To Infinity, & Beyond?

Infinity. Forever. Eternity. Endlessness.


These words are used on a daily basis, usually with some sarcasm, or extreme exaggeration. “I’m going to be doing this homework forever,” or, “that desert road looks like it keeps going forever.” People use these words, but never really consider what they mean.

Have you ever, if not for just a few seconds, thought about eternity? About the seemingly impossible likelihood that time had no beginning, and has no end? It seems that, when your mind wanders into that uncharted territory, you feel an imminent and inescapable sense of hopelessness. It is a horrible experience.

Why? Infinity is not a concept that can be comprehended by any human being. It is an unfamiliar warp of the laws of anything. Human beings, so used to the logical, finite logarithms and patterns of nature, are not in any way capable of understanding eternity. The largest numbers we ever encounter in our lives are usually limited to the trillions (that’s 1x10^12.) Perhaps, if we counted every blade of grass on the planet we would likely still be under the realm of the twentieth power. So take a trillion, and set it to the trillionth power, and imagine that number being printed by a (very fast) printer—giving you enough pages of zeros to stack to the moon (and simultaneously eliminating every source of paper pulp in existence.) It’s a lot.

But continue. The galaxies of the universe (which, as far as we are concerned, have no limits,) are rapidly and inexplicably accelerating away from each other, into nothingness. Time and space will continue to the infinite power. Scary?

This of course brings about the question, “Kevin, what concoction of banned substances are you on?” I’ve mentioned numerous times before that I think too much, and in this case it really was way too much. I was watching the Discovery Channel the other day about the phenomena of eternity, and I started to really delve into it. Really think deep into it. I was attempting to imagine what eternity would be (will be, rather) like. This idea is charged with a high mental voltage, and whenever you try to think about it, the shock of such a concept forces you to retract at once. Perhaps it was intended for human understanding to be limited at some point, to protect us, or constrain us, or whatever. But this time, I kept going, trying as hard as possible to understand it.

It was terrifying. It was like the worst cognitive collapse from an overdose of a horrendous drug cocktail. It was like the hand of whatever grabbing control of my brain. I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain what it was like, because it was really inexplicable. I ended up sitting on my bed shaking until I could fixate on something concrete and limited in size, like a can of Pepsi on my desk.

My advice to you is to never in your living days purposefully think about this. It is petrifying. What you should do instead is lead a normal, dumbed-down human life, and not think or philosophize about things you will never understand…and appreciate the easing notion that the “endless” desert road is wonderfully finite.


“Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, but an eternal ‘now’ does always last.”
-Abraham Cowley

Current Mood: Uncomfortable

Listening To: "Time" by Hootie & The Blowfish

Marine

I have mentioned something before, but never really explained it. I feel that I need to clarify it for myself, if not for everybody else.

~

I want to be a Marine. My ultimate reasonable goal is to fly aircraft as an Officer for the United States Marine Corps.

I am not at all one of those war junkies you see in the movies, and probably know from school. I am too intelligent for that. War is a terrible concept borne from the instability of human nature. It is an awful, primitive, destructive behavior. Anyone who gets pumped at action flicks and target shooting with .22s thinks they can be a great warrior, and they are wrong. You see what happens to them in the movies. Their eyes are eventually opened, permanently sobered from their intoxicated state of giddy, trigger-happy, senselessness.

No. I do not want to be a part of the armed forces to fire weapons, to take the lives of other people. I am too gentle a being. I do not want to continue the favorite, deadly pastime of the human race. I don't want to live the military lifestyle because I think it would be "cool." I do not want to sacrifice several years of my life so I can shove people around because I look official in a uniform. I do not want to scream orders and demean people.

I want to be a Marine because I want to participate in the ultimate public service. I want to help people, to rescue citizens of this great nation from their rooftops after a hurricane. I want to provide aid for people in need around the world. I want to be a leader, to lead good men and women to do good things. I want to be an example, a role model, a guiding hand.

