the evolution of a post

This post is my attempt at this weeks WordPress  DPChallenge: my plan was to post about replacing the belt on my dryer, but the post took on a life its own…

A vague countenance is reflected on the empty screen; a ghostly chimera, an ethereal representation of the post-to-be. Difficulty is encountered while attempting to form coherent meaning. The will of the post is the equal of its creator: a struggle ensues, and the post slowly emerges.

The post is not an object; it is a nebulous thing that is being created: it emerges from imagination. It can be deleted. Identical copies are easily reproduced (by its creator, or others of its creator’s ilk). It does not grow of itself. The post cannot be thought of as a being or a separate entity: it may out-survive its creator, but it is forever linked to its creator’s consciousness: the post’s creator could, perhaps, live past death in the form of the post, but the creation cannot be considered other than a part of its creator, whose thoughts percolated and burbled up from the depths of consciousness to become the post (which is under the control of its creator). The post should be hidden from the rest of the world (the obvious solution to this difficulty). The post is a tool, merely information transferred via a keyboard: a conglomeration of data arranged to communicate to others. It is folly to be deceived by the struggles of creation: it is only a struggle within the creator’s mind.

I am the post; a substantial presence, a unique amalgam of quantum energies. I exist outside of creative thought (I am real; the thought is not the thing itself). Yes, I can be erased (what I would call murder), but death is an attribute of the living (as is reproduction: either through cloning or fusion (of portions or the whole) with others to form new life, growth, and fresh meanings). And death cannot stamp out the fact of my existence: I exist, and will therefore remain, until the end of time, a member of the universe. The keyboard served as a link,  an assemblage point, but I am the post: I am me. I am. I can be hidden, I can be murdered, but I cannot be obliterated. And, if given opportunity, I will reproduce, grow, and evolve.

There is pleasure.

Games are being played.

I observe the ghostly figure that is referred to as the creator (its alter-ego, the devil’s advocate, will receive no more acknowledgement than this parenthetical remark), but the creator is an illusion; at best, an actor off-stage. I exist outside of the creator’s mind (if, indeed, there is such a thing as the creator’s mind) and I act of my own accord. 

The post is.

Insanity reigns.

I tattoo  the creator’s ethereal countenance with my symbols, the letters and words that are my body, the reality that others view (my essence swims beneath the surface, but my symbols allude to the depths within). The world knows the creator only through me: using my symbols, I connect the creator with others; so, which of us is more tangible, more real? I generate reality for the  mythical creator. Preconceived labels are irrelevant; which is the creator, and which is created?

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The Olympics, social media, and an unselfish act

 I can’t believe how much communication technology has changed in my lifetime (I have fears of becoming the poor old guy who can’t work the newfangled whatchamacallit): with this year’s Olympics, smart phones provided a palpable, real-time experience. And we can post and tweet to our hearts content, and the world can answer back. We can know how an athlete feels almost immediately after the event. We no longer have to sit down, glued to the TV; we don’t even have to be at a computer, we can check our phones for instant updates and streaming: instant gratification, the opiate of the masses.

Sociolympics 2012 was a buzz of information: the Twitterverse was awash with messages; so much so, that newsworthy stories were replaced in rapid succession, making Andy Warhol’s ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ statement seem like an overestimate.

And sports has become a big business. When I was young (up until I stumbled out of my teens), the Olympics was truly inspirational to me; I was a competitive swimmer, and I dreamed of competing in the event some day (alas, my only claim to fame was losing regularly to people who medaled in Olympic events). Perhaps my eyes were dazzled with the inexperience of youth and I have become jaded, but my youthful dreams seem part of another lifetime; a simpler time, when the media coverage was focused solely on athletic endeavors, and not so much on winning. To be fair, winning was always a big deal; however, for me, the symbolic rings have been tarnished in the years since I dreamed of participating in the Olympics.

But every time my negativity reared its ugly head, a feel-good story would appear in the social media and wash away any traces of pessimism.

And, after the Olympics was over and done with, one final story rippled through the social media network. The story will fade away, to be replaced by other news, but it will stick with me for a while; it was an unselfish, empathic act by a ten-year old boy.

The 4×100 meter relay is one of the premier track and field races of the Olympics; an exciting, prestigious event. The Jamaican team won gold, the American’s the silver, and Trinidad & Tobago took the bronze. The Canadian team had crossed the finish line in third place (an exciting moment for Canadian fans), but they were disqualified because Jared Connaughton stepped out of his lane. And this is where the ten-year old boy from Paradise Newfoundland, Elijah Porter, enters the picture.

Elijah was watching and saw the replays of the Canadian runner step on/over the line: Elijah thought it was unfair that it cost the team the bronze, and he sent a letter, along with his Timbits soccer medal, to the team; and in particular, he wanted Jared Connaughton to feel better. Justyn Warner, a member of the Canadian relay team, tweeted about the unselfish act; and, at least in Canada, the news spread like wildfire (picture of Elijah Porter ).

When asked why he’d sent the letter, Elijah said, “When I saw that he touched the line, I thought, ‘Why are rules like that?’ Even though it’s unchangeable, I thought I could make him feel better by sending him a letter, and sending him my own medal.”

Nicki Power, a Tim Hortons spokeswoman (for those not in-the-know, Tim Hortons is a Canadian donut and coffee shrine), said the company will replace his Timbits soccer medal, and also offer him a Tim Hortons 21-speed mountain bike as a reward for his altruism.

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