Look, I made art

 Revision to previous thoughts: 

Art, Science, and Logic are cooperative.

Tired

There is a warm sophisticated comfort that exists only in the night. It reminds me that there are things in the mind that are worth more than any one thing in reality; things like Logic, Mathematics, Music and the things derived from such brilliant masters: Science and Art. As of late my mind has been in pieces. It seems that certainty is demonstrating itself as a surefire sign that I am sorely mistaken. The world, it seems, guns for those who think they know what they're talking about. Nothing isolates you from your friends like confidence.

However, nothing makes you so useless when you are lacking in confidence.

Whatever the case, these mental masters will only instruct within the mind. They do not manifest in anyway in the real world and as a result of this they are predominantly solitary tasks and those that enjoy them are probably very solitary individuals.

Pft,

The mystery in this world is getting harder to find. At first, it rest solely on the people around me. There were my parents, they were worldly and knew what-for. There were firemen, and policemen; brave and protective from the bad guys. Teachers; never wrong. Scientists were the holders of arcane knowledge about the world, the ungraspable by the lay person. They were great.

None of this profundity exists now. They're all just jobs; professions. Done by people. People are assholes. Not all of them. But it's just something they do to get paid.

Creation is not possible.

As of late I have found fault with those who claim to "create." I don't believe anyone can truly "create" anything. Construct, certainly, but create? No, definitely not. See, I think we construct. As humans, the power of creation is not within us, only the power to reorder is. One is restricted to simply re-ordering what might be called "elements" and building up, from those elements, structures which were not erect before. This leads us to an interesting implication. There is only a finite number of elements, and only a finite number of combonations of them. Thus there is only a finite number of structures, or ideas, etc. If one believes time to be infinite, then there has to be a lot of repetition.

The notion of creativity still exists, though. However, with the previously mentioned in mind, it now spans more than just the "arts." Instead, it now lends itself to the fields of engineering, or mathematics, where one's paintbrushes, cameras and actors are replaced with physical matter or mathematical concepts. Using just those elements one can certainly create monuments of artistry if one so desired, but I feel those that weild such elements masterfully might, instead, feel inclined to lend themselves to matters of practicality.

Okay, so why bother bringing this up? Well, such an idea is made to be blatantly obvious is one were to generate every possible permutation of, say, a 512x512 image with the 32 billion colors we have available to us (The number of permutations results in a number which contains more than 2.7 million in length) we would in essence be able to generate every image of every person that has ever existed, will never exist, will exist, every frame of every movie ever made, will never be made, and will be made, every mathematical equation wrong, and right, every possible world line in the physical universe, etc. In a sentence, any image that you can imagine in your mind will be created. Naturally creating every permutation and storing every permutation would take a lot of hard drive space, and a LOT of time (trillions of years), not to mention sorting out all of the useless, nonsense images. So, a friend and I have set our sites on generating just such an application - of course, we aim to make sorting the data, and jumping around the data extremely easy and possible. I just felt the idea was intriguing, however. More later.

So, just like that. It ended. I don't exactly know what ended, but the words echoed in my head: "It ends." I was crossing my driveway at the time, and recognized the distinct voice as my own.

At the time, I was more interested in a dialogue, "What ends?" I questioned. No reply though. Then it hit me that it was odd that I was trying to talk to myself. I let it go; a figment spawned by my weary mind, I rationalized. Dream remnants, if you will.

-

IVC taught me well. There was this perfect balance of mistakes with learning that left me fluent in language and mathematics. I was giddy the morning of my class, I hit up the Phoenix Grill and grabbed a cup of coffee, and figured I should get to class early. I found my room, and thought of my first day of IVC, when I entered the dirty gray room that was soon to be my Philosophy class. "This room is cleaner looking," I noted.

The teacher was soft spoken. His words were precise and descriptive. His vocabulary bested anything I had even experienced. All of his ideas were completed with a glance to the ground and a terse "mmhm," under his breath. I made the mistake of asking a simple question. My mathematics was a little under-exercised, but the confidence was still in it. Like an aged out of shape marathoner believing he could still run a marathon because he did it "one time," I hung around after class and challenged a proof.

"I have a question," I said.

"Alright."

The last person exited the classroom, and he took a seat. The notion that he was nervous passed through my mind (I often find a seat when I am nervous).

I had prepped, I pulled a marker from my backpack, and began to write on the board. Instantly, and I do mean the instant my marker hit the board I was already defeated. The first thought in my mind had been a fallacy. No one was impressed.

I left feeling quite defeated, and shaken.

Similar happenings emerged in my classical mechanics class. My logic skills are still up to par though, so that is a positive.

Beating my head against a wall...

I am so constantly, and tirelessly amazed at the insanity of some particular individuals. Often times, I feel I might very well be arguing with limited mental capacities. So often, it is the case that I am pouring my total effort in to reason and it is as though every single statement I make, exists in isolation, separate from the context, and independent of statements which precede it.

It is surreal. It is as though they are entirely aware of what the truth of the matter is, but do everything they can to evade it.

Recently, the heat as made me tired. So, rather than argue I will just stare, in my little stupor, as they say words that are supposed to hold such profundity but ultimately exist in isolation from any kind of profound truth,

"What is the mathematical formula for math itself?"

"Prove that beauty exists"

"Explain to me how a catapiller becomes a butter fly," My dad says. "If I can't, does this mean there is no explanation?" I wonder to him, out loud. "No, it is just inexperience, with your soul," he responds. A sense of foreboding washes over me. If it makes any sense to say so, my sense of self just sank a little bit, and I do believe the world just got a little darker looking.

Initially, I go in to the conversation, alert, feeling good. Then, about an hour later, I will feel the wear of the conversation. Nothing is getting accomplished, no one is gaining understanding. It's a chance for him to practice his defenses against reason and my chance to practice getting rhetorically defeated by insanity.

I woke up just a few minutes prior to ten in the AM. I grab the coffee cup from the day before sitting on my desk, and flip on my Mr.Coffee cup warmer. I then head downstairs. Every two or three steps the familiar jingle of the television turning on and off can be heard. "It sounds broken," I think to myself. I get downstairs and see my girlfriend's father sitting on the couch, just staring at a blank screen. He is holding the remote and is persistent in his efforts to persuade it to stay on. "It is most definitely broken," state my impulses. Wanting to verify, I ask "Is the TV not working?"

"Sometimes, it just needs a little time to warm up before it turns on."
"Looks broken."

He mumbles something, completely and totally incomprehensible. He doesn't like when people state the horrible truths. With this individual, things just seem to work better when only nice things are said. The TV being broken, and thus stating out loud that it is broken, is just the kind of thing that breaks TVs.

Change of topic

Recently, I've taken to a few "self improvements". I have a nasty habit of harvesting z's amongst the daylight hours. I figure that while most people till the lands during the day, I shall till the books in the night. This isn't always the case I've found. Since the mind has grown accustomed to the summer laze, it has taken its sweet time conjuring up motivation for what, for as accurately as I can recall, were tasks that were automatic. There was a time when I went to the gym everyday and it was easy. Now? I'm a god damned escape artist! From myself! So, I've created a sleep schedule to stick to.

Another thing is this new declaration of vegetarian. The acceptances have been mixed. Some are certain I will explore this avenue for awhile and ditch it, others suggest that I am not even a vegetarian and that this is less than a phase, and some full on think I can do this. Some don't even care - I ask them, "Did you know I declared myself vegetarian?" They look at me, "Really? Cool..." and then a topic change.

I'll elaborate more another time. I need to get to bed now.