Call me crazy but,

is it a little strange to sit on the East coast and be extremely confused by how--thousands of miles away--there's a girl sitting on the West coast thinking about you?  Is the world so big after all?

Is it possible that everyone

has a little Tyler Durden buried deep inside of then. An adversary. Hasatan. A little Id to your big Ego.


Or have I truly lost it?


What happens when your Ego dies?  What happens when the Id and superego take over all that you are?  In that state, does it really matter.  I mean, we often ask ourselves that question: "Does it really matter?" It's part of our regular hedonistic calculus. But when there's no Ego and all we have is Id... Compulsion... the concepts of mattering and not mattering are irrelevant.


Maybe God is dead. But we didn't murder him. He doesn't die because of us. He dies to us. Like an infant's mind cannot comprehend the continuity of mother's face behind his hands, when we hide our faces from God, we may continue about our business and forget that he's there.


{How do I fill my void?}

The more I learn

the less I know.

Maybe you've heard that line before. Intellectual property aside, I'm borrowing it for the time being to make a point.

My point is: The only way I can make points is because I know things. )Whether my knowledge is faulty or not is a completely different inquiry.) I come to know things by mastering them. My mind has grappled with them and struggled until dawn with their intricacies. And while I have conquered this wild knowledge, I have come away damaged.

My mind's hip is out.

The more I learn, the more inadequate my learning feels. The more I explore, the more wilderness I find. And this is only in my personal field of study! If there's this much to be absorbed in the liberal arts, what kind of boundless Elysium is to be found in science and engineering as well?

So I find myself crippled. Timid. Afraid to display my knowledge for fear that some other Wild Knowledge will dispute me and render me inadequate.

This is the challenge of Academia. To speak out into uncertainty, bringing light and taunting what lives in the darkness of ignorance.

How often

do you think about what really matters in your life?


Since leaving home, I've become a traveler. A migrant. Like so many others, I'm being thrown into a Cuisinart mixer of ideas, concepts, views, personalities, religions, and cults.  Looking in the mirror every morning, I see a torrent of confusion, mediocrity, and neurosis.


Allow me to explain: When I say neurosis, I mean that affliction of the mind whereby a person simply does not know. Like an electric motor on an insufficient battery, my mind hums and warbles ineffectually.


In that silver glass, where once I beheld a fierce, adamant idealist, there is now a conformist without a cause. My own Wesley Gibson in my head.


An ignorant man has the blessing of mobility. He may move about his mind freely, globbing together idea with idea, trying through this wild alchemy to create something cogent--something solid. An academic is imprisoned in his knowledge. His world is closing in. He pushes to obtain new thoughts like one would press against a wall of hard rubber--trying to rupture it. Ever the while, conflicting views and opinions hum about his head like hundreds of mayflies. But once he breaks into the next chamber of thought, relief like a gale refreshes him for the next encounter. the next struggle.