Masters of the Universe

Tell enough stories and in the end, you too can become master of the universe.

Thought, word, deed, reality.

These things follow in a chain of causality that is inescapable. Envision something, speak/write of it, enact it and bring into being.

But be careful, lest you become the progenitor of a new reality.

Doubt the principal?

In the beginning was the word.

Sound familiar?

Okay, okay.  Maybe I just stuffed the whole candy bar in my mouth - bit off more than I can chew. Don't want any Jesus freaks breaking down the gates.

Oh, and for the record, I should mention I'm a Jesus freak.

(pause)

Okay, not really.

But I don't necessarily discriminate against those who do. Jesus, Buddha, do unto others - hey brother if it works, makes a better place for us all - heaven on earth and all that* - I'm in. Religion is the organizing principal and between it and the chaos begat by man's animal nature, we rest delicately balance.

Although, come to think of it, chaos isn't necessarily an animal thing. May need to think on that a bit. But I've totally f*cking digressed and this was headed somewhere. Kinda, sorta.

(end Jesus freak segue)

Rather than create a new universe, let's keep it simple - just start with ourselves this a.m. Self-actualization sounds easy enough, right?

So to recreate yourself, you have to start with your own myth. I say, start with a theme song, or maybe even your own sound track.

(Man, I think I'm really on to something here...)

This morning my mind spit out High Heeled Boys**, which I didn't have on iTunes, so instead I went to "S" on my play list and hit random selection. Sail came on, but that's a little played out, blah blah blah, yada yada yada, ended up surfing around and now I'm listening to Beck.

Beck get's the thought word, deed, reality, thing, btw. And then he f*cks with it. Cobbles words together in seemingly random associations in an absurdist fashion that is both amusing and entertaining.

The question remains, however, whether this is done out of whimsy... or contempt. Maybe a little of both.

And now I've just come up against and obstacle to my theory. I'm now talking about Beck, instead creating my own myth.

I'll get back to you on this.

No, really.

*Ironically, I've just realized, this is a principal neither the big J or B espoused. The big bowl of milk, as my father puts it, comes after we go under the dirt.
**And no, this isn't a veiled reference to my own sexual preferences. The songs been floating on the periphery of my thoughts since I talked started talking about downtown boys, which sounds vaguely similar, but is really about myself and my middle-aged friends playing out our well prolonged adolescence through drinking and posturing.