String

Note to reader: This is a recent idea of mine, and not an "oldie", being improperly transcribed. . .

  It's funny (to me, at least) how an idea can roll around in the head for years, and then for decades; and you just never seem to get around to saying it aloud. String, what a concept! Don't you just find the stuff to be fascinating?. . . Okey-dokey, so maybe not? Let's just say that there may be legit reasons that I've been a bit hesitant so far to wax eloquent on the theme? I shall next purport to read your mind!
  You, without doubt, just said on the inside; "So blockhead, what's so great about string anyhow?". Do I win a prize for nailing it? And I would then perform a masterful switcheroo on you, and declare that block-headedness aside for the nonce, it's much more a block-heartedness we observe here! Ain't that a doozy?
  See? Life is a big, big "knot", and what (prey tell?); are knots built-of, anyway Mister?  Are "knots", and I mean here all-knots, are knots (by definition); untie-able? C'mon, you've surely wondered that. . . haven't you? We could re-phrase if you'd like that better. Is the mysteriously backward, abstruse, and blindly contradicting "nature of things" (down here at least) solvable? I mean, is there really such a thing, as a "happily ever-after", or is that just another of our chronic, and pointless hallucinations? String baby! That's where it's at! Hey, work with me here, will ya?
  Considered as a topological set, we infer, but cannot consistently demonstrate; "Any knot that was (historically) tied, is able to be un-done". Now, the solute might well elude us, perhaps for years, and then for decades; but the basic point here remains sound. . . I think!
  I've been wondering about this basic problem, for most of my life. As a boy, I was simply delighted. . . with knots! String? The coolest stuff ever!. .  Maybe? If it would make you more comfortable here, I shall try to employ human-speak, rather than mike-speak, for clarity's sake; you see? The basic "problem" of my life might well be typified and demonstrated by "string", but the  normal way to say such, would sound much more like: "Is hope itself, humanly defined, a working thing, or just another of our bizarre fixations?". This I wondered, over and over again. For years! As viewed from "down here, on the ground", does the word "hope" even have a meaningful context, much less, a realizable reality? This, I wondered! Indeed-ie, I did.
  Even as a boy, the usual batch of "hopes and dreams" foisted-off on the young, by the old (and discontented!) looked to be some pretty thin gruel. As an adult, I've learned to flatly reject such junk. And indeed, junk it be. "Any boy can grow-up to President!", they glumly informed me. If that ostrich refused to fly, hows about, "The American dream, is alive for us all!"? Excuse me, while I pause. . . to puke in my sock! And when push comes (inevitably) to ugly, we can always resort to, "Above all, believe in yourself (and don't forget to get a college degree, while you're at it), and hold onto (!) your dream!". Never did I say, but often thought about such drivel and pablum; "Say there pal, you wouldn't happen to have a king sized dose of caffeine plus nicotine that I could bum off you? I appear to be nodding off, over here". What we assert by such mean-hearted (block-hearts we!) cynicism, is to protect the heart from further damage, to do some damage control already! We end up, not actually wanting those unattainable "hopes", because it hurts so damned much to find them to be just another of our crummy mirages. . .
  To my mind, the real "issue" wasn't exactly whether all-knots can be un-done, so much as how to not (legitimately) quit trying? As a cast-aways, after the ship went down; we (clearly) are being forced "to make-do". It, for us at least, never has been a question of "reaching the stars", the basic idea is; "Can I find a pine cone which will function as a hammer? Forget the "luxury suites" aboard the boat already, we busy are cobbling together lean-tos, out of sticks over here Mack". We need tools. . . in order to make tools! And uhm, those went down with the ship. . . might as well deal with it. And this block-heartedness of ours, to a large extent; "is me". It's all about string, I tell ya!
  From quite an early age, this type of mean-heartedness, was the norm for me. See? I preferred (thank you very much) to name such "realism", okay? It appeared to me, that the prospect of growing old, was something like: "Learn to tolerate the stupidities of others (a lot!), and then "retire" (quit dealing with pin-heads at work, finally!); and pass-on to at least one or two more generations the basic delusion, that all knots are un-do-able (however unable I personally might have proven to be at the task?)". So, the big brainwave over here; is to loaf around, and lie to little kids? Wow. . . sign me up? Who, in their right mind could possibly care? We are hearing that "hope" definitely exists, and simultaneously that there are no working examples thereof? Why is this considered "convincing"?
