Wednesday, November 18, 2009


"Paradox as it may seem, we likewise find life meaningful only when we have seen that it is without purpose, and know the 'mystery of the universe' only when we are convinced that we know nothing about it at all."

~ Alan W. Watts from "The Wisdom of Insecurity"

The Grand Mistake

So what if in the perfect nothing. In a nothing, where there was no matter, space, time, or even consciousness; there was a random defect. What if that defect was an infinitesimal blip of consciousness and this colossal mistake was God.

So is this whole universe but a delusion of a mad God driven insane trying to find meaning and quell the immeasurable loneliness of being the only conscious entity, a freak in such a perfect nothingness that there is nothing to even be conscious in?

Are we only the phantoms of dreams, nightmares and delusions of his/her madness? The final screaming exhale of the single and only breath to ever exist.

Or are we the saviors of this God, the only tools who can ease the pain and bring peace to existence; the only hope in all the hopelessness that fills all that is?

So are we God’s attempt to find meaning and give purpose to his/her existence?

Is finding meaning in meaninglessness the purpose of life? Is that purpose, what gives it meaning? When our job be done, will our existence be swept away?

Should I bother finishing work today or have another cup of coffee and stop thinking?

Friday, November 6, 2009


Sitting and wondering
things that stop
my thinker
from kerthinking

All the klanking
and klattering
and drumming
wandering lost
frantically trying
to exit from
my mind

All those thoughts
and iferouslyiferous

just a breeze blowing
in vacant
cavernous voids
wailing and howling
through cracks
and crevasses
swirling dust devils
whirling dervishes
dancing to an
otherworldly beat
in a hole
dry, desolate
wrung dry of
any gist
somewhere between
ears deaf
and lifeless

All these wonderings
dust ladened wind
winderings of
of a perverse
and twisted

Monday, November 2, 2009


by J.J. Lafferty

We are shards
of our shattered dreams
jagged, wounding and wounded
in our incompleteness.

We move
drifting together,
to make a new form,
but fail to fit exactly;

there are holes
where the dark seeps through
destroying the dotted lines
to any destination.

The dark is empty
save for the whimper
and the whisper of a last song,
a light laughter, and
brighter days that like butterflys pass
fleeting away,
through holes
where the light never comes
and the dotted lines
of destination are invisible.