The Way She Goes

     One of the most influential phrases that I've ever heard was "It's the way she goes." I heard it first when I was watching the Trailer Park Boys and Ray was out gambling. When he lost, he said, "It's the way she goes." "It" was luck. A very simple logic, either it does or it doesn't. That's the way the muse works, either you're there or you aren't. Walking home from having a few drinks, I had the most brilliant idea I've ever had, but as the liquor set in - I lost it all. Something distracted me from my thought process and an hour later, I'm left wondering what that idea was.

     Has your grandmother said, if you can't remember what you were going to say, it must not have been important? I still remember being in my grandmother's kitchen when I was trying to regale her of a story of kindergarten but my thoughts came out faster than my words and I went ass over tea kettle. That's the muse and she's a fickle bitch. You could be in the zone, throwing bombs downfield and then you have a wet fart and it throws you off your game. Steven Pressfield talks about it in his book, "The War of Art" how the muse moves in and out.

     Full disclosure, I've always considered the idea of reality as a frequency and my attention, my locus, focuses on a certain frequency. The world exists beyond my focus, which may be a computer screen or a fleeting thought. However, there are actions and ideas going through the minds of co-workers in the same building, in the same neighborhood and expanding out infinitesimally. I like to make it more malleable.  I think of existence was an old-fashioned record or CD for the kids reading this. My attention is the needle or laser and it's focused on a groove in the album or CD. There is album/CD before and ahead of the laser but the only thing that matters is the laser/needle and where it is now. Let's say there is a force that skews the laser/needle to a different spot in the album/CD. The muse is the force and it moves me somewhere else.

     Where am I now? I still can't remember the epic idea I thought of while listening to a podcast regarding the intentions of extraterrestrial beings but now I'm thinking about writing an independent news outlet here in Portland. Was that previous idea suppose to happen or was it just the seed of what I was suppose to really do? I've been propelled towards journalism for quite some time, but it's been masked in escapades such as these. The topic in transhumanism is that we are the sex organs of the cyborgs. A marriage of flesh and technology. Maybe that's how thoughts work - it may not be their intended consequence but the bi-product. How many endeavors have you had where you started at Point A with the intent of Point B but landed at Point Q?

There's no ending to this. You're suppose to draw your own conclusions.