To Learn Something about Anything

 

“The Willingness to Learn Something about Anything”

 

“Life comes down to our willingness to wonder about something and having the courage to know anything.” —  quoted from the Universe to Thadd Presley

When I contemplate original ideas and create art, I feel invincible. Absolutely nothing can measure up to the things I dream and bring into reality. Nothing can take away the emotions I release into the world as long as they truly come from my heart and mind. I’m not just another creative power of the universe. I know it comes off as weak and unimportant sometimes, but my power comes directly from the source of all things. The Creator entrusted me with certain creative powers and I use them to create my world and the worlds of those closest to me. What I create is both a gift from me to the universe and a gift from the universe to me, working in unison with powers and beings with no true description in our dimension. A gift from a society completely incorruptible and eternal granting the ability to bring forth lifetimes of timelines and fill them with beautiful experiences and powerful revelations that are only understood by those who have witnessed the unlimited capacity to love and receive love. It’s easy to love those who loved you first. It is all about love.

Then, there comes upon me a darkness, such times I begin to doubt my origins and I start to think that I’m not from a special part of the inner sanctum. I think that I’m just another sheep standing in the field and this field is just one field with many fields. I’m just here and no one cares. A field within many fields, a fold amongst many folds, just a sheep standing alone that sounds ad looks no different than the others. I think that I’m nothing but an animal. And if that’s not damning enough, I begin to imagine I’m are tagged, tracked, and controlled — not by a great Shepard, but – by a group of sheep who have put themselves in charge and guide me from birth to the grave. Nothing I do is a surprise to anybody or anything. Especially to those I have somehow landed in the higher positions of power concerning this world. Nothing I have ever thought is original or inspired by a higher reality. Every idea I’ve had has either been had by many, perhaps by all, who have come before me or has been planted in my head by other sheep. The greatest act of creation I could ever produce is nothing but an outcome from a watered down classroom process or a spasm of unrealized dreams and incomplete thoughts. Generations of manic and depressed men and women who lived and died never knowing anything concrete about reality or the true nature of life have had these same ideas, thoughts, and dreams and just like them I’m going to do nothing with them and if I did no one would care because they are busy trying not to starve or freeze to death. I begin to think: there is truly no new thing under the sun. There are no revelations left to be had by anyone. The best I can ever do is reproduce in some dramatic way the failures of those who came before me.

The only difference I can see, if any, that separate the sheep like me from the other sheep is this egotistical, vanity-driven, self-serving act of writing down my thoughts and ideas. Why do I do it? It’s vanity in its grandest state directed from a place of fear. I’m afraid of being forgotten, afraid of dying, and besides the fact that somewhere deep inside I must truly think that I am somehow different and my thoughts are in some way important enough to be remembered.  I am so afraid of being just like everyone else, I do my best to be different in just a way as to not be singled out, but to be looked upon for a moment and hopefully understood.

So, I continue to try and capture the beautiful ideas with elegant word play. If I can introduce a clever character with an interesting story to a reader than it must that I am different and can possibly make a difference in a life. If I can create intelligent story lines and bring pleasure to people, I believe I can offer them reasons to exist beside just being alive and miserable. If I can make the lives of the people in my head produce answers to the hard questions so often asked by the people in real world situations than perhaps I will deserve to be remembered by those who are interested in knowing the secrets of life and the world in which we live.

In many ways, I am a sheep looking to my shepherd for direction and safety. But, sometimes, I look down at my own hoof-prints and think they are somehow different from the countless others. Simultaneously, I realize that believing I’m different, and even better in some ways, than all the other sheep is maniacal and delusional by any measure. Yet, it seems true. I hope my vain-maniacal delusion is harmless. Perhaps, if I’m very lucky, my insanity might somehow be helpful to someone, somewhere. It is, after all, the only way I know of being part of the fold.

Sometimes, I think everyone wants to believe, or at least should believe, that their hoof prints are some majestic, cosmic Morse code that can only be deciphered by other genius sheep who believe in the latest prophecy. On the outside we are the same, but, on the inside, we all feel we are special creatures captured and forced to live this current life as a sheep. There must be something that drives us and connects us to others who create and live with a similar burst of zealous understanding. We look alike, we talk alike, we all cry alike, and most of us don’t like the fact that we are all going to die alike.

To all the others in the fold, I tell you:

If you want to think that you are special and that someone, someday might come across an ancient hoof-prints you left in the mud and try to decipher it? Then, maybe you are!  Ad maybe there is a secret code embedded in all of our hoof-prints, and maybe there is not, but the only way to know is to document every step with honesty and precision. For is every life is trying to teach us the importance of being alive and now to enjoy life, then we must live as if we believe that life comes from somewhere and we will one day return to that place with the stories we have to tell. The only thing we can do today is have a willingness to wonder about everything and courage to push through the towering inferno of ignorance burning around us and dare to learn anything about something.

Metaphysics? Is it Science?

I have been asked about the science of metaphysics many times over the last twenty years. One of the most asked is: What does the subject cover? But right behind that is: Is it about ghosts and spiritual world?

