America Falling Through The Memory Hole


America Falling Through The Memory Hole


Last night, Christmas night, there was much dog barking at what seemed like quite regular intervals, of approx 10 min spans.  This had the feel of those times the “illegals” come by our neighborhood; when the Border Patrol seems absent.  For some time I was aware of this holiday window or opening.

It was once full moons that were favored for borderland last step migration.  Now oddly it seems new moons, but holidays were the next most noticeable time.  Sunday nights were running times as well.  These may be kinds of holes folks can fall through into America; seemingly unnoticed openings.

{Dec 25 2009 ice crystal}

This post is about other falling through’s as well; each Americans own story, own history, where yours and my narratives are scripted empirically before us, sometimes in a silence of selfhood, where important to us occasions and events might go on unnoticed by those others in or around the world. Where does what matters begin or end in your consciousness?

We see a phenomenal world, an astounding sunset, a different surprising occurence or achievement, even the most mundane thing can suddenly bloom into ravenous reflection if we look deep into the life right in front and around us.  Yet sharing these joys are another matter.  Who wants to hear everything of our lives? Who truly knows who you are, when you may have unanswered questions yourself of what you have been and where you are running, walking or falling to?

For those of us a bit more alienated at times in our lives; the idea of our story, may be written down as if right to another’s face for posterity. They are in our hearts as we speak; for family in some other state, or a future one of our own, but what if these waiting for connections to be never materialize?

Stories are taped, digitized, rendering a kind of documented experience toward a future goal.  One’s intention which may or may not exist one day. Our self narration, then, takes on shadows of existential attraction and void in search of that other shore.

I had taped exciting thunderstorms in Tucson with my nephews and niece in mind. I wanted to share my excitement and lifelong interest in the weather.  I narrated the scenes through the house; from front door to back.  Hail, continuous lightning, driving rain, street and wash flooding were gleefully recorded. I tried to capture the storms impressiveness, its extreme of nature. It was in a way, a way of saying; my life is exciting at times with these interest.

Construction projects at home and work, flower gardens at home; I thought family was the audience besides my partner then, who did not seem all to excited about some of my interest.  She had her own.  So the receptacle I created for the interest expression identified with me were my family.  I presumed they would be interested, but they seemed to be; not so much.

In effect then, I had projected something of my life into a theoretical vessel which now seemed open at the bottom.  Tapes of these exist, most of which I have never watched myself. Their future may be a dumpster when I die. Some aspect of my life fell through my erroneous expectation, a hole of projection, only me noticing as what I thought was significant went by with all its thrill and inspiration seemingly just mine.  Here, the Internet came along, and now with self publishing another vessel appeared, but of unknown dimension and use.  A new opening seemed to be the world itself.


I this digital age, residuals of a life may be left behind, but who will be seeking them?  This is a great unknown, but I believe it will be of use for any who wish to recreate what it was like in a period.  Never has so much of so many been available to reconstruct the Zeitgeist and persona of a period as has now been made possible and available. I am always interested in other cultures and times of humanity’s and earths past, as I expect someone might will someday wonder into your residual self stored on molecular artifacts and see a bit of gold.

The hole Americans such as I, and perhaps the modern worlds citizens as well, may fall into, is a virtual world of our individual and collective narrative. Two years of blogging now has shown me that people are much more interested overall, from my blog experience, in popular culture and events, and not particularly cultural/political/psychological analysis, my poetry and writing, or otherwise my outlook on the world.  Just a few do.

Mid-afternoon Christmas moon



Luckily, the intrinsic value of a human being is not actually in their popularity, but the honor and integrity in which their life is dedicated to their ideals as they flow into the practical world.

Do I examine my life or just keep my head down in “the flow”?  The flow can be a peaceful place to be immersed in, few if any questions, or an ideology or theology handed over by the experts to direct my life.  The flow can also keep one submerge so long they are drowned in it; no longer knowing the dimensions of their true self.  Am I rely what I am told I am?  What do I know of my inside and its pure and valid relationship with everything else, not just the stream I am in?

These seem to be the kinds of thoughts that fall through the Internet’s holes.   Where they land, if they land, statistics do not necessarily know.  I have trust and faith in my passion for Truth; that I must challenge my confidence most, and look to myself for my criticisms of others. For a while at least, I also have some blog space remaining to put up the visuals of the world around me.

My life experiences a wonderous reality; one challenged profoundly by ignorance and perhaps equally by its corollary of context poor knowledge.  It appears essential to question who we are and where we are going.  Are my doings sustainable or is my posterity one in which my actions are the ones that seal earths and humanity’s fate?

One thing is certain.  To not question will have the effect of not caring. What one person does is not irrelevant. It is all humanity ever is; the cumulative effects of what one person does.

This is said near the end of 2009

Yesterdays photo; The cat and the Christmas tree.