Vincenzo Scipioni
Creation By Emergence

Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this! Someone must, and I’m the most qualified person in this age to do it! I just can’t put everything into a few words; everything I have been thinking about, and working towards my entire life. I don’t even have the time to get into this right now. I am beyond the realm of knowledge.

I don’t know what keeps me going; I don’t know why I’ve spent countless hours pulling my hair out slaving to finish my greatest and final work. I suppose it is because I know hope exists. I’ve seen it. I’ve always known I was here to do something. I’ve also known what that something is for some time now.

It feels like I’ve been working on my literary legacy for thousands of years now. You don’t know how tired I am. I am not even doing this for me. Hell, I don’t even know if people will read it; I don’t know if all my works will even get published, I don’t know how I am going to make a living! There are more things I don’t know, than what I do know. I do know a few things however.

I am going to do what I have to do! I am going to finish! With blood and bones I will finish what I’ve started! If I do not finish, my legacies will never breath life. Nothing is going to stop me I can promise you that. I’ve come too far to give up and turn back now. I am certain an evolution of the mind will begin. I am certain that humanity will eventually be achieved if I accomplish my mission. It will have everything to do with me, but nothing to do with me at the same time. I'm sorry, this is far too much to talk about now.

At the very least I will die knowing I achieved my purpose on earth, and perhaps like so many others in death I will succeed. Don’t you understand until I get it out—until it is crystallized I have nothing? And this process, the transformation from the mind to the written word is flawed. The transferring of contents from the mind, to written language destroys it, makes it dangerous. This is all to complex for me to articulate now. That is why I have written a series of books. Gradual unconscious steps—and this is the culmination. Without this infinity cannot be tied together. Individuals will only see a concepts, see stories, see experiences, see knowledge—they will only still know and understand on an infantile level.

You think I’m talking crazy—you think I ‘really need help’ because I mentioned death! Because I don’t even care to gain any form of recognition? Please stop bothering me. I’ve been up for over 30 hours; how do you expect me to react? I am feverish, I have the chills, I don’t know what’s going on with my bodily functions, I’m beyond tired, and I don’t even know what day it is. Please, I’m begging you to just leave me alone. Leave me alone and let me finish please. I know I am in too much of a zone to stop.

You’re going to keep pushing me aren’t you? No, I’m not on drugs, and yes, I haven’t eaten. I don’t know when I last ate! I’ve just been drinking a lot of Pepsi. I like it, but I wish I had root beer. I just told you I don’t know what day it is—can’t you see I don’t care? I’m not concerned with eating. I’m not concerned with my health; you think I’m going to start worrying about that now? Jesus Christ, I smoke a pack and a half of Camel Wides Filters a day, and I’m going to worry about my eating habits? I just need to finish. Holy shit, I wish I were on drugs. I am as fine as one can be. I’m not hurting anyone, and I’m being productive.

Why, why, you’re going to ask me that again? You know, that’s just like you. You never stop pushing do you? O.K. I will stay calm, and give you a concise answer. I suppose it’s because I still stupidly believe in humanity. I know the only reason the world will come to an end is because humanity believes this. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy; it will happen if we continue to think like we have for thousands of years, and it’s going to happen by our own doing—our own stupidity!

I’m not yelling! I’m just trying to explain to you why I haven’t left my room or eaten anything in now, more than six days. I’m almost there; I’m so close I can taste the ambrosia. For all of humanity the world has been covered in darkness, darkness now for over 30,000 goddamn years and I’m sick of it! I’m sick, sick, sick, sick of it! I’m sick and tired of all the bullshit. There needs to be one last evolution, an evolution of the mind and I am going to do that. I’m going to get all of humanity going in the right direction, the path we’ve only taken a few steps down, always turning back or tailing off for something more convenient. For something that doesn’t even have to be good or right? Doesn’t that kill you? Doesn’t your soul hurt when you really feel life?

I know I can do it! I have to do it! This is not a hobby. This is not something I can just do in my free time. I have been trying to do it in my free time for far to long, and that is why I’m not where I want to be. This is my passion. This is my life. This is what I as put here to do. And I’m going to finish.

I will not lie to you. I will not lie to anyone. And I especially will not lie to myself. Yes, yes mom; sometimes the idea of just fading away seems very appealing. It seems almost right. And I’ve lived that way for many years. I’ve lived that way for so many years that days no longer exist. But then I see. Then I remember. I once again believe in me. I believe in holding a hand. I believe in helping. I believe in family. I believe in thousands of things that sometimes I cannot feel and struggle to see.

