Dancing is the one bliss, no but's about it. There ain't no
God, there ain't no science, there ain't shit if we can't move our bodies. Let
me preamble this, though. I envision the entirety of existence as two
conflicting (or, at least, dynamic) components: anti-entropy and entropy,
anti-entropy embodying all that is living and moving and directed forward, and
entropy embodying all that decays, those slowing forces of the universe. These
become more apparent to me when I view everything as being made of the exact
same particles that make everything else (call them atoms, whatever, I don't
care. They're something you can't see, bozo; they could be lil' pieces of
cheese for all we know). Stars form, then explode. But the pieces that they
send off will eventually travel to form a blue planet far, far away, where
someday they formulate an odd looking creature with two eyes, ears, arms and
legs and for some reason it can't stop complaining about how long it just spent
in the airplane terminal, and how they didn't even offer peanuts mid-flight,
Jesus Christ! Sorry, that last bit is more for me than actually conveying my
point. Which is, ahem, soon to come.
So these atoms permeate everything that
exists and for some reason they change, they decay, they alter themselves into
different atoms, but they're never really gone, right? There ain't no END to
the fucks. Atoms just keep trucking along. But what about energy, eh? That
must be it then. Energy's gotta be the God factor, right? The all-existent,
always unseen property that permeates our existence? Well here's me point, buckaroo, King of the Shoes.
Energy is the spark of mass (atoms, matter, cheese, you get it) to align itself
in a way that is pleasurable. Now rope it back in, Slappy, and think of a human dancing. Is
it the way we look when we dance that makes us do it with such ecstasy and
fervor? Possibly, but for the most part we just look like morons. For me, it's the molecular rhythm, the infinitesimal beat that we can't even
acknowledge, that makes us dance so much. It is the one bliss that nothing else
in existence can provide. When I acknowledge my typing of this response as a
function of atoms that became self-aware (and are now becoming self-aware of
the fact that they are, indeed, self-aware; this is getting weird), thinking
suddenly becomes a strenuous effort. It is genuinely hard to fire brainwaves
the more cognizant I become of my mass-ness (cheese-ness), because it is that
feeling, the awareness that I am physically just a lot of tiny bits stuck
together in a suitable pattern, that makes me happiest and most at peace. Happy
not in the "thank Cheese they gave us peanuts on this flight" sense,
but in the "I'm thinking of absolutely nothing" sense. So go dance.
Dance your bones until they resonate. Good vibrations are my religion, and
happiness is my drug.
With boogie,
Hoi Polloi
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