Existence:
I open my eyes. A ceiling, white puffy paint, cracks. In doors. Inside of something. My house. Steven's house, he owns this, I rent it. I am laying down, is it laying or lying. I am on a bed. This bed, it exists in my room, in the house that Steven owns, on the floor and beneath the ceiling. The floor is wood paneling. I know that it exists because I am touching it, seeing it. It exists. I exist. There is proof I exist. Birth certificates, paper trails. My thoughts and my memories they only exist in my mind. Does any of this matter? How do I prove that I exist? What do I leave behind? If I leave something behind will it make me exist? If I fall in a forest will I make a noise? Like 'ow' or 'whoopsidaisey' or ' thunk'?
Time Travel :
I still don't understand time zones. How is it noon here and nine somewhere else? It is already tomorrow. Tomorrow has already been and yesterday was. The present is just the past of the future. As I write this, it is old news, but it is the newest blog post since yesterday. Is it all predetermined? If it is, there is no now. Like this moment right... now...crap it is gone. What I need is a constant(you're welcome Lost fans). Like every time I go to the bathroom, it is the same. That will be my constant. When I pee it will remind that I am in the now, and will always be in the now.
Legacies and The Meaning of life :
I will be remembered as that vain guy who was pretty likable. In the words of Forest Gump: "I don't know if mama is right and everything happens for a reason... or if we are floating around accidental'like on a breeze. But I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time." He had an IQ of 75 and he will be always remembered as a hero, a ping pong star, and a millionaire. And I... I got nothing. Well until I am gone I will just keeping on keeping on. I will stay a romantic without the reverence, a humorist without the social commentary, and a Hemmingway without the impotence. Well, without the impotence, yet. Yet!
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