i would never find such joy in anything as my child self could find in a pile of legos. i loved these little inter-connectable colored blocks. there was never a time that i had embedded myself within a levy available bricks that i wasn’t inspired by the discovery of new and exciting combinations of bricks. as i got older, the kits became more complex and more detailed and the pieces got smaller, more intricate and stylized. legos allowed me to build anything i could imagine. i could conceive of new technologies and imbue them into my creations. i could command whole armies, legions of dark and right, into an interplanetary armageddon. i could build entire cities and smite them only to rebuild them again and again, each iteration bearing some semblance to its parent, but having its own unique history and grandeur. no matter what scale i was working at, be it a tower or a city, a fleet or a flagship, there was only one fate for every creation – devastation. catastrophes ranged from dogfights to earthquakes to plain old crashes. whatever crisis the story called for, destruction of my creations was as much fun as constructing them.
although, i always took solace in the recovery and examination of the wreckage, taking time to examine every detached piece, every severance point, even the distribution of the pieces around the site. while many of my models bore predictable weak spots, no two events resulted in quite the same shape, quantity, or distribution of fragments, even when i compulsively reenacted the same story over and over. i could always count on the wings falling off, vehicle roofs separating, spilling the payload and pilots, and taller buildings breaking somewhere in the middle, but i couldn’t say how many buildings would fall, or if the nose of the aircraft would break away, or if any of the cars had built would exhibit any signs of impact at all. most of the time, i was too engrossed to really notice, but sometimes the details of the damage were crucial to the tale i was spinning, and i needed things to randomly break in a specific way. yet no matter how i manipulated the pieces to achieve the desired damage upon impact, every model seemed to break apart irrespective of the ways in which i had weakened it.
what i didn’t know then (but which enthralls me today) was that i was experiencing a phenomena we've come to call chaos theory. and it doesn't just sound cool, chaos theory is astounding in its simplicity, stunning in its implication, and keen in its universality. prior to chaos theory, conventional wisdom held that miniscule variations in calculating equations have insignificant impact on the final product (e.g. rounding .0012345 down to .00123). and to the extent that physicists and mathematicians implemented these operations, their relatively low level of precision was inconsequential. in fact, it wasn’t until the advent of electronic computers that automated complex calculations that we realized the shortcomings of rounding or truncating increasingly small numbers. complex computer models, like those used to predict weather for example, perform millions, if not billions, of operations to calculate the effects of weather elements on each other and ultimately project a future model to aid in forecasting. so while rounding down a couple of decimal points doesn’t amount to much variation in a small routine, these minor fluctuations factor outward, and small variations grow exponentially more consequential when applied billions of times in a single routine. the effect is that we are limited in how far out from a set of initial values (an observation or measurement) we can go to make any reliable prediction.
a second consequence of chaos theory is that, despite the uncertainty inherent in complex systems, certain phenomena tend to show up again and again. in keeping with the weather example, weather elements themselves are wild an unpredictable, but trends emerge over time (climate) and certain weather features (snow, hail, tornadoes, hurricanes) are routinely observed in a number of “unrelated” weather events. amidst the seeming randomness and unpredictability that characterizes a complex system like the weather, distinct, repetitive features become apparent – evidence of some kind of order within the disorder. repeating patterns found within chaos also appear to be scalable, taking a similar structure at varying levels of magnification. much like a mountain, jagged and rough in organization, is comprised of millions of smaller rocks, pebbles, and boulders, rough and jagged in organization. distinct repeating patterns exist in all complex systems, at all scales, including the most complex system of all – the universe. just as storms in any weather system tend to adopt a circular structure of motion around a vortex of some kind, so do electrons adopt a circular path around a nucleus; as moons tend to orbit planets, so do planets orbit suns; and as stars orbit black holes in the centers of their galaxies, so might galaxies circle some cosmic center.
now, you wouldn’t be thinking i would drag you through a crash course on chaos theory without relating it to something profound, did you? i hope not, because not only is chaos theory a fascinating and lucrative development in science and philosophy, but i’ve been able to apply it directly to my life. i’ve begun to recognize distinct, repeating patterns within my own existence. not the least striking of which is that my patterns of play with the most beloved artifact of my childhood continue to reemerge in my adult life. i build intimate relationships, i construct whole narratives based on those perceptions, i marvel at the depth and uniqueness of my architecture, but when the turbulence of everyday life shakes these fantasies, i willfully deconstruct them, sometimes gracefully, most often haphazardly.
i’ve known this about myself for a long time. i’ve always felt comfort in chaos; disorder always seemed to make the most sense to me; everything is entropic….everything.