Perhaps my biggest flaw is that I’ve dreamed what will be perceived in my lifetime to be an impossible dream. Even if I continue to try my best, even if I continue to live and interact—it probably will not happen, or start to happen then destroy itself.

I love too much. I do live with my heart on my sleeve. I cry when I see sad things I feel I can do nothing about. I rather sacrifice myself, than see human beings continue to live in denial. Live in lies! I will no longer contribute to that—that flawed system of false hopes—and just blatant lies. Old pleasures the same bullshit! Everyone is sick. Sick in ways they cannot see. And the others are physically sick in ways they can see. The world is disgusting with all its knowledge and cures.

Yes, I know I’ve been out of school for almost two years, and I know I haven’t been outside often. I know I don’t socialize or talk very much anymore. Mom, I just don’t care anymore about the things everyone else cares about. I don’t need to go out, I’ve gone out enough. I don’t want a ‘so called’ job, an apartment, a fancy car—all I want; all I’ve ever wanted is to make this world a better place. Can’t you see I’m trying to do that? Can’t you see I’m not wasting my education? I’m not wasting my life. When I do what I disagree with for other individuals I am wasting. I don’t care about possessions, I don’t care about money—I care about people. I care to do what I know will help.

Yes, at points in my life, in a colloquial sense—I wasted time. And my scale of wasting time—the pressures I put on myself—believe me are infinitely more severe than any pressures anyone or anything could place on me ever. No one is harder on me than me! I am so far from where I know I could be. And take that in as many senses as you want to. I am going to change the world by helping it. If I cannot help it, help humans achieve humanity—then I have done nothing. My dream will never be taken from me. Never.

No I don’t think that’s unrealistic. You see, you see why I don’t talk to you? You are always trying to shoot me down. And that is the problem. It is more realistic to be a rich lawyer or actor, than someone who wants to help the world. Please try to understand that for me writing is life. It’s not a hobby, it’s not something I can do in my free time; it’s something that I have and will continue to devote every ounce of my being to until I finish my final work and can write no more. Then I will start another journey—a collective journey that will be equally as difficult and completely different.

The unrealistic dreams the only ones worth striving for. That’s the problem; everyone always thinks small, they think for the near or immediate future never seeing the whole. A good job, a family, a house, a car a few vacations, and a few dollars; is this really all that people want? You save up for a Mercedes and then you buy one—great, what have you accomplished? How does that help you when there are so many other things you could do?

You don’t think I know my bills are pilling up? You don’t think I know I don’t have enough money to even buy a pack of cigarettes? You don’t think I know I look like shit! I’m 23 years old and I feel like I’m in my 40’s. I’m losing my goddamn hair, and I’ve got a beard with gray patches. At my age that’s crazy. But there are many things about my physical appearance that I cannot control, and I’ve grown to accept. There is such a thing as getting and looking older.

Of course I appreciate you financially struggling and keeping me afloat, but if you cannot, or do not want to continue like this, then just stop paying the bastards. I don’t care if I destroy my credit! I don’t care if I go bankrupt! I don’t care if I never pay back my student loans; I shouldn’t even have student loans! And I certainly don’t care if they lock me up. Governments and religion have made us all prisoners. What the hell’s the difference if I’m imprisoned by society or behind metal bars? And wouldn’t it be a tragedy to send someone to jail for being unable to pay bills? How stupid is that! That’s just as stupid as sending someone to jail for smoking a joint.

Yes, and look at my friends. Who are you talking about; are you talking about K.J. or Williem? What, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to be more like K.J. and get a job in the business world working on Park Avenue South making lots of money? I know with my educational background I can do it, but it’s not a question of ability, it’s a question of desire. I don’t want to be in the business world. I don’t want to be a quote on quote teacher. I don’t want to be lawyer, or a doctor. And no, I don’t think I’m better than everyone else and don’t need to work. What the hell do you think I’m doing? Just because I’m not making an income I’m not working? Stay calm Vincenzo, stay calm—I’m talking to my mother.

Mom, I’m sorry I’m not what you hoped I would be. I’m sorry your little genius didn’t grow up to be a lawyer or a politician. And I’m sorry you are worried about me. And I’m sorry that I’m doing something that I don’t know what the end result will be? But I am a writer. Just like Mark, Mathew, Luke, and John, I’m a writer and my work will transcend time for thousands of years. It will eventually become realized and the circle of humanity will be complete. I know this. This I know I must do, and do first.

