lately though, i feel like there's this whole separate universe being played out around me and i'm utterly not a part of it. as though there's a club with a secret entrance code, a code which everyone knows except me, and i'm standing at the entrance struggling to understand why no one let me in on the secret.

tonight, as chelsey and i were discussing how to divvy up amongst my coworkers the cookies she had made, we discovered that there were not enough gift bags to hold all the groups of cookies we wanted to distribute. no big deal, right? we'll just put some of the cookies in nice simple plastic bags and hand them out that way, because it's christmas, and they're cookies, dig?

no. dear me, no. such a thing is not conscionably done.

you see, it's the small things that matter. the cookies need the gift bags. worthless without them. it's not the making of the cookies that matters, not the time it spent with mixing bowl or oven, it's the wrapping of the cookies that matters. it's not the words that you say, it's the tone of voice in which you say them. it's not the thing itself, it's the framing and the context and the gist of the thing. it's this parallel world of undercurrents and subterfuge and small all-important para-things that completely fails to resonate with me, to which i have absolutely no sensitivity.

this is why i fucking hate christmas. do you hear me? hate it hate it, with swear words for emphasis. it's not enough that i think well of you, or that i want nice things for you. it is expected that i spend time in thinking about something you secretly want, that i go out and get it for you, and that i wrap it up and put a bow on it, and turn what would be (at any other time of the year) a gesture of goodwill and potentially unexpected awesomeness into just another thing that is done for its own sake. we've turned what might have once been called the spirit of christmas into a fat lot of empty, expected gestures.

a bit unexpected, admittedly, coming from a guy who prides himself on being mindful of the little things.

1. the car thing that's supposed to save the world. you see, those awesome batteries occasionally die. and apparently they're awesomely expensive. but i have some good news! i just paid a bunch of money to someone to basically let me keep using what i had already paid for.
2. the iphone. though at&t doesn't know it's an iphone, and that's kind of at the root of the problem. in order to avoid allowing them to ream you on the data plan you have to perform some digital magic, among other steps. but this magic has certain side effects, including people can't call you. ask your doctor if ultrasn0w is right for you—i should have.
3. the roof. it has holes. in it.
4. the stereo of my other vehicle. a long time ago i turned the ignition in my truck a certain number of clicks so i could listen to the radio or whatever, but went one click too far, and then back a click, all in rapid succession, and this let the magic smoke out of the shiny lights of the faceplate. and magic smoke, as any scientist will tell you, is hard to put back in a device after it has escaped.
5. the nail of my left index finger. and now every time i use it it's like the terrorists won their war against the kittens.
6. the dog. i've made clear my thoughts on the matter of sub-sentient life forms. they exude smelly substances and totally ignorant of this fact. they whine for attention. and not one of them has a job.
7. the internet. conservapedia.com will eventually become skynet.
8. my liver. and i have the other items in this list to blame.

are connected. unlearn and let me clarify, there are two directions on our single dimension why can you not see? unlearn, breathe deep and dive deep and see how

we are connected, not opposites just opposite directions, see how connected we are. peel back my shell my layers to find me, keep peeling to find nothing in the center, i am in the barriers not dividing but connecting, between dust and breath, streetlight and dark, body and body and mind and mind we are

connected, we are not distinct and not discrete and you wonder where and what i am even as you hold my layers? there is

nothing in me, nothing but layers in me, in us, we are connected, we are nothing else, we are nothing and we are

softly, we're so close only you can hurt me. i touch the floor that touches you, we breathe the same air, we are parallel lines we are full of the same information, it makes perfect sense please try to keep up with me. i can ignore nothing, i can't forget no matter how i try. how did i

get here is this another hallucination? i never know, they're so real, more than real, i view it all through a lens i wish i could share, wish you could understand, i feel so out of place here i feel like i'm on fire, i don't know if we're real. i wish you'd trust me i'm the same as i ever was, i'll wake up

soon. speak softly, i prefer the waking dreams, the mind

is a terrible thing

in my future i see data mining and analyses and reports, a dancelike feedback loop of things happening, to data, to knowledge, to other things happening. and i'm good at it, dig? so obviously it's what i want to do forever, right?

