I do not watch much television, as is evident by the fact that I actually refer to it as television instead of TV.  Though seriously, I don’t watch it much, but I did watch “Lost” and enjoyed pretty much every minute of it, including the ending.  I should probably be happy with my own satisfaction with the show and just let it be, because I doubt expressing an opinion on how the creators chose to end things, or not end them in a sense, will lead to anything good or pleasant or thoughtful landing in my inbox.  And yet, here I go, into the brutally unforgiving fray of popular TV editorial writing:

The finale was a pretty good, if not perfect, ending to the story of Oceanic Flight 815.  That’s the part that those of us who followed Lost for its mythology sometimes either forgot, or chose to partially ignore.  The subject of the story wasn’t really the Island, or the Others, but the passengers of that flight and a few other characters that were inescapably swept up in the currents of their strange journey.  Basically, we did not get all the answers to all things in that last two and a half hour marathon of commercial interruptions.  What we got was the conclusion of the story that was really being told, for the most part.  We know what ultimately happened to all the really attractive people anyway, and I’m sure that’s all that really counts in TV land.

I guess watching the show could be like watching a World War II movie that is about a particular squad of soldiers.  The movie is about the squad’s struggles and triumphs within a much larger context, and the story can be successful and quite enjoyable without necessarily explaining much of anything about the war itself.  One doesn’t really need to understand what political tensions and turmoil ultimately led a group of nations to go to war to understand why a particular soldier’s story of courage can be dramatic and inspiring.  In other words, it’s ultimately about the characters, not the context, as long as the context is defined enough to present a general theme or background to support the story.

What the Island is, or perhaps more to the point what it represents, is its own rather huge context, as it seems to (possibly) represent some pure source of life, perhaps all life, or all energy on Earth (or clean burning fuel source that we could totally use to replace oil!  or not).  Let’s say that’s even half right, how then do you explain that kind of topic in a weekly Telly-vision program?  Better to incorporate such grand themes into a story that is really about people and their struggles and choices and mistakes, which is something we can all relate to and understand – and a show that can actually have an ending.  Better to not try and explain life, the universe and everything, which I think is where we would have been heading if an explanation of The Light had been forthcoming, because, well, we don’t actually have those answers.  The guys who created Lost don’t have those answers.  Do you have those answers?  And if you shared them with the world would it be, in a sense, the ultimate way to cheat on the biggest test of all time (Life)?  If you have them call me.  I have money.  Not a lot, but perhaps we can work something out.  Would you like a free Z Fighter Alpha T- Shirt?

One of my earliest theories regarding the “secret of the island” was that the Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey would be found buried at the heart of the place.  Didn’t pan out, but then half the reason I proposed the theory was as a way of saying it ultimately wouldn’t matter.  Whatever it was it was going to be a symbol, but not the ultimate answer we were looking for, and are still looking for, as Losties and as humans and as tax payers.  The Light, the Monolith, The Dark Tower, 7 x 9 = 42, etc.  Why am I here (on the Island)? What is my purpose (on the Island)?  I don’t think Jacob really knew, and the chick who smashed his mom’s head in didn’t really know either, except that they needed to keep the lights on all the time or something not good would go down (the power bill?).  They were doing what they believed they had to do, as we all do.  Just keep pressing the button Brotha.  Apparently I believe I just have to keep writing this garbage.

Anyway, at least the James / Sawyer character managed to pull off the trifecta by sleeping with a brunette (Kate), blonde (Juliette) and a redhead (Charlotte) throughout the course of the series.  Although does that last one count, given “Where” it took place?  See, those are the sort of questions that should concern us, does a dude get points for scoring in the after life.  Now that’s heavy stuff.

If I get to heaven as it is portrayed in Lost, who will my last big reunion be with before I “move on”?  With my friends from high school (both of them)?  With the people I once stood in line with at a concert?  It won’t be me and a room full of Victoria’s Secret models…I may not have all the answers but I know that much is true.