I want to be a Marine because of my family. My grandfather served as a field surgeon in the U.S. Army on the torn battlefields of Germany, a brave and dangerous job for a Jewish man, escaped from the grasp of the Third Reich. My grandmother was a nurse in the Army, who attended to severely injured and dying soldiers on the home front. My other grandfather flew F4F Corsairs over Guadalcanal and later F6 Hellcats over Korea for the Marines. They contributed their part for this country, and I feel that it is necessary for me to do the same. Each generation must continue the tradition of service to the nation, and the world, to bind us together as one, strong people.

I want to be a Marine because I want respect. I want to be seen as an honorable person, one who is serious about setting goals, about putting others before self, about living a useful life as a decent human being. I want the Marine Corps to represent who I am, a model citizen, and I in turn can represent the values of the Corps.

But I am a Marine. In ink, I am a civilian by all means. I have not completed the rigorous physical, psychological, emotional reshaping and refinement of military training, Corps training in particular. I do not yet deserve the respect of donning the uniform of a hardened Marine. But being a Marine, however, is not about the uniform. It is not about the medals, the ranks, the details of military protocol. Those are all necessary for an organized military unit, but at the end of the day, that is not what military service is about. Being a Marine is something that lives within you. It is you. You hear them say "you don't understand." It is true that most people do not, and never will. I understand. It is about service, about values, and dedication to becoming the absolute best, polished, honorable, perseverant person that a human being can be. With respect to the United States Marines, I believe that I can grasp what being a Marine is about.

The Marine Corps is called a brotherhood. It is precisely that--a family. There is no closer bond between men than when they are charged with each other's protection, with each other's ultimate trust and respect. Friends come and go, and the best few remain. All Marines, however, share the common friendship of the corps, forever. And I wish to be a part of that fraternity.

Whether or not I will become a true Marine is a question that can only be answered by time. It depends on where my career path, my relationships, my life takes me. But it is something that runs through my blood with each breath, and will not cease until my final gasp, until I lie within a casket with no flag draped upon it. I can say that I believe a Marine lives within me, and that if I do not commit to serving in the United States Marine Corps, it is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I would like to become a U.S. Marine.

We will see.




Semper Fidelis,


Kevin L. Krakauer

Current Mood: Inspired

Listening To: "For You" by Johnny Cash & Dave Matthews Band

Heavenly

Yesterday was by far one of the best ski days ever. Ever...ever.

You know you're in for a good day when the sun is out, the sky is clear, and the view of Lake Tahoe expands behind you on the first ride up the majestic Gunbarrel Express. You're in for a good day.

The first run of the day was around the summit, with the sun coming up over the Nevada desert. "Heavenly" was aptly named. There isn't a square inch of that mountain that isn't, well, Heavenly. If you listen to epic music on an epic mountain with epic views on an epic day, the place seems celestial.

I did a couple of speed runs to warm up on the Nevada side. The snow was absolutely perfect. It was odd though...it was definitely not powder, but it wasn't icy at all nor was it slushy in the least bit. Kind of buttery rather, it's really difficult to describe. Like a soft, slick powder slab. I'd never seen anything like it, but it was awesome.

By noon I was getting kind of hungry, and hot...it was 61 degrees. As I came up the lift on the last run before lunch, I noticed a sign at the top: "Mott Canyon: OPEN." I knew Mott Canyon was open but I really wanted to ski Kille..."Killebrew Canyon: OPEN." I turned on the lift and started choking Scott out of excitement.

Killebrew Canyon, you see, is the expert area of all expert areas. It is explored by very few, and actually skied by even fewer. Named after Hugh Killebrew, the former owner and operator of Heavenly, who was killed in a plane crash in 1977, Killebrew Canyon is legendary. It lies on the silent, powder-filled Northeastern boundary of Heavenly Valley. I was glad it was finally open, to say the least.