the trouble is, i’ve usually recognized this tendency after the fact, after my world has crumbled, after my realities have decayed, once again, into their basic elements, and i’m left standing amongst half recognizable remnants of what used to be, while trying to piece back together something that was going somewhere, something that was working, at least moreso than the disarray.
so why does this matter now? well, i’m at a place i’ve never been before. not only have i embarked upon a relationship that’s beyond expression, but i’m nearing the completion of an academic goal and i’ve started to see myself for what i am rather than what i’m not, in short, i’m building what may well be the most stable, most supportive, most congruent reality i’ve ever taken part in, yet this path is wrought with uncertainty and fear. i’m staring down the mortality of my betrothed, which, in turn, reminds me directly of my own mortality and threatens to unravel the very fabric of stability that we’ve worked so hard to weave.
even with all that portends an eventual collapse, i can’t shake the feeling that it will be me that ends up kicking the keystone that holds this all together; that no matter how happy i am, no matter how fulfilling my life becomes, i will have this urge to revert back to the old ravaged landscape of my former self. perhaps i’m being paranoid, perhaps i’m truly changing, and perhaps this is the very conversation i had to have with myself to subvert the cycle. all i really can know at this point is how it has been and how i don’t want it to be anymore.
life is not legos. the building blocks of love don’t fall neatly apart and lend themselves to being reorganized and restructured to make a better whole. they are always weakened by the disaster, and never seem to fit together the way they once did. keeping it intact is the key to maintaining love’s stable structure.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Box
when i was seventeen and i initially fell out on my own, one of the first things i purchased was a cigar box; a cherry, mahogany colored cigar box. i carved a satellite picture of the world from space from some magazine and lacquered it onto the lid with clear finger-nail polish. my intention for this box was succinct; i planned to use it to hold my drug paraphernalia – pipes, papers, filters, my stash, even a tooter, just in case.
but it wasn’t long before my habit outgrew my box. it had never lost its utility, though. i kept extra screens there, a spare pack of papers, a lighter, a couple of extra metal pipe pieces, but not enough to make anything convenient to smoke from. the tooter never could stay in its place. there were serious times, dry times, even times when the razors and the mirror found a place inside its walls. but they had never stayed more than a week. ever.
i can safely say that after over a decade of memories, this box is no longer home to certain things. no more seals, no powders, no blades or plates; no needles, no glass, no unmarked pills; no one-way tickets. it is the life of an addict, though, to know that this box is never empty. what lies within are medicines of various kinds, homages as well as warnings, and tools of obsolete methods to be acknowledged and thought of as such.
this box will never be too far tucked away. i refuse to completely hide myself in the status quo. in many ways, my past is my present. my shadows are very much a part of the light. i am well aware that the very fact that my past is so shaded is a direct result of the brightness that surrounds me now, and i know that while it is good to hide in the shade sometimes, the bitter cold and lack of sunshine stifles most forms of life.
this earthly box may house the tools to sow the seeds, but only outside this box can a tree bearing fruits of wisdom and compassion be allowed to grow.
but it wasn’t long before my habit outgrew my box. it had never lost its utility, though. i kept extra screens there, a spare pack of papers, a lighter, a couple of extra metal pipe pieces, but not enough to make anything convenient to smoke from. the tooter never could stay in its place. there were serious times, dry times, even times when the razors and the mirror found a place inside its walls. but they had never stayed more than a week. ever.
i can safely say that after over a decade of memories, this box is no longer home to certain things. no more seals, no powders, no blades or plates; no needles, no glass, no unmarked pills; no one-way tickets. it is the life of an addict, though, to know that this box is never empty. what lies within are medicines of various kinds, homages as well as warnings, and tools of obsolete methods to be acknowledged and thought of as such.
this box will never be too far tucked away. i refuse to completely hide myself in the status quo. in many ways, my past is my present. my shadows are very much a part of the light. i am well aware that the very fact that my past is so shaded is a direct result of the brightness that surrounds me now, and i know that while it is good to hide in the shade sometimes, the bitter cold and lack of sunshine stifles most forms of life.
this earthly box may house the tools to sow the seeds, but only outside this box can a tree bearing fruits of wisdom and compassion be allowed to grow.
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Uncertaint E. Principle
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wile E. Coyote. I am far more superior, faster, larger, and more cunning than you are. And I am going to eat you.”
