What more can I do, what else is there to say? Nothing seems to matter much anyway.

I used to write really bad poetry on bar napkins, on a barstool, at the bar. It made no sense to do that, wanting to attract attention but dramatically rejecting it when it came. At least they noticed me, I thought. There was a need to be superlative, the bestest mostest weirdest ugliest. I achieved that status and more, because I was the most undesirable, the one who always went home alone when the lights came on.

What kind of crap is it that runs through my veins and turns day into night and night into an infinitely and incrementally darkening abyss? Scooby Do, where are you? I think I’m right her, but someone or something is sitting on me and blocking out the light. The nonsense is winning and has sense running for the hills. The hills are not alive with the sound of music, unless you count the gators.

Nonsense. I have written nonsense. I have no sense to emote today. It is the first day of the rest of my life or the last day of the beginning of my death. Sometimes there is no real difference between the two. I have always known that, and no amount of “Happiness is a choice” is going to change that. This is no time for platitudes.

On any given day, I can see clearly now (with or without the song) and understand there is nothing to see. There is the passage of time and that dull sound that signifies motion but progress is imperceptible. I cannot see that anything has changed at the moment it changes, but the cumulative effect generally lends itself to stark realization. At the moment of the Presidential inauguration of 2016, nothing actually changed. Four years later, everything had changed, all hinged on that moment in 2016.

That’s how the universe actually works, one moment that leverages the next and the next and so on and so on and son. Ad infinitum. We donm’t speek Latin any longer, but most of the language I speak today has its roots in Latin. We build things. We build things on top of other things and alongside other things and then we have new things. That’s how we do this world, minute by minute.

Deconstructing things isn’t terribly productive, but that often makes way for new things. We don’t really take anything away from deconstruction, or learn anything. If our construction fails, it usually self-destructs and we can learn from that if we pay attention, but deconstruction really only serves our egos. Like the old mama’s admonition of “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it.” And so we come back to the power. Who has power to build, who has power to destroy, who has power to make things happen?

Who indeed has that power? I contend that power is a relationship, because you cannot have power without having something else. Something else that has less power, or something else that has no power, or something else that yields. Sitting here all by myself power is irrelevant. It only becomes relevant when I have something to move against, or move with, in the quest for some achievement.

I do a disservice to the reality of power when I see it solely as a means to an end. Power is the manifestation of energy as directed toward a finite point of time and space. I am wondering if I should not see other humans as measures of energy rather than as measures of power. A political dictator is only as powerful as we allow them to be, although we forget that. Perhaps, however, the charismatic dictator has enough energy to attract complimentary energies and thus manifest enough power to achieve a goal.

Force is the fundamental result of an interaction between two objects, while power is an expression of energy consumed over time (work), of which force is an element. Force and power can both be described and measured, but a force is an actual physical phenomenon, and power in itself is not.

I suppose the point is that power is consumptive. Power consumes energy over time, and that is equivalent to work. If I have little energy, I can’t get much work done. If there’s a lot of work to be done, I’ll have to find more energy, either my own or from an external source. That’s what slavery was for. That’s what sweat shops are for. That’s what corporations are for. All of those systems serve to amplify the amount of energy available to do work, and work yields a product that can yield a net gain of some commodity. Welcome to capitalism.

When I do work, I have to account for how much force is required to overcome the inertia of things I need to move, or change. Once I’ve moved the object, I’ve consumed energy to do that, according to the force I’ve produced. Power is how much energy I’ve consumed over the time it takes to achieve the desired result. I might have that wrong, but that’s how I’m thinking about it right now. More research is called for, but it’s a work in progress.

I’ve got to muster up enough power to find a @$&! job. Sooner rather than later. It’s beginning to stress me out. OK, it’s stressed me out significantly already, so I’ve got to stop eating Golden Oreos and get my fat ass up and rolling in a coherent fashion. This has gotten redickuless. And yes, that is a word. A word of my own making. Creativity is mine.