Completely forgetting about lunch, I traversed across the Milky Way Bowl, through the trees and over the Mott/Killebrew ridge up to Gate A. A is the highest drop-in at the summit point of the canyon. Unfortunately it was closed so I skied down to C. Gate C is a bitch of a drop-in, it's perched on top of a ledge that's so steep it's barely skiable. It's like an 85º angle. In fact, without my helmet or any spotters, I was debating whether or not to drop at all...but being Killebrew, I had to. After getting down to the canyon floor, I found a ski patroller. The guy looked like a total hick, with a full beard--the type of mountaineering ski patrol guy you would find in Killebrew rather than operating a mid-mountain lift. He was putting up signs near rocks and such, and I asked him who they were for. "You, I guess. You better let me stay in front of you so I can put up these stakes up ahead, or I might as well not be down here." He said he had a couple of drinks and asked me if I wanted one. I ended up sitting on the wall of Killebrew Canyon and drinking a Pepsi with a hippie patroller, talking about the conditions and related ski talk. It was amazing.

When I skied out of the trees at the base of Mott, the liftie did a double-take and then started grinning and doing a little dance. "Killebrew Canyon customer number one today, congratulations!" Lifties are always high as balls.

The best run of the day outside of Killebrew was the last run. Normally the last run is kind of depressing, especially if you're driving home right after. Not today. I was listening to the right song. I was on the right run, from the summit to the base along the Southern ridge. The sun was in the right place, igniting the lake with billions of flakes of light, and illuminating the snow with a golden hue. I was going the right speed, not too fast and not too slow. Just takin' my time. There are brief stints, lapses in time it seems, when everything is absolutely perfect. There's nothing on your mind, nothing to rush for, nothing planned, and no gravity to pull you back to reality. This was one of those. I can't remember when I've felt better.

Clichéd, yes, but all good things come to an end. At the bottom of my 15 minute cloud of perfection, reality called. Literally. My phone rang, and I was informed that my grandpa was back in the hospital. Fuck reality.

All in all though, a good day. A rare, heavenly, good day. Vita brevis. Carpe diem.

~

"Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' on
You'll forget about me after I've been gone
And I take what I find, I don't want no more
It's just outside of your front door.

It's been such a long time. It's been such a long time.

Yeah. It's been such a long time, I think I should be goin', yeah
And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'
There's a long road, I've gotta stay in time with
I've got to keep on chasin' that dream, though I may never find it
I'm always just behind it.

Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along
Takin' my time, just movin' along
Takin' my time, takin' my time..."

-Boston

Current Mood: Indescribable

Listening To: "Peace of Mind" by Boston

To Clarify

What is experience?

You are never what you were. Experience changes you. It is the awl that constantly chips away at the marble, refining the details of your being from the day you are born until the very last minutes of your life. Like fragments of rock, the small bits of ineptitude that are removed each day by your experiences will never be a part of you again. You cannot glue shavings of marble back on, should they be mistakenly removed. Likewise, once you have experienced something, it is permanently part of your past.

When you are born, you are a simple block. Now, no two blocks are the same—each has unique swirls, chips, and rough spots—predispositions, if you will, to what you may become. They will always remain with you, but it is experience that truly defines you. By the time you die, your experience has sculpted from that block distinct figure, a statue of your life.

Experience is why the old are wise. It is why the young are naïve. It is why soldiers may be solemn, and why rock stars may be wild. Experience is not a part of life. It is life.

Immerse yourself in your experiences...be a part of your life.

Current Mood: Thoughtful

Listening To: "Human" by The Killers

Israel & Gaza

For all intents and purposes, I am against violence. I wish it did not exist. But violence is inevitable. The psychology of retaliation causes war to be answered with war, violence to be answered with violence. It’s a circle, and once the circle was started it was bound to continue forever.

What I mean is, violence is immoral, but for the sake of good, it is necessary. Ironic, isn’t it, that the good in the world needs to fight and kill to stay alive. Evil prevails when good men don’t act.

Microcosms of this happen everywhere, everyday. A shop owner shoots dead a goon trying to hold up his shop. A kid punches out a bully in the schoolyard. The most recent, and loudest example of this is Israel’s targeting of Hamas.

I have very strong feelings about that. My parameters: Firstly, I have nothing against Islam, Muslims, or normal, peaceful Palestinians, okay? Nothing. Secondly, my background is partially Jewish, so I have a bias towards Israel. Third, I hate political hindrances, red tape…which is another reason I like Israel: no red tape. Lastly, and most importantly, I have zero tolerance for stupid shit. Absolutely none.

