Newtonian Physics Vs. God

I'm antsy.  I think it's the snow.

But more notable than my physical jitteriness or caffeinated chemical makeup or even my uncharacteristically anxious demeanor, I have been dwelling on a memory.

I remember the very first time God let me down.

I was standing on a dock and trying to walk on water.  I'd read the stories about how you held up Peter for awhile or how you walked yourself.  When Peter finally fell, you told him it was because he had little faith.  Little, as in miniscule, tiny, microscopic, bantam.  Or was it little, as in casual, insignificant, paltry.  Or little, as in young, because Lord knows my faith was young, as it still is.

So I squeezed my tiny eyes shut and clenched my muscles, because it seemed that made it look like you were thinking hard, and I thought so hard I thought the blood vessels in my head would have had enough, and given up altogether.  I'm not sure why I thought faith happened in my mind or was contingent with my thinking capacity, but it was.

"Mustard seed, mustard seed, mustard seed," I thought.  Little faith like a mustard seed?  Was Peter's significantly littler?  I hadn't had time to peruse these thoughts and sort through which ones I would later throw out as absurdly irrational.

And try as I might, I stepped off that dock only to break through the surface tension.  You see, its Newtonian physics that explain how molecule cohesion is broken with a sufficient force per unit length.  And my faith just wasn't strong enough. Or God wasn't there.

Or God was and God just decided not to do much about it.  And I hold little blame, now that I realize that I never really knew what God was or what faith was or how to acquire it.

But I still remember that sense of hopelessness when I fell off the dock that day.

Bananas in boats

The 1976 Economic Crisis of Great Britain all started off with a diary entry.

Diary of James Callaghan, Prime Minister of Great Britain

March 4, 1976 

Cheerio, Diary.

I've made a huge mistake.  The value of our economy is falling faster than the breasts of a grandmother and I don't know what to do, other than blame the French.  I could call the International Monetary Fund, but that's so "third world".

Following the journal installment, Mr. U.S. Treasury left a message.

"Hey, GB!  How's it going?  You get that package I sent?  I thought you might get a kick out of the Sea Monkeys.  And the orangutan pencil toppers have been sitting in my closet for months, and I realize the joke is outdated, but thought I'd send them anyway.  All that to say, saw the headlines this morning.  Sounds like you guys are in a bit of an economic pickle.  Listen, I don't want to be rude or anything, but...well, you know.  Our dollar is tied to your dollar, you lose we lose, su casa est mi casa, that whole bit, so if you could kind of get on the ball?  That would be great.  And, I didn't want to do this, but if you need money, let me know.  Then you can pay me back later or something.  Like by supporting me in some war or something.  We'll work it out then.  Anyway, kisses."

So while the world bank and the U.S. lent money, Idi Amin, the dictator of Uganda, had a bit more sense of humor.

Economic crisis, eh?
He sent Great Britain a behemothic shipload of bananas.
GB wasn't quite sure what to do with them.  But after all, it is what we do for them.  It makes vaguely rational sense.


So let's analyze.  We, the good ol U.S. of A. is in such a crisis.  And still buying cars and coffee in non-recyclable containers and iPhones and hookers.  We wouldn't take bananas if they sent them.  We are just so affluently arrogant. Prosperously pompous. Extravagantly egotistical. High and mighty and made of money.  Sorry, and thanks for the bananas.

There are things I hate and things I love.

.
i hate that language will never let me say what i want to and i sometimes feel pressured by the need to capitalize words and semi-colon sentances and use nouns as only nouns when "semi-colon" is a perfectly functional verb

And I hate money and the passing of standardized units of exchange because it isn't just dollars.  It doesn't stop at the Presidents in our pockets but it is an exchange of ideas (of poetry) and methods (of invention) and people (of slavery) that are traded.  And there is something so revelatory about this image:

A piece of symbolic paper stamped with "In God We Trust" that sticks out, folded, from the pocket of a stripper.

But the reason I hate is probably related to Hegel's Synthesis proposition.

Thesis + Antithesis = Synthesis
Truth + Untruth = Truth Absolutely
Right + Wrong = Reality
Love + Hate = Self

So I can hate so strongly only because I have been thesis-ized by love.

This really smart lady aka someone on T.V. aka someone with a Ph.D. and grey hair said some stuff.
She said that love manifests it self like an addiction and triggers a dopamine response in the center of the brain.  This tiny red dot in the center of our minds becomes active and controls our every thought-breath and emotion.  From rapture to withdrawal we experience the same effects as a cocaine-induced high.  When the trigger is removed, our addiction becomes stronger.

So alcohol becomes the makeshift dopamine trigger.  That's rationalized, right?

That's really all I was going for here.