I’ve read thousands and thousands of books, and not too many people can read or write better than me. In fact what the hell am I talking about? Language is another topic all together, and no one has done what my works will do. I use language to move away from language.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve lived more, and accomplished more in my 23 years than most do in a lifetime. I’ve spoken to and interacted with thousands of people. And I’ve incorporating all of the wonderful and horrible things I’ve acquired, with “knowns” into all my works. You have no idea how much I have written.

And this last novel along with those things I’ve created and synthesized is the last one. I am not writing anything else ever again after this. There will be no reason to. There is another step. I must accompany my literary legacy with action. But even if I were to die, all would still exist and could be realized in my absence, or lack of it. My works must exist, and eventually in time they to will transcend.

Everything else I have ever read, written, and experienced has gotten me to this point. Somewhere in my mind, I have been working on this book for seven years now every second of every day. For seven long miserable years, and I never attempted writing it because it was too much of an undertaking and I wasn’t ready. So I would work on other projects, never realizing that all of those projects got me ready. I wanted there to be an end all be all, and I realized how ridiculous that was. That goes against everything. This last novel is no miracle, it is no masterpiece—it is a revelation. Unity and sight realized.

This last novel comes and goes, but is ultimately experienced if stumbled upon gradually. And individuals will see for the first time. My works have to change the face of the earth. They will not be denied. I’m ready. I swear to you I am ready. Everything is written in my mind and all I have to do is get it out. If I don’t type it up, if I don’t print it out, then I have nothing.

Don’t make me have to get what you see as help. That will not help me. Don’t force me to do anything stupid. I cannot teach psychiatrists on an individual level about everything—especially at my expense. And I will not experiment with their drugs. Psychiatric pharmaceuticals are a disgrace to humanity! What they do to your mind is a fucking disgrace! And they sell them just like you’d sell a gallon of orange juice, or a gallon of gasoline. I was going to say candy, but before we know it pharmaceuticals will be more popular than candy. People will probably be taking them to stop eating evil candy—sugars that were not meant to be inside the human body. Candy destroys!

I’m sorry if I’m snappy. But I’m close; I’m in the middle of something, and you are not respecting me. I did not expect to engage in a lengthy conversation. I suppose I just expected you to be able to look into my eyes and understand. Now I’m going off on all kinds of tangents and losing my focus because I’m being forced to communicate. There is no way I could briefly fill you in, or catch you up. Right now we are as far apart as we possibly could be.

Do you think I chose to do this? Do you think I made a consciousness decision to be fucking miserable? I mean why do I want to help humanity? Most people are self- serving bastards who at the very most care about their immediate surrounds, their own little world. If I had it in me to be lawyer or a politician, or work for the government and exist having a successful life I would. If I could be a sheep and go through the motions existing on the wheel of what we have come to call life and reality, I would. I know health insurance and pensions are important, but they shouldn’t be. I would do something with some sense of stability it in a New York minute, but I can’t. All the money and fame and stability in the world will not make me happy. I will not accept this reality and world I have been presented with. It is a sick, sick place with beautiful people. Wonderful people everywhere in different phases of the human existence—all hurting, confused, in pain, suffering—and living for moments, ideals, beliefs, and concepts. Everything is very sad.

And I don’t want the money; I could give a shit less about that. And I don’t want the fame; I don’t care to ever be known or recognized. And I don’t even want to be happy. That’s not a goal. Everyone is concerned with happiness. I’m not. It’s fleeting; it’s brief moments of pleasure and joy that ultimately bring about emptiness. You know what, a half a scoop of vanilla ice cream would make me very happy right now, but after I devour it I won’t be happy—I’ll want more, or I’ll want something else. And how long do you think I’m going to remember what it felt like to eat that half a scoop of vanilla ice cream? Yes, the next time I’m in the depths of hell and feel that I have nothing left to live for, I should remember how happy I was eating ice cream. That will make it all better. No reflection of any kind has ever brought about a moment; when the moment is gone it is finished forever.

I’m not trying to be ridiculous, but sometimes that’s what it takes. I’m striving for fulfillment, and I’m not going to stop until I get there. I’m striving to initiate a collective consciousness and resurrecting humanity. And believe what you want, but I haven’t been happy for as long as I can remember. I haven’t felt good about myself because in my mind I am a failure. As far away as I want to get from it, I always come back to it. The mind. Sure you see me smile occasionally, or laugh, but that doesn’t mean I am feeling well. I will not be well, or happy, or fulfilled, or anything until I do this.

