Friday, March 23, 2012

Lack of writing, but not for lack of doing.

Time travel has been good recently.  Solar winds and other star stuff shift and move with a certain grace and with them we bounce around this universe in our various space machines doing sundry of things to keep us busy, alive, and closer to death.  Though, upon inspection of the log, it is apparent that I have neglected multiverse blogosphere in my recent journeys so I will recap.  Two thousand and eleven will mark in my memory the year in which I stood on a cliff at sunrise with the most important human in my life and promised to keep it that way forever or until death, whichever comes first.  Thus, it was a busy year filled with planning, parties, honeymooning, and to top it off, we both took on some big people jobs.  I have taken in with that giant federal corporation that promised the Tennessee Valley freedom from impoverishment through the taming of rivers and electricity.  I have therefore positioned myself squarely with the problem, seeing that the momentum of our self destruction is an irreconcilable force charging through the space-time continuum like a runaway freight train ablaze with 20 million years of dinosaurs behind it.  Susanna, in the spirit of the better half, has taken to helping the weak, broken, and sick.  These are definitely some of the hardest working and yet least appreciated people on the planet.  I love mine, and I’m going to keep her.  Go hug a nurse.

Somehow amidst the chaos and confusion of all these life changers, I managed to get sucked into a zombie vortex on the Santiam River in Oregon: Mystery Worlds at The Weasel.  I’m fumbling in the darkness for words to describe the experience, here are a few that were distributed by my brain on to some papers at a date closer to the event than now:

 Is math created or discovered?  Is there another way to describe the universe?  Some alien language of matter and energy that transcends numbers?

Tfat won with a monster ride of 37 seconds.  Time in the realm is certainly relative.  Therefore we had 3 stopwatches operated by 3 different individuals to ensure some kind of standard outside the realm by which to compare the rides of the day.  This brings me to another point.  We all won!  Each moment, or the collection of all the moments spent exploring the underwater realm for each individual adds up to a circular sum of infinite moments, and I am still watching the cobble along the bottom of the river slide by as our collective ride continues.  I am inspired by Tfats unreasonably effective methods for downtime and I think a movie script is in order following his rise to fame and stardom to be classically followed by an oblivion charc into self-loath, sociopathic behavior and eventually an eternal mystery into the darkest realm of insanity.  I doubt life will imitate this art, as Tfat will surely be mayor of his homeland one day.

A few of us squeezed in an afternoon on the Little White Salmon.  We even got a few ex-east coasters to remind us of the way down.  Nick carries back up at Stove Pipe while Sib. B. Evans rolls off the lip in the photo below.

The rainbow at Spirit was blinding.

May the force be with you.