More magic.

I just realized one of the reasons I like chess so much.
In life, you usually can't create things out of thin air. "Matter can neither be created nor destroyed." Similarly, all of the fields of science I have studied tell me that you can't create or destroy energy.

But something funny happens in chess. And I guess in other games and life.
You can make a decision, move a pawn, exchange queens, etc., and suddenly you have more or less of something. Quality. If I move my pawns in a way that blocks one bishops movements. It becomes "bad--" a "bad bishop." Typically knights and bishops are worth about the same in value. But suddenly, I feel much more inclined to trade. And so, to improve my position, I can trade my "bad" bishop for my opponent's knight. It might look like things are equal at first glance, but I'm really creating more quality in my position.

They Love me anyway

It's been a while since I posted.
I guess I should feel guilty.
But I don't.
Somebody's giving somebody a night-call to tell them how they feel. And Rachel is reading The Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls.
There's something inside me. It's hard to explain.
Only this song can get it right.
Somebody called me pretentious. Maybe because he's stupid. Maybe I'm pretentious.
Only the beat is honest.

I don't eat. I don't sleep. I do nothing but

When I think about the lake, I am under the deep green water.
When I think about the mountain, I am thousands of feet in the air breathing the sweet mountain air.
When I think about running, I am at terminal velocity--at light speed--the fastest I can imagine going.

Descartes was right, but there's something more.
I think in the plural. Therefore, I am here and there.
I am everywhere I've ever been and everywhere I've seen on TV and in magazines. I'm the black boy eating rice and the Royal Prince. I'm my food and the plates and table I eat off of. I am the frequencies of light that neither you or I will ever see. We are in our breath. We are in the water beating in each others hearts.

Not even my words, thoughts, and actions are boundaries for the sub-division of existence I label as "I". As existence wets the fabric of time and space, I am expanding with it.

And even though I am unstoppably divergent, I find you wherever I go.

It'll be nice to be human again after the past few years.
If I ever have been human. If I get to be human.

When you're a ghost, you still have to inhale and exhale like everyone else.
But it's not the same as breathing.

You still see the sunlight.
But every ray passes through you on it's way to something more existing.
You'll see me, now, my pale golden skin glistening with new sweat.

I can feel my nerves waking up.
I can feel the icky cold shivers oscillating as I shrug off my death.
I welcome the goosebumps.

Being granted life scares me sick. Sick to think of everything I could lose.
But it's worth it.
My blood is boiling at room temperature
and I'm trading in my invincibility
because being tough
isn't worth
the chill of heavy dirt, slimy skin, and the paper coffin I was buried in.

Blood and Muscle

After a bad night, I crawl into the cab of my car and ignite it.
It powers up with a whir of mechanical parts that are mostly a mystery to me.
It's comforting to have something predictable under foot. Something that will follow my orders with unquestioning loyalty. With ignorant, uncalculating precision.

But no matter how hot the engine gets, and despite what the sweat stains on my driver-side seats might suggest, there's a warmth missing.

I'm running away from myself so fast.
A propulsion from my former-and-present-self so fast, that I might as well have never existed.
Just a blink of light. A whisper of wind. A dash of sand floating in the hot, humid summer air.

I want to burn myself, just to have energy to go ever faster. To find a newer me. Just to burn me all up again.

There's something in a Sunday/

That makes a body feel alone/And Lord there's nothing short of dying.../That sounds as lonesome as the sound/Of a sleeping city side-walk, and Sunday morning coming down.

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