 

I don’t think it is about ghost and the spiritual world at all. It does have the reputation of looking into subjects that are unknown to other science fields. But, that is why we need metaphysics. It does look into the unknown.

The best description I can give about metaphysics is that it’s the science of finding the right questions to ask about an unknown thing.

Once the right question is found and it makes enough sense to have a logical conclusion, then that question usually becomes it’s own science.  At one time, gravity, the atmosphere, the lights in the night sky were all approached from a spiritual angle of questioning.  But, once some insight was gained, and many hundreds of years of thinking was accomplished, the right questions began to come into view. Quite literally into view, as with the telescope and the microscope, for instance.

 

So, is metaphysics finished.  Not by a long shot.  There is still many unknowns in the world. Such as. what is consciousness?  We still haven’t found the right questions to ask about that subject.  And there are many, many more questions about our reality that we haven’t yet found the right instruments or tools to get at them in such a way as to form questions.

Is there other dimensions? This question is much about Gravity, because in many ways Gravity is still a very invisible subject to our sciences. Sure, we can see it interaction on our reality and we can quantify the force, but it’s not the whole picture.  Much of what we know as the force of gravity is not interacting with the stuff we see. It is leading researchers and physicist to consider the possibility of other dimensions which might explain where the undetectable fraction of gravity is manifesting.

What is a dimension? Where is a dimension? These are the questions that metaphysics think about and work on until a better question is formed that might lead to actual answers.

Another phenomenon, which has yet to have the right questions asked about it, is what happens after we die?  From the accounts of many people who have actually died and had what is known as a Near Death Experience, we get have sworn statements and must take them seriously.

So, we search for the right questions. What do people see?  What is the tunnel and the bright light at the end of it?

Answers then flood in from the other sciences. DMT from the brain, some say. Jesus and God, some say? It’s just a hallucination, other say.  and we can get no further that that because for one we have no way of recording and observing the actual event. And we don’t know the right questions to ask the witnesses.

Sure, we can say what did you see.  But, crime scene investigations will show you that many people don’t know what they are looking at most the time. So, we have to find tools and that involves finding the right questions to ask, so that a science — and no one knows which one — can invent a machine or a measuring device that will bring back data and concrete evidence.

So, metaphysics in a nutshell is a science that looks for the best questions to ask.

See, science is easy. Anyone can do it.

True Freedom Needs No Audience

Sometimes, when I sit with a notebook, I pretend there is no one. No one who will read it. No one who will ever even know I wrote it. This way, I can enjoy the moment for what it is. I am a writer and I enjoy writing.
No frills. No pretentious thoughts of where the creation can go and the over-arching story the character will eventually fit into. For that moment, I seek only the thrill of being alive and free.
True freedom needs no audience.  This is an idea our young people have forgotten. More and more, every detail seems to deserve a place on a public timeline somewhere.  Social media is changing the way we create. And I don’t mean for the worse or that civilization is on the decline.
I’m only saying, it’s nice to write and create. No client needed, no deadline looming, nothing pushed onto the back burner to make room for it, it’s just life being lived as one would live it without instigation or worry.
A Life lived Free.
A new stories written only because I had the time to stretch my mind and allow it to be itself.  A relaxed look into the voices of the characters who have lived in my head since I was a teenager. All those people that have shaped me.
Who are these voices, exactly? I’ve taken their advice, enjoyed their exultations, and heeded their warnings for decades but now I have learned to quiet my own voice and allow them to hold the pen.  For the first time, I am the one listening. I am the one being entertained.
Freedom needs no audience, I wrote, but perhaps I’m the audience of my own freedom.  I can take my rightful place and simply watch the show unfold.

Introducing Carl Gaskin

 

In the coming months, our goal here at Fiction Weekly will be to introduce Carl Gaskin to the literary circles of the world.  Not only will we get to know the characters and the worlds created by his original fiction, but also through live readings where he so effortlessly brings his craft to life.

So, join me, my friends, as we close our ranks around and rally support for a new voice in writing, a true creator, and architect of the human experience. Help me as we get behind Carl Gaskin and lift the words and voice of this talented storyteller into lives and the hearts of readers around the world.

Thank you in advance for your responses.

Join us for this adventure.

[UPDATE]

you can now visit,  subscribe, and soon be able to submit your own writings to Carl’s Blog

Home | The Cask of Diogenes

In To Views: a great forgotten interview

I really like this interview.   I would like to know the name of the interview and where they are now.  If you have any information please let me know.

Take a moment to read the interview.  It’s really fun to look back at thoughts from the old days.


Interview from 2011  “In To Views”


 

Also, if you’re interested in reading my newest writing, you can buy the first Issue of Terrible Two on Amazon.

 

Medicine People


Medicine People
by Thadd Presley

 

The man pushed the needle under her flesh and smiled when blood spurted into the chamber. He whispered into her ear, as he pulled the plunger back. “Drugs aren’t good or bad, you know?” Her blood mixed with the thick, brown liquid, delighting the man. “You’re like a medicine man,” he mused. “You’ve heard of medicine men haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. Already able to feel the strong concoction. “They’re like Indians…”

“Yeah, well kind of, but many cultures have them. They’re the people who had the guts to try things the others were too afraid to do.”
She nodded. “Like shaman?” She pronounced it slowly: “Shay-men.”