In the previous post I mentioned a post from an older blog of mine that had attempted to cover the same topic, or at least begin to approach it.  As misfortune would have it the post was not lost after all, and so now here it is to be puzzled over and frowned at:

_________________________________________________________________

Where am I?  I am on top of a chair, adjacent to a desk, underneath the sky and thankfully a long way from the Sun.  This last detail does not necessarily imply that it is not hot where I am, but rather it is not as hot as it could be and that I am thankful for this fact.

Do you know where I am?  No?  I am within the borders of a country, I am not over the ocean or a lake, but I am above the Earth’s surface.

Eight details as to my position and yet you could be sitting right next to me and have absolutely no idea where I am.

This bit of pointless thinking led me down a new dark alley that apparently I had, until recently, been wise enough to ignore.  Where is my mind?  I know where my brain is of course, and will probably always have a fair idea of where to find that spongy clump of synapses.  But the question is, where is my mind?  And where is your mind?  And can our minds get together for imaginary coffee on the corner of Contemplation Avenue and Philosophical Boulevard?

My mind is to the right of anarchy and to the left of “The Dark One Whose Name We All Forgot Because We All Kept Telling Each Other To Never Say His Name”.  It is above breaking wind in an elevator and beneath picking my nose in public.  It is against censorship and for well edited blogs.  Do you know where my mind is?

Had I the ability to suspend this unfortunate habit of growing old then perhaps I could sit here, in this physical position, and map out quite clearly my mental coordinates.  Or could I?  The issue remains that I must make statements that define how the position of my mind relates to an idea or thought or color, which themselves are defined by how they relate to other thoughts and colorful ideas.  And should I be successful in determining without any doubt precisely how my mind relates to one idea, it may not be an idea your mind relates to at all and thus is of no help in determining how our minds relate to each other.

Where am I?  Can you relate?

_________________________________________________________________

How deep does this putrid pit of profound ponderings go?  There is no telling, but aren’t we all so glad the Internet was invented so people like me could share such nonsense with all you sensible surfers?  And the best news is, I’ve found several more posts from that old blog that are just as insightful and worthy of your time and I will be sharing them soon.

Our bodies are objects in time and space but our minds are singularities that do not exist in either.  This thought, useless as it truly is, reminded me of a post I made on one of my previous blogs, now gone.  The title of that post was “Where is my Mind?”, which then set about defining the “location” of my mind relative to a coordinate system that would make sense for mapping minds.  Not “Where is my Brain”, but where is my Soul, where is the center point of all the thoughts and tastes and perspectives that constitute me and my identity.  Where would that be?  It is not defined by x,y and z coordinates in three dimensional space, and I have serious doubts it is locked into a 1 to 1 relationship with the flow of time.  “What is my Mind?” is another thinking exercise that would probably cover much of the same territory, though any sort of related question that begins with Why would be an entirely different discussion.  The Why discussion would either be nearly impossible to settle in any satisfying form, or is simply not a line that would produce anything useful even if it could be taken all the way to one conclusion or another.  Very likely this is why the idea of God exists and tends to be such a readily acceptable premise.  We need something to put there, in that Why gap, as a placeholder so we can work around and above it.  Insert whatever fanciful version of that idea you find most comfortable to believe in and then let us move along (note: there are no such ideas that are wrong, inadequate or inappropriate – as long as you truly believe in the one you choose, and only you know if you do or not).

I’m not a philosopher, and I’m not a physicist.  I simply have too much imagination, curiosity, and free time for my own good.  I’m sure I am not offering up anything original here, and quite possibly no theories or suppositions I attempt to construct will stand up to even the most simple scrutiny of minds more logical and intelligent than mine.  I just like to think sometimes, the same way some people just like to walk in the park sometimes.

And my favorite thing to think about is to wonder exactly what it is I am doing when I think.  What is a thought, exactly?  When I have a feeling is it a thought, or are there two separate processes at work there?  Do I actively create all of my thoughts, which is to say I would never have any unless I actively (consciously) created them, or is what I consider thinking merely listening to something else that is creating thoughts.  Something else within me that takes all of the sensory information my body pulls in and processes it through set filters of what my current goals are (survival, happiness, 3 consecutive sit ups), what my tolerances or limits are, and a hundred other variables until it balances everything out into a thought for me to perceive.  Am I in control, creating the thoughts that become commands to my body, or am I passively along for the ride, merely experiencing this life but locked into its perspective, along its predetermined path?  Are my thoughts my true voice, or are my thoughts simply an intimate feedback loop supporting my connection with this body, this perspective, this world?  Right now am I really thinking about the socially acceptable limit to the number of silly questions I can get away with in any single blog post?

