That fact that I hadn’t worked on my new album, or composed any jazz or classical music, in ages, had to do with the fact that I was spending so much time on my physics, and, beyond that, i was first and foremost a painter and a poet and a writer—a poet and writer that focused on the written word itself, words that were meant to be read, ideally in silence. No matter how good a singer songwriter, or a composer, I might’ve been if i could dedicate myself to it first and foremost, the fact was that I couldn’t—that i was inclined to do other things first—things that, to me, were simply more important—things that, i felt, had a better chance, given my history, and my output, to be noticed, things that, primarily, identified me. Only after those needs had been met did I feel the need to produce music—something that I hadn’t been taught as a child, something that I’d learned a little, for a few years, in my twenties, but something that, ultimately, I didn’t have time or the tools to pursue in the same way that I can now—with the help of a computer—something that I can compose music with, and play my music on, without a lot of experience with an instrument—or many instruments, as the case may be.
We didn’t have cell phones, or recording websites, when I was growing up, so I never had the chance—given my other interests, to become a musician, too. It’s only recently that I’ve come across these tools—and, while it is more likely that people would notice my music than it is that they would my physics—i am more interested in how the universe works, and in developing my 5D philosophy, than I am in producing a number of albums. Painting, for me, does, in many ways, what music would do for me—and it’s easier to share your paintings with people than it is to share your music with people because music requires your time—you can’t just look at it for a moment and get the idea. You actually have to invest a good deal of time and energy into it—which is something that most people, on some unknown person, aren’t going to do. That’s not to say that people would invest in my paintings, either, but, when it comes to social media, for example, they can see a painting and scroll on—they don’ have to stop and take a timeout.
Now, the physics is essential to developing my 5D philosophy, which makes it more important, to me, in the present moment, whereas, from a purely scientific standpoint, i’m playing a long game. Not only could my physics be flawed, as has proved to be the case, in the past, no matter how interesting my ideas or my 5D philosophy might be, but, furthermore, I’m not exactly offering a bunch of ways to test my theory, and, even if i did, it would be a great leap to think that somebody would actually take the time and energy to test my theory. That just doesn’t happen. Not in the real world—especially when you don’t have a PhD in physics, you’re not concerned with reading what other people in the field have to say, at least not in the present climate, and, even if you were, you don’t have the mathematical training to understand most of what you might find yourself interested in reading. Add that to the fact that the old versions of my papers, so far, have proved to be so bad that they could only seemingly spring from someone with schizophrenia—in a bad way—and it goes to follow that the chances of me being remembered as a physicist are not good. And yet I’ve revised much of my work, developed a more unified outlook, and proposed a model that, I believe, is one of a limited number of possible models that could explain why the universe would appear to be expanding indefinitely when that wouldn’t necessarily be the case. And, because, deep down, I didn’t believe that the universe was expanding, especially not indefinitely, I therefore had some faith in what I was doing, and the model that, over time, I had been, and would continue to, construct.
So was I gambler? Did i invest in things, and take chances that, ultimately, favored loss? In a sense, perhaps, but not really—because the fact of the matter was that I wasn’t just placing a bet on some outcome that I had no control over—I was investing a lot of time and energy into something that depended on my intelligence—not chance. So, even if I did lose out in the end, at least when it comes to being noticed, I’d been using, and sharpening, my mind, the whole time, which is what keeps me healthy, especially considering that my illness makes it impossible for me to work. I simply wasn’t designed for manual labor—i would have been far too overqualified even if I didn’t have a mental illness—and I could never be a college professor, since, well, I do have a mental illness that prevented me from getting the education that would have been required to become such person, and, furthermore, I wasn’t cut out to specify, or focus exclusively, on just one area. Sometimes I wonder—does the fact that there isn’t a job out there that matches my skillset and my talents contribute to the fact that I have a mental illness? That is, would it be impossible for me to work if i didn’t have a mental illness? And yet, if you can’t work, then, well, you need medication to work—and if that isn’t enough, you end up needing medication to deal with the fact that you can’t look after yourself—that you can’t be happy in the world that you live in—and that unhappiness makes you ill.
So, did I feel some regret that i couldn’t devote myself to producing songs, at least not at this time, when I felt that my songs were good, and could be, under the right circumstances, appreciated by others? Yes, in fact, a little—i didn’t want to let what I felt was a talent, especially for song writing, to go to waste—i felt that I was, or could be, just as good, if not better, than any songwriter that had ever come before, once my late start, and my age, are taken into account. But that idea is based on the fact that i don’t like a lot of songs—so, my idea of a great song doesn’t necessarily match everybody else’s idea of what makes a great song—so this idea that I could be better at it was a relative thing. But, anyhow, according to my standards, and my idea that a great songwriter should be more about songwriting than developing a persona—someone that fits some rock and roll archetype of a wild man, my songs were, and could be, better than most songs that are out there. Most songwriters, i think, compromise themselves when they follow some drug addled notion of what a songwriter is supposed to be.