“Exactly. They’d go into the spirit world and come back with knowledge that can only come from the other side.”

She liked the idea of that. It made her smile. “Like wisdom.”
“That’s right! And it changed everyone’s life? The medicine people found out things from the ancestors and from the angels. Things that never made sense to the people at that time. The ideas were decades and centuries ahead of the time. Thousands of years, sometimes.

“Yeah.” She was mumbling, her eyes were only pin-pricks between a sliver of eyelids.

“Are you afraid?”

She laughed. “Not even.”

He pushed the plunger and the liquid slid effortlessly into her vein. Numbness flowed up her left arm and across her chest. As it slowly crept up her neck, her eyelids closed out the world. Then, peace engulfed her. All the stress and worry stopped as she slipped from this world and entered the spirit world.



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

French Toast Tots

Open Letter to the industrial leaders of the world,

Dear Mr. Musk; Mr. Bezos; and Mr. Branson,

Please consider the following advancement to our civilization before continuing your heroic endeavors into space and points beyond Earth. The fast food industries needs you now and the people will forever be changed and grateful.

The establishment through which you chose to distribute this culinary delight is not as important as the availability it must have. Strictly speaking, it must be available to everyone all the time, especially during future pandemics.

I would humbly suggest McDonalds, Sonic, or Hardees be highly considered as a point of sale. However, you your own judgment, for it is imperative you act quickly and protect our incredibly valuable product.

There will be many fly-by-night operations which we shall not name (including IHOP, Huddle House, Waffle House, and definitely not excluding Starbucks, Panera Bread, Subway, and Duncan Donuts). These places will move heaven and Earth in an attempt to maneuver their way into this very lucrative space. Of this information, I am sure you are aware, due to your expertise in business, finance, and social customs.

I shall leave the design and exact dimensions up to you and your team of engineers. My confidence in your abilities to find and delegate experts to this project is overflowing. I have no doubt, either one of you or all of you will look back on this letter and this product as a watershed moment in your life, indeed the life of our civilization. I’m sure, as you also must be, that we can’t venture any farther into space without securing a ready and steady outlet for this product.

The Product is Trademarked as: French Toast Tots; other patents will include the “product” filled with Cream Cheese and Boston Cream

The Slogan shall be: Chicken Sandwiches might have started the Food Wars, but French Toast Tots finished it.

Thank you all for your time and attention,

Inventor. writer, musician,

Thadd Presley

Oddly Pronounced

A beautiful woman stops abruptly in her tracks. Her eyes locked on a man in the crowd. Taken both by surprise and intrigue, she found something different about him. Suddenly, the man was coming toward her, smiling. She realized, too late, that she had been staring at him. And the reason was he had a very weird nose.

He was suddenly only inches from her. His smile seemed off center because of the nose hanging over it. Without realizing what she was doing she took a step back. It could have been perceived as an offensive gesture on her part, but she didn’t know him and reflexes acted on their own. He was a bit too close.

He noticed that he was in her space and spoke first. “Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t mean to…er… intrude.” He took a step back following her action.

She smiled. “No, no. It’s I who should apologize. It was rude of me to stare. But…” She waiting, hoping he would say it for her.

When he didn’t, she couldn’t find the words to finish. Was he going to force her to explain herself. “You see, I…” She tried to look him in the eyes, but the nose kept stealing the spotlight. “It’s just that.. Well, you see, I couldn’t help but notice that you have an oddly pronounced nose.”

He wasn’t surprised by her blunt statement. He knew right away that she wasn’t shy. She spoke to him as if she had known him for years. To him, it already seemed they were friends. He was struck by her. She was beautiful in many ways, so he admired her features closely. Her eyes burned into his soul. It took a moment for him to reply. He knew her curiosity would only be sated by first-hand knowledge that only he could grant her.

He stepped closer, taking back the ground he had given up a second earlier. He let his face fall a bit and made his voice softer, as if she has learned a secret that he couldn’t allow out into the world. “Look, I don’t know how you knew. But, you’re absolutely right. All my life, my nose… Well, I pronounce it, SCHNOZ.”

Pythagoras Would Kill For This

An Original Portlandia Skit Idea

The citizens of Portland have a rare and enviable opportunity to create a completely new shape and perhaps pave the way to creating new sciences in mathematics and social engineering.

The process would begin with the creation of a new shape and end with a naming celebration. While backed by leaders from multiple fields of science, the committee of citizen-scientists would consist entirely of volunteers from Portland and surrounding tent cities.

Monetary support would be both publicly and privately sourced and combined with governmental and scholastic grants, bringing to fruition the dream of every child everywhere, all the time.

The project will create and name a new shape.

The shape will be weird and alternative, most likely resembling something from the nineties. It’s actual purpose will be undefined and it’s tolerance of other shapes will be notably high. Non-offensive angles and un-defendable edges will be the on all sides.

This new shape, will become known to the world as the Oregon, and while it’ll be called remarkable, it’s true function will negligible to non-existent.