…and so on.  Part of the reason for this entry stems from a building sense of anticipation for writing a new book.  A new book that, like my first one, will probably never be published or discovered by more than six people.  A book that takes a more lighthearted approach to answering the questions proposed in that last paragraph, and a book that if written will probably be only of any value to me,  just like my first book.  Not that such outcomes discourage me from writing such stories.  For me, it beats walking in the park.

I am not a person of generally strong opinions but perhaps you are.  It is possible you are the sort who clicks about the wonderfully wasted web and drops comments, suggestions, and not so well thought out criticisms on just about anything you know very little about but are enthusiastically willing to get better acquainted with.  It is conceivable that you just cannot resist telling everyone just how their art, writing, game, movie, song, hair, ear wax sculpture or pet clothing line might be vastly “improved” or “made better”.  You might be that person and if so how do you and welcome and I think you’re all right.  The Internet was made for you.  - OR – Perhaps you are of the persuasion that likes to drop by and just crap all over the place, giggling and picking your nose while you let everyone know in the most sincerely unpleasant terms imaginable that their creative contributions to the world are plain not good.  You are not welcome here but cannot be sent home with a note because basically you are what makes the Internet go.  The tango you and the former surfer personality dance eternally is what propels this mini universe of bytes, jpegs and Facebook profiles.

To illustrate, a typical exchange: Post is created, first comment is left, random flame is generated, retort is intelligently presented, another scathingly harsh attack is launched, a question of whether that was necessary is posed, an impressive stream of profanity is let fly, a request is politely asked that such language not be used in civilized conversations, to be followed by a profanity laden rant about jerks who refer to forum or comment threads as civilized conversations, a message packed with high quality snootiness is left that states some one somewhere is offended and that the other person is a child, a response explaining that the commenter’s age is 45 which is followed by more cursing just because it clearly proves precisely just how mature someone really is…and so on.

And so my point, which I rarely have but in this case the following might be considered one:  I will never open comments on my blog.  (I think)

Because, alas, I am already painfully well aware of the fact that I suck.  While I am certain you might be full of incredibly useful ideas on how I might go about ridding myself of at least a little of my suckiness I must say no thank you, I am ok with the sad and joyless state of my abysmal existence.  - OR – You might be willing to happily use your talents for misspellings and all capital letters to tell both me and the world (or the terribly minuscule portion of which visits here) all about the potent and lingering smell of my eternal suckiness.  Kindly move along, we’re good here.

It is not because I am in fact horribly anti-social and have serious emotional issues that I cannot cope with or handle without experimental medication that will likely render me sterile and blind – that’s the sort of thing that keeps me from going outside, not from approving blog comments.

It is because I just don’t know what you expect me to do with these little bits of allegedly helpful info.  When you post a comment suggesting (politely, respectfully, and with the best ego-free intentions) that something might be improved by doing such and so, or made superior by correcting so and such, do you truly, honestly expect the person to read it and say holy cow chips you are absolutely right!  Allow me to improve, correct, update and mangle my personal piece of self expression that clearly and perfectly reflects my own view of the world because that is what of course naturally happens when anyone creates something of their own means and creativity so that it will better align itself with what the world should look like according to the friendly and infinitely helpful person who left that comment!  Until I read the next one and discover that commenter #2 states it is clearly obvious that I need to do something entirely different.  AND…so on.

I’m sure you have a lot of really great and wonderful things to say and I’m sure your dog would love to hear them but you’ll just have to accept the fact that you won’t be able to contribute them here in regards to my talentless art or annoying lack of writing competence.  I realize that with this approach I am not exactly endearing myself to anyone who might be a potential regular visitor to this site, and I accept that.  I’m ok with that.  Life will go on and I will still suck.