As the mind drifts between flashes of awareness something can charge forward from a deep archive long forgotten. One such event occurred driving down the street. Immediate impressions at the time were unremarkable, but something, or maybe nothing, sparked the image of the Golden Bull in my mind. In sharp relief of the mental background shimmering skin from a false idol pops. Starting out smoothly and slowly creeping into a tin foil crinkle, this bull’s skin is no masters work. This restaurant resides right outside of college park in a half-remembered area called Adelphi. I had never actually been in this establishment, it must be fine with such an ostentatious ornament on the roof. Surrounding this bastion of idolatry sits a liquor store to the left if one is standing in front of the bull. A main drag rests to the left with a sleazy 7/11 right behind. This is at least what I remember. Smells sharper than daggers fill my nostrils. Sickly sweet vapors from a black n mild and the stale aroma of a mind demented from booze. Next to the 7/11 a sad row of stores lined up. One was actually a Salvadoran restaurant I would go to every now and then when I was bored. Some other stores separated this eatery from the Rite Aide that I only went into once to get some cough syrup. Now, the liquor store holds the most memories and it had two entrances plastered with ads for cigarettes or any other necessary vice, but this is where the memory ends. Immediately I am back in the car and possibly a second has passed and reality has once again settled. These random sparks of recollection can be deemed an affliction to those with a certain neurotic bent such as myself. Often times the recollection turns to rumination. Events rarely given a second thought by the cosmos are re-run on an endless loop for a few minutes in my minds eye.
What this all gets at is the impressions of phenomena on the mind. This is about knowledge and knowing. More specifically, this is about, well, nothing. A false idol appeared in my mind for a second and this is knowledge — a false idol. While reading articles on weighty issues, the mind is frustrated. How is all this information I have already read so quickly forgotten? Why does this not stick in my mind? For the millionth time I read something about the economy, or an analysis of art, but these drips of ethereal knowledge dissipate within seconds. This mind melt occurs on a daily basis and is the sole pursuit some days. It can become intoxicating to search out new knowledge only to forget other nuggets. This endeavor becomes the sacrament in service of The Knowledge. It is possible that this worship is the infiltration of a capitalist system. Well, not an infiltration as it has always been present. A market place for ideas has been the method of exchanging information within the culture I reside since the beginning of my consciousness. No other form exists as different thoughts compete for my attention at any given moment. An impression from the past kicked off this inquiry into the emptiness of knowledge, so it is fitting to return to the start. At issue is that no movement has taken place.
Within this moment resides more sense from the other organs that can be so easily forgotten. Squeals pop forward from a speaker in the background. Within the sonic immersion a certain picture begins to emerge. Travis Scott and Astroworld are noticed and slowly ooze and meld with the other thoughts. As the title makes note of, this is a ride of sorts. Now that I recall, during that remembrance this album was also playing. How something new connects to something old can also build knowledge. Nothing can come from nothing, so it is fitting to ascribe a source to the initial impression that brought such thoughts about. As the ride continues the mind takes over again to parse through all the different sounds. From something new, a familiar sound tolls and recounts events previously experienced. These past impressions from music are what connect the past to the present. It is the sample from some song I cannot remember that brings the specter of the false idol into my mind. What has been revealed is a complex web stringing Being along from one moment to the next. What is then the initial start? A web must start at some point, yet we reach the nothing of knowing once again. Knowing does not start and it does not precede anything by necessity, fore to know one must have a frame of reference.
Within this garden of the mind, filled with fields of ambrosial memories ripe for reshaping, lies a serpent. Corrosive knowledge cuts the memories down to be replanted in a new soil. Fruit from the reshaping is vastly different from the parents that bared it. First memories are not known then and can never been known. This all seems to be an effort in futility at times. In rolling this boulder allusions are made that muddy the waters. Murky understanding brings about knowledge. Previous efforts at structuring systems are resurrected within the mind. Half-baked and vastly over sold, the structures prop up the knowledge of meaning. A drive keeps things moving forward in an ever-changing web. As the angst takes over certain elements grasp the mind and launch it back into a recollection. Fine moments of blinding snow peppering the landscape. A chill enters as everything in enveloped in a miasma. Youthful vigor violently shoots a snowball. Within the projectile is hidden a weighted bomb dedicated to inflicting mass damage. Moving targets are difficult to hit and the bomb meets more snow in the blanket. Flight takes over heavily panting toward trees and a frozen creek. Was the creek frozen or was I the one that was hit by the weapon of mass destruction? Copper fills my mouth and strawberry jam sullies a white mound providing cover. A sightless sun creates an unbearable glare that forces all parties to rest. Damages are assessed, and soggy pants are dragged back to the warmth of a hearth. In this hearth a love reside that is more powerful than the all-encompassing chill of the winter frosting.
Sand grinds the stone as knowledge grinds the mind. Memory dust settles and the original returns, yet slightly different. Was the false idol gold, or reflective yellow? In my mind the color of the bull always reminded me of a piss from someone that needs to hydrate themselves. Within the motions of academia, a mill of knowledge moves forward with no impact. Accomplished in this grinding mill is the slow filling of the internet. Knowledge molders in the nebula of a server to never be rejuvenated. This gets at the heart of the void and the nothingness of knowledge. The search for it undoes what it is meant to be; retained. There is no need to remember something that is already remembered by a technical appendage. Slowly the server will become the new mind and the human mind will sit empty forgetting everything and manufacturing memories of time never impressed. Mortal wounds pock the mind as technology supplants being. Can anything be done to remove this artifice? Sadly, no. This fate must be embraced to evolve to a new plain of existence and fight the erosion by knowledge. Knowing one exists leads to the bane of existence. Assuming that destruction does create something new. This drive toward destruction only refers to the death drive created by a different thinker. It only solidifies how creating something new can only refer to what has come before. Buildings of new knowledge have basements on the antediluvian mysteries waiting to be resurfaced later. Failed attempts fill my mind and each new turn is an effort to solidify a pet project. A new project will change the world, at least for one individual. Catharsis takes sway and the burden of knowledge is now shifted onto the pages. Kinetic energy fills the words with wet dynamite fizzing in the ether of a different mind. Disjointed by nature, or from nature, the translation can only be done in the mind with the original burden of knowledge and the angst enters again as the information will never be fully understood. Explained poorly and rambling such insights are doomed from the start.