It’s a perfect day.  The weather is optimized for comfort.  My body is pain free.  And instead of working 12 or 16 hours (really, typically of late), I’ve embraced these superiorly faultless, untainted moments of time, unmediated by mankind, as mine.  All mine. 

Today would be a good day to die.  Right there.  Make the laptop I’m holding my headstone.  Laptop memory’s made of silica and silica is a stone and memory resides in the head.  So what more apropos symbolism for a blogger who’s dead? 

But if truth need be told, I can’t die today.  Because I already died long ago.  And never will again.  Something tells me I expired ultimately upon the birthing edge of humanity under torture of a teased love unreturned.  But unbeknownst to me, I was the primal Narcissus teasing myself most mortally with myself by gazing into an ever-changing, never-returning stream of fluid forgetfulness.  And I was the first to whisper to myself “Yes”, as to commit, and dive deep into that siren-screaming stream, never to resurface with life’s very last gift: death. 

Hence, now I plod onward deathlessly into the rigor of tomorrow.  And I will mourn the passing of the Sun when its time comes.  And as the Earth becomes fuel for Supernova (Sun on steroids), therein shall I, too, blaze like an insomniac space-cowboy into the never-sunset of some imagined eternity’s happenstance.  And, as even as the cosmic shuffle decrees ‘Still more…’ , I will revel in the destruction of the Zodiac and all its constellations as I evolve, molecule by molecule, into yet unexpressed beauteous evolutionary aberrations of dark light and light darkfulness.

Yet, there shall never come a time.  There shall never come a time quite like the perfection of this moment so imperiously unimpelled. 

And thus: what remains, remains.  And with it, the you and I we were (we are) forever.

I remembered this morning that I had forgotten something very important from a while ago: a request from someone (who?) for something (what?). I was haunted by this because I knew that if I didn't remember, this person's request would go unattended and that would be very, very bad.

So I concentrated amidst a torrent of extraneous noise that suddenly seemed to surround me (when you're trying to remember as hard as I was, even a pin's drop sounds like a sonic boom). Suddenly (English for Eureka!), I remembered! (The particulars of which are so boring I won't even mention.) I had nearly given up hope, but remembered! And I was so impressed by my own prowess at recall that I started thinking: Damn, I have a great memory!

However, after a while's reflection, I started to think that I wouldn't have needed such a great memory for remembrance if I just had a great mind to collect it all and hold it ready to begin with. In other words, having a great deep recall memory (where you can dig to churn things up) may be indicative of a mind that's too puny to hold it all at once. Maybe Einstein had no such memory at all but merely kept his swirling universes of thought ever present in his mind like a PC with infinite RAM and no hard drive: always current, ever-recombining, explosively evolving.

Hence, here's a pop-up thought: the greatest minds may have little or no offline memory.  And those with the greatest offline memories may be compensating for a miniscule ready access mind. You can just forget those with neither…hmm…forget?…what?

…never mind.