one hundred trillion synapse man

"one hundred trillion synapse man"

better faster stronger

this structure will endure

but not as it has endured

as I have never stood still

this repository contains

experiences and protein sequences

fit for a life, fit for a deluge

of stimuli and images

I am a vessel

there is no flesh and blood

there is no hair and sweat

there is only an impeccable order

descending through the generations

descending through matter in the limbs of my body

minute insights concealed in my membranes

subtly spawned genetically or environmentally

these handed-down tendencies essentially

compose a parade of uncertain moments

passing insubstantially

judge me by my activity

coursing through my neurons

the chemicals concocting my pride

the pathways diverting my anger

a streaming tide of unknown reaction

flowing without pause

expanding the caverns beneath the surface of my thoughts

I may not have a direction

I have a cause and I have a reason

dismember my love

find the anxiety which provokes it

you will notice the tension

your birthright and mine

there is a crack and a schism

never relinquish that

that is life itself



- Alex Abbott

The Prism of all Beauty

I must warn you, that I am not the type for revelations. But who is? Have you ever met someone who’s had a revelation who was the type for it? Or heard of someone? Of course not – revelation in its very nature is entirely unexpected. Archimedes never expected to solve calculus problems in his bathtub, as I am sure his neighbors never rightly expected to see a naked Archimedes running wildly through the streets. And yet, I have had a minor revelation. I was sitting in my bed, thinking about the movie “Up”, and how it hit me so close to home, when I realized something important.

Humor is distance. It is the distance between pain and reconciliation - it is the path a beam of light travels from emptiness to solid form. Humor is a prism – you can see the light running through it and view at first-hand all the colors of human emotion. In that emotional distance, you can see everything: tears and sadness, regret, happiness, betrayal, excitement, anxiety, joy.

Humor is a way to cover up the void, or at least, to cover up what seems to be a void. But the secret to humor is that there really isn’t a void there, after all. I mean, it may seem that way once or twice, or maybe a few times, but when you keep checking, the void disappears. I’ll show you what I mean:

There’s a void, and it could be empty. And you would say, why is the void always empty? And I would say, why does it matter – look how quickly it fills again. The void just fills and refills, the finite running through the infinite, the light running through the prism and allowing its reflections to bounce off of all objects.

Or you would say, why do you suppose there is a void at all? Isn’t there always something filled, so how could it be empty? What kind of a fool would you have to be to believe in an empty space? That’s the joke, really – the joke is that it doesn’t actually matter whether there is an empty space or not. It really doesn’t matter whether there is a void or not, at the end of everything, mostly because it’s always being filled…whether it’s filled with love or compassion or sympathy or understanding or brotherhood…it doesn’t really matter what was there before, but only what is going into it.

And I suppose that’s why I am a humanist. I see light pouring in from all sides – although I must acknowledge I do not know what was here before. For me, it is a mystery – and it is enough to say that there is a void and that it is being filled up, like the beginning of a joke followed by a punchline, or despair followed by consolation. And I see all kinds of beautiful strains of light pouring into the world, beautiful stained glass revelations from every creed and tradition, overflowing with wisdom and compassion.

Before I was here, there was nothing to tell you what I am telling you. Now I am here. That is enough for me. I know my family and friends will ask me, how can you see the light in this world and not acknowledge its beauty? Please believe me, I do. It is beautiful, and ghastly, and haunting.

I can imagine it with some difficulty, as is usually fitting for these sorts of experiences. I begin to imagine that everything which has ever been imagined does not exist. Then it exists, and it is incredible, and stunning - and then I realize, too, that none of it may ever exist again. I don’t know where it comes from, and I don’t know where it’s going. All I know is that I am surrounded by this beautiful light and I want to fill this seemingly empty and desolate canvass with all of its gorgeous shades and pastels, to pass something surreal through that great void and create beauty again.

Living and Knowing Anxiety

Anxiety does not know itself and cannot know itself. Anxiety often barely knows what it fears: it knows the object of its fear well enough, but it does not fully know why it fears. Sometimes, it doesn't even fear that which it claims to fear, but something else entirely.

Oh, many times before I have canvassed a room with fear, tangoed with tension, waltzed with it across corners and over the ceiling tiles, my eyes averting faces, my mind averting anything but the beckoning of fear itself...

I have several friends who can be quite insecure, bemoaning their loneliness and lack of friends. Yet, through their defensiveness, they push people away because of that very insecurity. Sometimes I wonder how often I have done something similar.

How sad and disappointing it is that we so often reach out for a human connection, any kind of connection, and find ourselves grasping empty space.

What's in that space? What lurks between human beings who float indifferently, through the routine, glued to iPods and iPads and cell phones? What exists beneath us, underneath that unheralded territory? Perhaps you will forgive me for navigating to the edge of the map, toward those places long populated but rarely mentioned.

I have this desire to share my most embarrassing foibles and my most dispiriting tales of mishap and woe, to more fully share my overdramatizations and misunderstandings. I don't indulge myself, yet those are the stories of my life - those are the stories of the times that I've most often grown, and triumphed, and overcome.

As human beings, we all have a certain amount of fear, anxiety, and tension which we try to handle on our own. We all have a certain number of stories and secrets we may wish to share, but do not know how to reveal. We all have our hidden histories, our inner torments, our daily distortions.

What would happen if we brought this abyss into the daylight? What would happen if we stretched our shadows into shade? Our shared temptations and struggles could be the refuge for our continued living. I, however, must retreat from this talk of darkness and dimness, at least for a moment.

For all that I have said, anxiety still does not know itself. Sometimes I feel that if other people knew what I had been through, no matter how trivial or mundane, that it would be easier to feel strong and authentic. But I also tell myself again and again that I can't depend on an unknowable sense of how other people may view me for my feeling of well-being.

I know we're all trying to get by. I know I'm not the only one.

I'm not perfect. I'm a human being. And I wish I could allow myself the liberty of being one more often.