My webdesigner’s block (like “writer’s block”) has eased up, but my existential crisis is still going strong. I expressed my thoughts on that, in this Facebook status update:
“Seriously? This?”. We’ve got the survival part down, for the most part. And yet what do we do next? Most of us just subsist. What a squandering of resources – the resource of the human spirit. Earth needs a plan.
I could say more — Facebook status updates are limited to only a few words. My other preoccupations lately include realizing how at age 40+, I look back at 30 year olds like I’m looking back in time, feeling that biology and the need to reproduce are either fading or more important than ever — I can’t decide which, but I trend towards thinking that, as we search for meaning in life, many turn towards the belief that reproducing is the “purpose”, the purpose that I feel is lacking. But I cannot abide by how, if reproduction is the purpose, then our purpose is not even something we have thought of with our own minds (if it were, we could rightly be proud of it). Rather, if reproduction is our purpose, we simply have the same purpose all other life has, down to the smallest amoebas. And as such, it still feels like we need a “better idea”. A better idea for the world, for the Earth, for what we are DOING here.
I mentioned sometimes reproduction feels more important. I don’t mean to say I feel more aroused, despite the hints of Spring that are starting to emerge. Rather, I find myself wondering — again with a post-40 perspective — if sex is really only erotic when the prospect for reproduction is strong. When you’re young, there’s always the dread risk of pregnancy, and yet isn’t it that same risk which is the very catalyst which drives our urges, no matter how we may deny that fact? So when one is beyond age 40, and the possibility of pregnancy becomes vague (assuming declining fertility in both men and women), does sex for pleasure change? Devoid of the risk of pregnancy, and now filled with an awareness that the reason for sex was reproduction — does the absence of that reason mean an absence of passion? (Perhaps for the over-thinking mind!). And by that same line of thought, does passion now require an intent to impregnate? Am I feeling the last gasp of my fertile days, and with it, thoughts that the only sex that would be passionate would be risky sex, sex with a still-fertile 30-year old, who has a potential to have a child even as my age makes it more unlikely that I would be able to be a parent to a child? I suppose not… but it seems that way to me sometimes. Cavemen on sidewalks.
As for a purpose… the night is late and I’m not going to write ideas on that here, at this time. The only idea coming to mind at the moment involves rocket ships to other galaxies, and the obvious sexual metaphors for that are too obvious for me to state that idea without deconstructing it in some detail. Which I haven’t time for now. To sleep.
I feel that I have absolutely no ideas for any of my web site clients. None. I am drawing complete blanks.
Target is hiding its slumping sales by widening its aisles and making each rack 2/3rds as tall.
If I was a child, my reaction would have been “neat, a more airy layout!” but as an adult, I recognize it for what it is — the end of people buying things, continued.
Strange-ass dream in which David Bowie and his entourage were on tour, and rather than stay in a hotel they’d pick a house that looked fancy and large enough to house everyone, storm in, and offer the owner $3,000 per night in exchange for full reign of the house. In this case, the surprised homeowner stepped out of the shower to find an aggressive-looking Asian manager standing there — for all appearances, a possible home-invader — offering him cash. Dave had picked the house based on it looking sufficiently mansion-y and modern. The kids who lived there insisted that the style of the home was “Monterey-ny”, not European as Bowie said. I wasn’t clear on if the people who lived there had to move out or just make themselves scarce, but in any case, the house was Bowie’s for probably 3 days.