Tuesday, November 02, 2004
More is Required
the heart of a warrior,
and the soul of an artist."
Well, rooty-toot! Light the fire and let's go! We have everything, right?
Wrong. I still don't believe in invisible friends.
What is the point of living? I want an answer I can hold in my hands.
Something hard and solid, that won't evaporate in the heat of the day. I
need something I can see, something that is REAL, damnit. Not shadows that
change their interpretation each time the light moves around. I want facts,
not some puny wretched opinion whose validity is only as strong as the
number of voices that hold it.
But what if the very act of trying to verify truth destroys it? What if the
only way to validate the experience of a sand sculpture requires a sensor
with the subtlety of a sledgehammer? It's like sending a bull to select the
bride's new china.
And yet this is all I know. The world is full of lies. Forceful testing is
the only way to find truth. Only that which holds up is true. That's true,
as far as it goes, but what if there are truths too fragile to hold up? No
less true, but fragile, sensitive, easily frightened and driven away,
I'm a sand sculptor. I know all about touch and sensitivity, when I'm on
the beach. You press hard enough to remove the sand that wants removal,
but not so hard that the supporting sand gives way.
The real problem is that I can't fucking stand the person God is making me
into. Fragile, sensitive, lost amid subtle options. Who asked for this?
Well, um, I did. I just didn't know what I was doing. Of course, this
request was driven by looking termination in the face and wanting another
option. Not quite ready to quit. I might as well quit now, however, because
whatever is left after God is finished will not be me.
Only faith gives an idea of what might be. That the Larry-to-come might be
the real Larry, not this failed hard-edged tired one. Faith? That's for the
terminally incompetent. Those who can, do; those who can't, believe. But
I've also proven myself to be one of Them: those terminally incompetent
people who fatuously believe God will help them. Oh, He will, all right,
but they will be irredeemably diminished in the process. Forever asking
permission when what's needed is action.
What good is an engineer's mind, if its only ability is to ape God's
What good is a warrior's heart if it quails at everything but God's truth?
And what damned good is the soul of an artist if its feelings matter only
Is there anything in this for me to care about? Does God look at me and see
an individual, or Tab B to be inserted into Slot B, if he'll only get out
of the way and let it happen? And, if that is my destiny, why was I given
the above characteristics, and more? Tab B just doesn't need anything but
the ability to follow instructions... which is something I've never been
very good at.
I think too much. I wish I didn't care about that.