maybe since my entire body is either numb or in pain, my mind finds better pleasure in contemplating abstract theories derived from the most obscure sources. Like classroom blips and fragmented sentences from mundane general ed textbooks.
That night I was walking home from the vacuum of the BYU library, thinking about Galileo. At his death, Galileo was said to have become blind from looking at the sun so often. Here a man was buried into the dark embrace of the earth, while his mind and sight had been filled with light. His efforts of understanding the universe had taken his physical capabilities, but had left him internally lit. I looked heavenward, picturing my sight filled with the white glare of a burning sun, finally understanding universal mechanisms. It was a beautiful sight.

half-cocked

Welcome to my thought process. Most of the time it doesn’t come across as a process, but more of a chaotic mess of synapses that run through my head and onto this blank electronic page. Feel free to consider me a half-cocked nutter (sometimes even I agree). However, know that I’m simply having a good time presenting my philosophy to the world.