  The whole deal about becoming a "somebody" down here in this idiot rathole, for some odd reason, just never "appealed to me". Beats me, "Why ?"; but just incidentally, have you noticed? "Noticed what?" say you.
  Those, uhm. . . "somebodies" which you have personally encountered down here, uh, did you "like" them? I am curious here, why precisely do you enjoy being "looked down on"? Is it some personal thrill for you to be ordered about, and ignored? And the "upside" here, is that you-too can indeed "ascend"? Count me, (for one) out! Because, see? One of the basic elementals of this age, is that the wealth-power matrix. . . "bends". . . you!
  Sure, we all start out, wanting to be both a "great-one" while (somehow) remaining humble and accessible. Sure Pal, tell it to the judge. Newsflash; this just in? You can't get there from here, may as well admit it. Money/power/fame, makes you "like it-is" (butt ugly), you don't make "it like-you"! Even as a boy, I knew that, how come you didn't? And the deceit of it all, is that the old already know this, and simultaneously refuse to pass that tidbit on? So, what do I have against kids anyhow, so as to join in this conspiracy of silence anyway? This type of thing "is me", or more accurately, "was me"? Something New is entered the human equation!
  The undoing of knots, can and often does occur, but "oddly, or surprisingly so". It isn't like an accident, it's much more like a surprise party. Joe Schlemiel comes home after another day at the (dumb) grindstone, in which the rich grow richer (do we ever-ever hear, "Thanks Joe!"? Hell no.), and surprise! Friends, family, food, and zany talk, come as an unforseeable solution to life's consistent heartbreak. Such formats as; a warm two handed grasp, an eye-ball to eye-ball "We love you Joe!", and a friendly punch on the shoulder. The human aspect of breaking knots, isn't to "overlook" them exactly, it's moreso a "compensation, a better-realer second-place finish". After all, the first place prize is already claimed by a real bunghole. . . Let him enjoy it; all alone. The un-done knot, for us mere humans, is a glad relief at being "low", a warmness and friendliness among "the wrong types", and best of all, surprisingly enough, I too am included!
  Lord Christ lives here! Among the riff-raff, the "wrong kind", He too is slapped on the back, enjoying a brew, a nice cigar, and just good ol' home-talk! He's one of us by golly! As such, He is the Real Deal, on that "local boy makes good, hometown proud" gig. And, as good as it is (really good!), that solution, can never "be enough" to basically, and actually un-tie. . . my sad knot. However fine it is, it remains "compensation", and to be settled-for, never aspired unto. If that were so, then zeal itself, would needs-be wither, and my heart (for one?) shouts, "Never that!".
  The best darned novel on the planet, The Lord Of The Rings; has a lovely way of saying better, what I am alluding to here. The Hobbits are all folksy and normal, the eating and drinking type; farming folk! These woolly-footed rascals meet up "accidentally" with this rather odd guy named (mysteriously) "Strider". This cat is one heck of a one man war machine, but is also freely able to consort with the simple, glad welcome of the "mere" Hobbitry represented. And it's downright comical how well Sir Tolkien weaves the narrative. Only dimly at first, and then alarmingly so, that the friends begin to conclude that;
       The High King,
          Aragorn II, Son of Arathorn
            King Elessar Telcontar ("Elfstone Strider"). . . is indeed one and same as that spookily dangerous hired gun, plain old Strider!
  Incredible! That the very same guy who enjoyed a cold one, and could tell great stories around the fire, that dude really doing the two handed-shake (right!), is one-and-same, as the Terrible-Majestic king of the whole realm? How could we have possibly "missed" that? Well, for one thing at least, his glory was subdued for a Purpose! The thing is, "Highness" never is, nor ever was; the thing to grasp onto. And frankly, the "American Dream" is simply, and always incapable of seeing this. Not, "every kid can", moreover much-much less so, grow-up into the Presidency. . .
  And yet, and yet, hope lives! Yessiree, He do! He do indeed. . .
  Here, our sad, battered confused hearts. . . at long last find a resting place.
  The King is dead. . . Long Live The King!
  Amen on that!