Large sparks of passing interest are all the world really is. What are you going to do with Tuesday? A beachfront condo? An indifferent moon? These aren’t real objects of discussion. These aren’t the slices of touching-construction you may have thought they were. Particle altering events are the only inputs that volunteer themselves to the process of reality-building. There are a quadrillion dead atoms entombed in a New Jersey mausoleum that really matter.

Going by the strictest definition of the word-thing, more than one event can’t happen in the exact same time and space. However, since more than one mind views things happening in a given point in time and space, the world is false, or at least painfully subjective. The loose ends are mutually exclusive. The existence of more than one brain on the planet precludes the very idea of objectivity.

If you were to catalogue the tin-marble-corrosives that file and rank on a daily basis, your list would be a cyclone of waste and excess. What could you possibly gain by accumulation? This question has an answer built in, but the answer is wrong. By accumulating you don’t gain anything. You can acquire random pieces of made-up fakery with flashing lights and modern design, but the net gain of having so many tools of unbelievability around you is a negative exponent. Think about where your mahogany table might be. That piece of lumber is now occupying a coordinate in your life that is rendered useless. You might have had a great idea where your new coffee table stands. You might have fallen in love inside that convection oven.

Anything that tries to keep adding clarity to the plain wind that you want to feel on your wrists, is not really alive. The only living energy that exists is un-interpretable. No law or handcuff or theory can give credence to the sane passions of random animals. We are left to find a reason to sort things into piles. If we stop sorting and cataloguing we fall into an inescapable pattern of cellular uncertainty. We live our lives, or anyone with any glimmer lives their lives, on the precipice of falling into this uncertainty. Ecstatic uncertainty is what all our blood-pumpers really want. Somehow, though, that mentalbanker-bureaucrat-snaredrum infection inside our spinal chord gives us a putrid rigidity that cannot be outflanked by any legal consumption. Remember when you heard about Eastern practitioners reaching fulfilment through clarity. They were probably doing the exact opposite. They mistook clarity for the blinding radiance of confusion. But, it’s easy to see how they could get confused.

Pulling tighter on the noose that makes people die, there is one objectivity in the universe. I just found out about it. Death is objective. Well, in a more definable definition, permanence is objective. Death is just another word for the permanent extinguishing of love and energy. Death in its 21st century incarnation is portable content for a million manifestations of Rupert Murdoch’s empire. The New York Post knows what to do with death everyday. But death in its natural form, is the only mutual experience that diverse brainwaves can sail upon. When your best friend dies, everyone feels the same module of loss created by the permanent vacuum that is hammered around his existence.

Unfortunately, the universe is not permanent, so clearly and obviously the universe is entirely subjective. The universe moves and shakes with a judicious use of instants. Permanent is the last thing the universe knows how to be. Sure, the universe operates on magnificent scales that seem large from our dwindling perspectives, but expansion, contraction, fire, dark matter, black energy, and subatomic anarchy are all causes and effects of subjectivity.

Death is simply the incapacity to generate new ideas, dreams, and jokes. The manifestation of these intangibles seems to be the only important human function left. My dead best friend was particularly adept at this noble function. Eric Ng still exists. He’s locked into the minds of his hundreds of friends. He is still going to have an influence on the planet. The pain is in the permanence. We have to sustain ourselves with memories of the past instead of experiencing him in the only landscape that matters – the present.

Crucial atoms have left the universe at an imbalance. It’s hard to fall asleep in such a lopsided plane of blankets. When winter decisions react with such indifference it’s a challenge to go to work. It’s a crime to walk down the street. Wasted atoms. Wasted ideas. Wasted dreams. Wasted jokes. Find a damn way to move after you’ve dropped your senses into a spinning window of rapid confusion settlements.