Now, unfortunately, Hamas, the leadership of Gaza, is a giant, reeking pile of stupid shit. They are terrorists. They are the ones who build rockets in their garages like kids planning a water gun fight, and then lob their useless, monkey-brain toys over the border at Israel, and blow up schoolrooms, bus stations, and, every once in awhile, somebody’s grandma Hadara who was hanging the clothes on the line to dry. They are the ones who stockpile weapons in sacred places, in Mosques, so they can stick out their sick tongues as Israel. They are filth.

If you could get my personality and build it into a country, it would end up being very similar to Israel. Much like my own philosophy, the Israelis do not tolerate stupid shit either. This is unfortunate, because as intolerant as they are, they must live next to the Gaza strip, where there are people who are intolerant of Israelis. This is Francium living next to Oxygen here; it’s a highly volatile relationship.

Keep that in mind. Now, imagine that you and I are like-minded. Perhaps you have been picked on a lot at school. Some kid comes up to you on the playground and shoves you. You are patient and do not react. The kid grabs your ball, and throws it over the fence. Still, you do not rect. Then, he grabs your backpack, and lights it on fire. That’s it. When you go to rip his face off, though, he hides behind the teacher and sticks out his tongue.

Imagine that you and Israel are like-minded. You have been picked on for thousands of years, your people tortured and killed, your beliefs persecuted. The Hamas-led Palestinians burn your flag, but you don’t flinch. They throw rocks and shout slogans. No reaction. Then, they fire hundreds of rockets over the international border, day after day, night after night. They kill some of your civilians. They damage buildings and destroy houses. They make peace impossible, they make daily life irritating. They’re obnoxious.

This is the point where I grab the kid by the throat and beat him to the edge of life. This is the point where Israel launches airstrike after airstrike, gathers troops and tanks at the border, destroys Hamas buildings, kills Hamas apes, and brings general hell to the Gaza strip.

But the kid is behind the teacher—Hamas is in the Mosques. No matter. When your beliefs have been persecuted and your people killed for years and years, there is no invisible shield over any building, sacred or not. There is nothing stopping that 1500-pound American-made bomb from eliminating a supply depot. Once weapons are in the sacred place, it is not longer sacred. It’s not a Mosque. It’s a fancy-looking, well-disguised supply depot. The Germans bombed churches across Europe in WWII, and Israel will not have qualms about doing it now.

You need to understand that Israel is not attacking Palestine, or even Gaza—their target is Hamas. Hamas is a problem. They are why Israelis are dying, and why Palestinians are dying. They are selfish bastards, confined to the psychopathic revelations of a made-up religion. They are not Islamic terrorists; that is an insult to Islam. That’s like saying the insane polygamists in their fairy castles in the Arizona desert are Mormons—that’s an insult to Mormonism. These people are not human. They’re not animals either, that is an insult to animals. They are piles of shit. And that, even, is derogatory towards piles of shit.

Unfortunately, when you fight a traditional war against a guerilla force, there is collateral damage. Civilians will die, they always do. This is why people worldwide riot in the streets, because Israel kills children. The truth of the matter is, 75% of casualties on the Palestinian side are active targets, and roughly a quarter are civilians. Near 100% of all casualties in Israel are civilians, thanks to Hamas. Who are the child-killers now? Also, finger pointing works in this case. Who started it? Israel never starts conflicts, but they always end them, permanently. Hamas started it. Hamas, Hamas, Hamas. I’m sick of this stupid shit. Sick of it.

You people and your criticism of Israel for pounding Hamas into the dirt. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re naïve. Peace isn’t something that can be negotiated in that part of the world. You have to kill to get it.



“Every civilization finds it necessary to negotiate compromises with its own values.”
~Golda Meir

“We kill for our future. We kill for peace.”
~Ephraim, Munich

Current Mood: Infuriated

Listening To: "Empty Walls" by Serj Tankian