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I have this theory that the universe was created just because nothing else was going on. Even though it’s not the same concept, we’re kind of like our own Schrodinger’s Cat in this regard, once you start wondering where the hell the cat came from and not simply that there’s a cat in the experiment. I would like to say this spark of creation was on a drunken Friday night, but this was before the sun and the rum and the calendar apps on cell phones.

I have a similar theory when it comes to human creativity: creativity sparks to life when the room is dark – which is not to say the room is empty, but dark, in which the creator pulls away from the things that be to add then to the things that are. The creator reserves a space in his mind for a universe, or many universes, or, it seems, the most one can add to the song of humanity – a single verse, which is kind of like a universe but with more concentrated effort toward accompanying a banjo. Through choice or circumstance, we start anew, or at least create a straight-to-DVD-worthy sequel about five young adults who get lost in a labyrinth of DVD movie aisles all containing movies about five lost young adults.

For instance, there are laws that govern the universe. Gravity – gravity is a law put on display mainly for space dust and old people’s private parts (if you’ve never been to the YMCA to know that). There are similar laws, like what happens when a meteor grows too tired to go on – should it be allowed to buy a gun if it was involuntarily committed to a psychiatric institution for heavenly bodies? There are also rules, it seems, that govern our thoughts. Love and sadness – like a mandatory madness. What happens when people collide like opposing planets. Why no one reads my blog. Why every winter, at my doorstep, is there again the wagging tail of dead dog.

Bridging
vast

spaces

between
what is
and
what is known
as bad poetry.

We become the microcosm of the universe, set to replay like satellites of satellites of our sun, of a much larger picture that gets closer to being over the closer we feel to our understanding having only just begun.

But I have this theory. Upon studying the creativity and the significance of pulling away: it might be time we start thinking about the possibility that the universe we live in is an incomplete project. One day we might even turn the page and be left with an absence so immutable it can never be returned from. Maybe our creator pulled away so we may pull away and create. That’s understandable when we think about how, soon, even we will pull away from our creations, and the creations of the creations of the creations will create crater creatures that eat crackers and smoke crack. We know it’s just around the bend from the other day when we rubbed sticks together to make fire, which your parents then tried to put under your ass until you got a cushy job at K-Mart, like your cousin Mike, and quit this Word nonsense.

There’s this theory: the self didn’t exist until we invented the concept of the self. Before then, people lived in a place where bodily materialism reigned supreme. But there existed another passage of thought – one that said, in the beginning was the Microsoft Word, and that’s quite abstract now isn’t it?

I have this theory: we created the universe, and we continue to create the universe, and from this comes all that can be known. As long as we create the universe, the universe will go on. But if we stop creating the universe, if we stop saying universe, universe, universe, universe, that’s annoying, what will be left will be a reality that is unknown to our reality – we little satellites of consciousness. What will be left would be the blank page, something that can’t be studied, but goes unsaid to the waking Word. When the blank page occurs, both the mind and the matter are dead says the echoing bird.

On a side note, I wonder if the universe is lonely, because I sure am.

I wrote a poem one time several times but since no one reads it so almost like no times at all. The title is Matthew’s Poem, because I’m Matthew and my mind possessed the poem and then the poem possessed me and then I wondered what happened to Matthew as I continued to be. It goes like this, because universal humor trickles down like one god just peed his pants and all the other gods find that rather funny, but rather scary at the same time – because think of the implications if a god could accidentally pee on himself. We’d all be fucked.

Matthew’s Poem

In our dreams we can see the creation of the universe.

In the dream of the universe, the universe can see you.

If we focus on the chaos, we can only see the chaos.

If the chaos is the focal point, you are lost to the universe.

So remember:

The day and the mind move within an inverse relationship of chaos and order.

To make yourself universal is to replace the day with order and the mind with chaos.

To dream is to say you are one who still dreams, and can still bring order to chaos and chaos to order.

And to order in is to take a break and make a little Chinese man appear at your doorstep with sweet n’ sour chicken.

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