All That Will Be Left Is Us

My thumb hurts. It was recently that I discovered this, but I feel it may have been this way for some time. Obviously, I do not know why it is. I may try to figure it out, but I may not as well. For isn't a bit of mystery good for us? Even if it's just something simple like a minor, unexplained pain. Sure, it could be uncomfortable (pain, specifically), but I at least like not knowing some things. The larger the scale, the more intriguing I find it, and the more drawn I am.

I suppose this may be why death so fascinates mankind. An eternity of darkness, pain, light, joy, nothingness, fulfillment, sadness, what have you. It is the ultimate unknown, and it comes to each of us as it wills. Some find their solace in religion, others in science, others in nothing. But when we reach the end, each and every one of us, we tremble. We are shaken by the magnitude of what is about to happen, we revel in the ending of these days, we cry out for something. Whether those things be in fear, elation, or vain, is up to you.

Screw You, Juno MacGuff

I recently gave a friend a Lee Ranaldo solo album, the reaction to which being "This is awful. It's just noise." This wasn't an unsolicited offering, mind you. But it got me to thinking. I'm sure this person had some kind of expectation for the album, an expectation that was quite clearly unfulfilled. What it got me thinking was that the reason I like things like that is because I'm interested in both the creation of music and its destruction. Look at a lot of my favorite artists as well. What do a majority of them have in common? They were revolutionaries of their craft. But going back, the reason I like the destruction, or maybe deconstruction, of music, is because it sheds far more light on to what goes into its creation than the actual creation itself.

To each their own, and the judgement of others.