we come to the point. i tend to do this thing when i encounter something i like: i binge on it, totally saturate myself with it, eventually get turned off, stop liking it. it's an extremely male-brained thing to do. i do it all the time in many and varied parts of my life, but so far, not in any of the really important parts. my fear is that i'll inexorably work my way through all my dream jobs, all those things i'd do for free if i had nothing else to do, in exactly this manner—loved intensely, but shortly, and discarded.

i like my job. i really do. it gives me little fixes of certain things i like (including, not least of which, money). i want to continue liking my job. but the first six weeks of the year are my hell weeks, and i'm definitely smelling the brimstone; i hope this is not the year i discover i forgot to pack my asbestos armor. or my boots of +5 fire resist.

i wonder how long i could string this metaphor along. if i really tried.

and push against, pull you in, i turn the wheel

and am turned in turn, turn, turn, i turn the wheel that turns

and turns, everything in turn, i am the heat engine, i turn the wheel that turns the world

me. what has changed me? these are not problems these are blessings in disguise, impenetrable disguise. i have changed

everything, can see everywhere. these walls the distance between my mind and yours is unknowable and i see this, such clarity. i've looked everywhere looked for a way to feel this alive. i see black see the white lines of the grid spreading out to forever beyond distance itself to the ideal point but i see it, feel it feel so alive such

clarity, such distance i can see where we are but do not remember getting here, the destination not the journey, something has changed i have lost control have lost my bearing. point me in the right direction walk with me if you will, forget everything take my

hand see the newness, feel me show you nothing has changed.

edge most of the time now, i'm on the edge looking over i can see forever see through everything but you remain opaque, you're the one solid thing but divergent fuzzy around the edges and not well defined, it underscores the need

for change, we've been over this your presence complicates things, you muddy the waters, you divert me. please will you stop whispering. this this is what i'm talking about, there's a voice in the next room it sounds like yours and i my mind makes you real i wish you'd stop whispering do you understand me? do i understand you? it's a

mystery this person i am, i am speaking as clearly as i can i can't seem to wake up. no i don't need your help, i'm fine i just lost my balance further evidence that these pills are just placebos it's a common problem these days, these

data the data they all point to the same thing

under this continuous pressure, it was absolutely assured that we were always comprised of the toughest stuff possible. those with a fortunate allocation of genes departed at a lower rate than those without. over time simple probability distilled the genome.

now we're reaping the benefits of our inherited capability: as a species we're doing well. we've pretty much figured out what to do in order to avoid dying. to this end we've perfected space heaters and crop rotation and vaccines and a hundred thousand other things, and have twice that number of things in development. we have learned to modify our surroundings to suppress the bad stuff, and create environments capable of providing all of our needs. again, we truly can't be blamed for doing so—our deepest, most primal genetic mandate is to keep living, so we'll do what it takes.

but in succeeding so astonishingly, we have removed the very thing that got us here in the first place: pressure.

it's inevitable that little genetic ripples appear. in the beginning they were the cause of our success because they are occasionally beneficial—those that were not eventually corrected themselves through attrition. but with all the cushions we've placed beneath ourselves, with every safety net our large brains and modern life can afford, there is no longer any mechanism to keep these flaws out, so they accumulate.

i believe there will come a point where we will ultimately buckle under the weight. for centuries now we've been moving away from an equilibrium. we've become stagnant and inflated, and a correction is inevitable.

bleak again, opaque, are you my shadow? am i in yours? if i am it's fine don't move, the light hurts me just

now, slow down you're going a mile a minute, i'm having trouble i'm having trouble focusing i'm having trouble i don't remember exactly how i

got here, this meadow is unfamiliar the wind is wrong here, here here you are, you are we are all aspects of the same, it's important you hear what i'm saying, the same entity do you understand? our names the line separating us is so small and so arbitrary, like us, degenerate so fragile i have so much to say and so little

time and world, turn me upside down shake me i'll forget it all. do you understand? i'm sorry if you do i'm sorry if i let you too far in. i need something for the pain. what are you putting into my cup, what have i swallowed, what am i on? i am on radio, i am on holiday, i am on fire, when my fever

breaks help me help me pick up the pieces.