Perception

I apologize in advance for the scatter-brain style of this post. I let my stream of consciousness flow freely,a nd feel that any editing may throw the mood/ message (if there is one).

It seems to me that pleasure is a product of perception. A person like me rarely enjoys things for what they actually are (Friends and music are the only two exceptions I can really put my finger on), but rather he enjoys them for what they seem to be. Summer after freshman year epitomizes this. From this summer was born the Star Trek marathon, and arguably the friendships involved. But let us look back at the history of marathoning; was it not a more intoxicating experience when it began? Prior to the creation of marathons, I had never truly penetrated the night. Sure, I had stayed up late (or early), but never really taken advantage of that time, never really had fun with the night. Because it was mysterious, it was intoxicating. This isn't to say that the quality of marathons has decreased since then (though the frequency certainly has), but now they're more relaxed, and we know what we're doing. We're good at our craft. But the one thing that made Freshman summer so distinctive was the mysterious feeling of it.
I feel this way about many stages of my life. When I was young, it would happen when I discovered a new TV show that really played to my emotions and curiosities. I would completely give into the show, letting it envelope me until I had created a world out of my obsession. Later in my brief life it became new people, and I believe this holds true for people of any age. When you meet new people who seem "cool" to you, you sometimes immediately place them on a pedestal, and adopt an inferiority complex. Deep down you wish you could emulate them, but feel that it is impossible. However, as they become your friends, you get to know all of their flaws intimately. In this way, I often find myself appreciating the presence of new acquaintances (whose character has overwhelmed me) more than that of the old. I guess I'm just reinforcing the age-old saying "You never miss something until it's gone." Really, you have bonded much more with yor friends than a new person, yet your thoughts are filled with the new person. For me, this is because I have a need to experience other "worlds". That is to say, I am very comfortable in my own domain, both physically and mentally. But my ultimate fantasies involve new places and new people. One of my first ideas for a novel was about a boy waking on a sailboat in the middle of the ocean, no memeory of how he got there or who he is. He is the only character in the story, and the entire book revolves around him attempting to discover new lands and peoples, but throughout the entire tale he is alone.
To be honest, isolation fascinates me. That fascination is essentially the flaw in all of my creative writing. I set up a simple plot in which a character is either physically or mentally alone, and try to chronical the mental progression ( or de-evolution) of him or her. Sometimes the character's quest is to escape their isolation, and sometimes it is a quest of understanding its intricacies. I get lost in my own thoughts contemplating the idea of questing for companionship so as to fully enjoy your isolation. Therein lies my creative flaw, then, as my characters may search for companionship or understanding, but I the writer do not wish for them to find it. For the answer does not interest me, but the seemingly unsolvable question.
In life, it seems that we always search for companionship. Indeed, this is the case with me, always hanging out with new people. it is human nature. What fascinates me then, is not man, but an inhuman man, one who baskes in being alone, though it is not what I desire from my own life. We are told by many that we as humans like to feel in control of our surroundings, though we are not in control of anything. I believe i am safe here, but a plummeting plane could kill me instantaneously at any moment. While I do not have a death wish, it is the lack of control that interests me. When I awake on a sailboat in the middle of an endless ocean and no memory, I do not wish to find my autobiography and a map home. For it is far more interesting to believe I am isolated than to know that land lies right over the horizon, just a day away. If I believe I am alone, is my time not better spent contemplating my predicament and discovering things about myself than it is plotting a course home?
The truth is, answers are boring, and from this sprouts my paralyzing fear of the afterlife. The sunniest prediction we ever get about an afterlife is heaven, a haven of peace, together with others, knowing all. But to know all is to have nothing left to seek, and to be eternally bored in your eternal happiness. This is not an original idea, some Greek dude who I don't have the will to look up said this long ago. And he was right. The best I can hope for in an afterlife, if there is one, is an eternal mystery in which progress is made towards an end that never comes, but eternally intrigues.
The truth is, none of this would actually please me in reality. I know that if I were to wake up on a sailboat in the middle of the ocean I would be miserable. But I'd like to think I wouldn't, and after all, mystery is part illusion.

-OSK

'Cause I can't stand to stay
Right where I am
Let the water fill this land
Bring it to your mouth
And pass beyond your lips
No gale can down this ship

And wherever you go
There you are
And if I go
I won't go far