A la luna yo me voy

A circumscribed infinitum - I suppose that's the basic tenant of any calculus - infinitesimalicity, right? A quantum infinitely tiny but yet non-zero, such that it carries a home for predication. Infinitely small but infinite nonetheless, as infinite as any other infinitum.

Experience is infinite and yet the possibility of experience, of this lived experience, feels so small. Our lives are mostly lived by 20-something, and even by then the medium of your life is probably 90% filled with recycled goods. There just isn't much to do in this world, and I wouldn't qualify novelty as the inherent antidote to that... banality. Maybe that's the word - experience becomes banal rather quickly.

I've always been afflicted by boredom. I remember a summer my mother gave me a small mason jar filled with these paper tabs, 4" x 1/2' strips, with suggestions of things to do; make a fort, walk the dog, origami, tic-tac-toe... The lethargy exuded from the cards themselves, you could feel the poor soul - whether it knew it or not is another question - coming up against the limitations of his own infinity.

Our world is small; the range of possibilities is small, and that's before accounting for any facticity beyond our common condition. In whatever sense you can permutate and interact non-discrete experiences, you can never escape the feeling that you, somehow, have been there before. How is it that an infinitum can become so small?

I don't want to go to the moon; even more haunting than the boredom itself is the pathetic endeavor to fend it off. I'd rather rub-up the devil itself than ever in my life go axe-throwing, or 'hit up a brewery.' Perhaps (definitely) that speaks to a personal cynicism I can't extrapolate elsewhere but the cynicism is at least founded on a universalism. But are the people attending colonial Williamsburg or Disneyland aware of what they're seeking in those experiences? How many on this Earth are seeking to escape their tiny infinity without any realization.

Boredom is a particular unkindness - almost a taunt from God, a knock on the walls of the prison cell. What's ironic is that Boredom - not the mood but the existential condition - is so early to us, primitive within and quick to the surface beyond childhood. Any reprieve from boredom - the mood - is merely an ignorance; the condition lurks over your shoulder and as soon as you turn around...!

I've always been afflicted by boredom; it's my oldest friend, and I can feel him when he's in the room with me - my strongest memories are alongside myself and boredom. I've tried to kill him more times than you can count; it's how I know he's not only immortal but the, a, condition of our being.

Don't mind him - Boredom is a clearing through which beauty might arise, where simultaneity with being might even approach ecstasy. But even beauty, appreciation... infinite in possibility but what is beautiful is what is beautiful is what may else be beautiful.

I don't doubt that some aren't as close as Boredom and I are; I'm sure most are only vaguely acquainted, with a preference to keep each other's distance. Perhaps I was born into boredom; my days were always short and warm, happening on the edge of town. Perhaps, like myself, he prefers familiarity, or those without too much preoccupation.