The Obscure

The Ambidextrous Universe.

One of the more terrible things about being the child of two of the most intelligent humans on the planet is that there is nothing you can do to quiet the constant noise in your mind. No matter where you are or what you are doing, something is going on in there, some kind of thought or idea that leads indirectly to another seemingly unrelated one, which in turn leads to yet another, and so on and so on incessantly. My brain is filled with strange and useless ideas about philosophy and backwards physics and "What if-isms." I have come to believe that my older sister's mind is filled with intelligent words, and descriptions of scenes and events that may or may not have happened, and how to connect them. In my older sister beats the heart of a writer. On the other side of the spectrum, I am adamant that my younger sister thinks in numbers. She won't show it, no no, but she inherited the mathematical mind and talents of her mother. That is evident from her interest in algebra at the age of nine.
But you see, where my siblings were blessed (or cursed, if you take into account the fact that we are all hopelessly depressive and find it difficult to actually use our talents for anything purposeful) with minds that, with depression overcome, could be put to great use, I got the middle-child's brain. I am neither here nor there, I was good at math in sixth grade, I was good at english in eleventh, now I have dropped out and am slowly losing my grasp on both because my real interest is in things that are not of this world. Perhaps it is the combination of a physicist's mind, a historian's mind (the occupations my parent's do not have, but should) and a over-zealous interest in fiction that makes me think the way I do; but instead of trying to accomplish anything with my unspoken theories on the way the universe works, I simply lie on the floor and let my brain's web spread out to create more of them, and keep them entirely to myself. Instead of taking the small writing talent that was passed down in my genes to write something, anything, worth writing, be it fiction or non, story or history, I stay up at night writing strange poetry and long depressing journal entries.

I tell ya', as far as brains go, I got the short end of the stick. I'd rather be as dumb as a post and have it be complete than to have the partial unusable intelligence that I have. Perhaps that is why I have headaches, there are too many useless thoughts in my brain, and no way to let them out.

Then again, I see where my parents are, I see where my siblings are. We are some of those many who should be accomplishing, and we are some of those many more who have great difficulty doing so. After all, isn't it part of the human condition, to yearn? And to yearn, you must have something blocking you from what you yearn for.
Like it or not, we are Man. We are cursed with logic, and blessed with illogic. We use these hands that should be feet as living tools to perform our tasks. And least likely of all, alone out of all of the living things that walk on the face of this rock, we stand on two legs. I say that a lot, I know, but I can't help but think of how strange it is. In a place where all things have four or more legs, we have two. Maybe the reality of it is simply that that uniqueness is what brings us our pain. All things unique in this world must die, a fish born with lungs must die, a wolf born with empathy must die, we are alone here; we should be extinct. It is the curse of logic that keeps us afloat somewhere between thriving and rotting; we could not live inside of nature, but we alone could leave it behind us and create our own habitat. Yes, we are alone on the Earth, we should be bones in the dust, but we tore ourselves out of that reality. We exist outside the rules of this planet, outside the rules of nature, as a God lives outside the confines of time and space. Perhaps that is what it means to be created in his image.
We can herd the other animals, we can breed them, we can genetically enhance them. We learn about how they function, we understand their thoughts. We mark which ones we will kill and which ones will live until their dying day growing fat on the farm. Are we as small gods on this planet?
If so, then it must be we, and not a higher power, that are not listening. It must be we who are allowing our people to feel pain, to grow sick and to die, to starve and to be mutilated by Evil. It must be we who are routinely sitting and looking on, in complete inaction, as large populations of our people are destroyed. Perhaps that power corrupted us long ago, and we are now cruel and bloody tyrants, ruling over our own destinies. Perhaps we are the cold, cruel, unfeeling God's that mother's cry to when their children are taken from them, who soldiers call out for when they lay bleeding on a battlefield, perhaps it is we who damn our fellows and are damned ourselves in turn. Perhaps we have even become the Devil, in our species' old age. Perhaps we have grown so twisted that we love our own malevolence. Yes, perhaps we will throw ourselves into that lake of fire, come Judgement Day.
Or perhaps this is all the bullshit that runs through a mind with too many thoughts in it and nothing to do with them.
I'd say that is more likely.

I had no idea what I was going to write when I started this post. Perhaps it is the new drugs that have got me going this way. Who knows? In any case, I apologize if you did not enjoy it.
I kind of enjoyed writing it, though.