-the Kaiyoat
wile e. coyote is , hands down, my most influential character. every kid needs role model, and i found mine in a cartoon. his perseverance was pitiful yet inspiring, his plans charmingly absurd, and actions malevolent, but harmless. ha! okay, so it’s clear that my take on this cartoon’s significance has matured some. be that as it may, suffice it to say that good ol’ wile e. was kind of an unwitting mentor (unwitting, indeed!). he always had the coolest rube goldberg machines, the idea of a being ‘supergenius’ is alluring at any age, and, aside from the ‘round-the-clock workers at acme’s shipping department, he relied on no one but himself. no matter how reliable his schemes were to fail, it only ever made sense to start over and try again. and again. and again. so enamored do we become in the starting over and over, that we lose sight of why he’s chasing the roadrunner in the first place.
of course, my admiration couldn’t stop there. being a child supergenius myself, i began to notice things in the coyote’s world. particularly how it wasn’t until wile e. had realized he had walked off a cliff that he began to fall. not until he was aware of his circumstances was he affected by them. i remember wondering if that would work for me, too. was this to be my cure? my few year-old brain became convinced that denial was to be my path to normalcy. after all, what i don’t know can’t hurt me, right?
unfortunately, my parents didn’t share in my enthusiasm. as far as they were concerned, i still had cf whether i “knew” it or not. i was going to have to take pills and do my nebs just like before. or was i? i mean, they can’t make me inhale, they can’t force me take those pills; especially if they didn’t know i wasn’t taking them. and so, like the coyote and roadrunner, i entered into a kind of cat and mouse game. after all, it was my life at stake. it was me who was going to have to live with the consequences, and my child supergenius self knew this. what it also knew was that all i had to do was remain unaware of my situation; and taking pills and doing nebs did not suit my denial well. unlike the coyote, who never seemed to be able to set a decent trap or, for universe’s sake, not look down, i was pretty good at dodging my parent’s watchful eye, even with my blinders on.
what i didn’t know at the time, was that every thwarted treatment, every vomited pill, every discarded bottle was the acknowledgment that locked the reality in place. my very rejection of cf was the observation that set the free-fall in motion. and i hadn’t even noticed i’d been falling! by the time i finally hit bottom a good twenty years later, i had bounced off of enough outcroppings and protrusions that all i could do was look backwards towards the top and laugh...and cry...and smoke a joint...and masturbate...and lament about how my life should never have been left in the hands of such a disassociated maladroit child. i mean, a child supergenius is still a child, after all.
-the Kaiyoat
wile e. coyote is , hands down, my most influential character. every kid needs role model, and i found mine in a cartoon. his perseverance was pitiful yet inspiring, his plans charmingly absurd, and actions malevolent, but harmless. ha! okay, so it’s clear that my take on this cartoon’s significance has matured some. be that as it may, suffice it to say that good ol’ wile e. was kind of an unwitting mentor (unwitting, indeed!). he always had the coolest rube goldberg machines, the idea of a being ‘supergenius’ is alluring at any age, and, aside from the ‘round-the-clock workers at acme’s shipping department, he relied on no one but himself. no matter how reliable his schemes were to fail, it only ever made sense to start over and try again. and again. and again. so enamored do we become in the starting over and over, that we lose sight of why he’s chasing the roadrunner in the first place.
of course, my admiration couldn’t stop there. being a child supergenius myself, i began to notice things in the coyote’s world. particularly how it wasn’t until wile e. had realized he had walked off a cliff that he began to fall. not until he was aware of his circumstances was he affected by them. i remember wondering if that would work for me, too. was this to be my cure? my few year-old brain became convinced that denial was to be my path to normalcy. after all, what i don’t know can’t hurt me, right?
unfortunately, my parents didn’t share in my enthusiasm. as far as they were concerned, i still had cf whether i “knew” it or not. i was going to have to take pills and do my nebs just like before. or was i? i mean, they can’t make me inhale, they can’t force me take those pills; especially if they didn’t know i wasn’t taking them. and so, like the coyote and roadrunner, i entered into a kind of cat and mouse game. after all, it was my life at stake. it was me who was going to have to live with the consequences, and my child supergenius self knew this. what it also knew was that all i had to do was remain unaware of my situation; and taking pills and doing nebs did not suit my denial well. unlike the coyote, who never seemed to be able to set a decent trap or, for universe’s sake, not look down, i was pretty good at dodging my parent’s watchful eye, even with my blinders on.
what i didn’t know at the time, was that every thwarted treatment, every vomited pill, every discarded bottle was the acknowledgment that locked the reality in place. my very rejection of cf was the observation that set the free-fall in motion. and i hadn’t even noticed i’d been falling! by the time i finally hit bottom a good twenty years later, i had bounced off of enough outcroppings and protrusions that all i could do was look backwards towards the top and laugh...and cry...and smoke a joint...and masturbate...and lament about how my life should never have been left in the hands of such a disassociated maladroit child. i mean, a child supergenius is still a child, after all.
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