Note to Self

We fool ourselves.

We fool ourselves into thinking that we may get the upper hand in our own being. But consciousness is a fleeting animal.

Had an art teacher once who laughed at my frustration... I just couldn't draw what was in my head.

"Will," she said "that's because whats in your head keeps moving."

What would we call whats in our heads but us. But that can't be true. Because your thoughts never stand still. Ideas leave, memories fade. If we are our thoughts, then we have nothing, because our thoughts are like the sky... Always moving, always changing. But, like the sky, always perfect.

Uranus. The sky. No way to but it but Heaven. And every night Heaven would come done and cover the Earth. From their union great beast that Heaven hated spawned. And yet he kept coming. And coming. Until Earth made a sickle to harvest his tenders and put it in the hands of her son Kronos.Kronos is time... That which kills Heaven's ability to love the Earth. Heaven and Earth bring forth time. And from time we have everything we know. Everything... Every thought.

I wish my older self could go back and discuss the matter to a young me. Organize the little me's... I mean my adolescent's dreams.

"You won't always want to animate for Disney," I'd tell him.... "Well you might want to, but sooner or latter you'll realize there's no time."

But I can't can I. Because of course time has me.

I sat myself down not so many years back and said fuck it. What do you want to do.

I listed three things.

1. Make a book. Not a book to make money, but a good one.
2. Make a comic book. Some roll there eyes I'm sure. But there is magic in a comic that literature can't give you.
3. Make a musical album.

I'm not saying that I have an aptitude for any of those things. But, damn it, that's what I wanted to do. I decided that I'd merge the comic and the book into one. Sorta like Watchmen, but on a grander scale that had never been done.

And if I just forced myself to make music week after week... Not really going back to make it perfect, but just keep moving forward, then I'd have something.... In time.

But houses burn done. And fire consumes everything, not really caring if you never buy yourself a new guitar or not. Computers malfunction. And girlfriends get pregnant. On a long enough time line these things are inevitable.

One then finds themselves doing things for necessity. Day after day driving yourself to clock hours, to pull levers or hit switches, to just keep waiting for your ship to come in no matter how late it seems off schedule.

Never keep list. After awhile you just have list of list. List explaining where you put this list to mark off another thing you were supposed to do last week.


But, now I find myself doing some kind of inexplicable art. Some sort of poetic interpretation. And as vain as it might sound, somehow I'm supposed to.

I used to come out of movies and internally replay it in my head. Go through each chunk of drama in my head. Split it into sections of scenes so I could recap it. My Mom hated it. If I saw a film and she asked me about it, I would replay the the entire thing vocally. She just stopped asking me, which kinda sucked because I always envied her story telling abilities.

But if it weren't for these idiosyncrasies. This slight tinge of OCD, then I would never have understood sync.

I have an above average head for symbols as well. And my brothers used to caution me about finding meaning in every thing. When drugs came. It got worse.One morning hung from an Ecstasy binge I roll over to see this painting in a magazine by Jean Claude Gerome called The Snake Charmer and stared at that bitch for what must have been an hour. I picked it apart but every time I tried to tell someone what I was seeing their eyes glazed over.

And then my parents got divorced and a family that had been close for nearly two decades was split. I say close because it was my Mom and Step Dad and there were two kids to each side. Four in total. The boys remained fairly close afterwards.... But of course sooner or later someone does crack and fucks the whole gig up. Before that however I find my self in a little Ford Escort in the very back hatch on the way back from seeing The Fellow Ship of The Ring. I, as said, was in the back, knees to chest while my mom is analysing the symbol of The Fellowship.

"The Fellowship is a family" She says. And all of a sudden I'm mad at her. All she was doing in my eyes was wishful thinking that she and her four broken boys in the car were important.

We weren't important. We were done. Our power and rareness sapped out by time. Cause on a long enough time line everything dissolves.

"You know Mom," I said speaking out of turn, "if you keep finding meaning in everything your gonna drive yourself nuts."

The car got quit. My oldest brother, Kevin, the one who I share actual sibling blood with instead of some bloody secret finger slit by a pocket knife broke the silence with... "Look who's talking." Breaking the ice and giving everyone a laugh.

Years later I being still obsessed with the work of Tolkien find a prize in the local library. Tucked away in a corner is an interview with the great JRR. And I checked that bitch out... I mean what nerd wouldn't. I sat getting ready to go and pull levers and hit switches one morning watch the video and then I hear him in the most charming of English verbalizations.... "Well, I always thought of the Fellowship as a family." I sat motionless for a while.... Then called my Mom and apologized.... She had no idea what I was talking about.


Afterwards how can I not take Sync as special. It is an accumulation of my Time spent here on Earth. Everthing I love wrapped into one.


And yet I have tainted the fuck out of it, leaving my stench everywhere. Setting list and mental plans that Time will never allow.

You know Time raised his Sickle to my modest family on New Years Eve.... Isn't that poetic. The day that we see Kronos, or Saturn with little Baby New Year and my brother Kevin has his unborn baby twins harvested..... What cruel pathetic words I use. What a heartless idea. They were still born and luckily my Mom was visiting him for the Holiday's. She saw him through it.

They were not really expected to make it, I mean the doctors had warned us. But, your never really prepared, how can you be. The embryonic sack didn't split. They could have both made it, but they shouldn't have even been boys. Usaully that kind of pregnancy bears females. And of course one could over power the other, or the get wrapped in each others cord no being in separate sacks.... Which is what happened.

I don't know why I started writing this. Maybe because.... Because it was about time I got it out of my system. Maybe because I'm just sick of watching relationships ruined in time over stupid shit. Maybe I'm just a fucked up sync head who saw The Time Travelers Wife tonight and can't get over the fact that the main character was named after one of my Brothers boys.... Henry. I didn't really realize that until i wrote it. See Henry in the movie can't have kids because they keep time jumping out of the womb.... The other was named William of course my brothers sons I mean. William and Henry. He named them, he told me(sorry Kevin) that they looked like creatures, but he named them.

My Mom saw Avatar at the beginning of the year. And god forgive me I got angry because she found relevance in that movie too. That the twins become one. My brothers twins were one kid, decided to split, and then thought that maybe that wasn't such a good idea. The sack therefore didn't separate and then, after a Time, they died. The now rest in an urn, both their ashes together as one. Just like our blue star on the silver screen becoming one with his dead brother. And everytime I see his deformed legs I see what my Mom meant. I hear my brothers word... Creature.

How fucked up has sync made us. That we find pleasure in the numbers on license plates. That we find poetry beyond explanation in the headline of a newspaper. I live in a fantasy world do I. Well so what, I'm happier than you if you live without the poetry of meaning in your life. After all these broken and forgotten thoughts, everything I see makes me happy.

I can't remember in all my explorations of the unsolvable anything that has given me more insight. Reality as a singular noun makes absolutely no sense to me now.