I should already be an accredited author from a societal prospective. I should already have made enough money to revolutionize the healthcare industry and the educational system. People have been waiting too long for the government to do this shit for us, and they never will because there is too much money to be made, too much money to be lost. If I had the money of a Bill Gates, do you think there would be anyone starving in the world other than those who chose to starve? We rationalize the shit out of everything. I cannot be bought because I know money is just a concept. It exists because it has become necessary to perpetuate life.

What do you mean why would anyone choose to starve? Why would anyone choose to go to church? Why would anyone choose to do things that hurt themselves? In a perfect world, in an absolute utopia, there would still be the sick and lonely, the sad, the evil—I’m not going to get into all of this right now. Mom, this is the reason why I need to finish my final novel. This is why all of my works must be viewed as individual components of a whole. Would diamonds keep their value if they became abundant? Or would they be everywhere and embodied? Just become amusement because the very thought of them once being valuable—being anything other than beautiful would be absurd.

You were an excellent mother, you are an excellent mother, and I love you. I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad or angry with any one person. If I could chose any person in the world past or present to be my mother it would be you. It has been you. I don’t say it all the time, and I certainly haven’t shown it, but I love you. You have helped get me to this point—I give you tremendous credit and gratitude. And believe it or not, I think one day you will see all that I have accomplished in a way that will make sense to you. You will understand and see just how much you mean and have always meant to me. And it all starts with words.

I remember the notes you would put in my lunch box; in fact that was always the best part of my day because you always knew what to say. If I had a test you’d write, “Don’t worry Vincenzo, you know everything. You will do fine on your test.” You were always right. In school I was considered to be a genius. You don’t think I know why I was such a genius? It’s because of you. It’s because you helped me, you taught me to be the best I can be, and you told me that would be enough. In school, in an academic area I was the best; I am the best. Nobody can take notes, read, and study for tests like I can. Come on Mom, I had a 4.14 grade point average in high school—that’s why I was valedictorian.

And don’t you remember my freshman year, microeconomics, and I needed a 99 on my final exam to get a C- in the course? Do you remember that? Yes, that Professor although he was very intelligent he was one of the biggest assholes on the face of this earth. That’s right, his name was Professor Schfrondel. What a son of a bitch! I hated him and so did everyone else. These were college students mind you, and this was an introductory class, and he made kids cry.

Oh how he picked on me. He used to say my last name incorrectly a different way everyday on purpose. And for some reason we had this class in a music room with four walls of blackboard and a baby grand piano. Whatever side of the room the piano was on—he insisted before every class that I move it to the other side of the room because he needed to use a particular section of the blackboard that the piano was blocking.

And do you remember when I told you about the first test we had—what question one was; “Describe in depth figure 2-1 in your microeconomics text.” When I asked him where the figure was on the test he said, “Didn’t you read the textbook?” He didn’t like my smart-ass reply, but fuck him. How is that learning? How is that an example of knowing anything? How did I stray so far off topic; I don’t want to talk about that asshole anymore. What was he teaching us?

Memorization, I get a real kick out of that. People who can memorize things are intelligent! Williem got great apes to memorize words and manipulate them illustrating linguistic abilities. Memorizing dates, and facts, or the periodic table of elements, or being able to spell onomatopoeia—it’s all just a bunch of mindless bullshit that clutters the mind; fills one with a false sense of knowing.

Listen mom, you are the best. I’m not asking you to try to understand me; all I’m asking you to do is please be supportive for just a little while longer. Just a few days and I will be finished. And I’m telling you my last novel, this one is my masterpiece—it just has to get published—all I have to do is try. The security will come along with the journey. I do not consider anything I have done in the past to be an accomplishment anymore.

If we must talk about the past, I showed a few pages to K.J. on occasion; he’s the only one so far who has seen anything. Well, him and Melissa, but that’s another story. Now you know K.J. hates to read. He once told me he wishes he didn’t hate to read, but he never found anything interesting or worth reading. Well, he couldn’t put the pages down. He wouldn’t just say something to me to be nice, that’s why I let him see my work. If I can get through to someone who despises reading, I can get through to a few other people don’t you think? And even if I did that, wouldn’t I have done something?

In turn, my work, my work discussing common human universals that are cross cultural; my work discussing a new way to organize and use our minds, a new way of structuring humanity will become a part of those few, and they will pass it on to all they come in contact with.

All of the time my friends, my family, you included say to me, “I remember what you said,” or “I was thinking about what we discussed.” I want to touch everyone. I want the world to be able to have a personal relationship with me. My novels will allow me to communicate with individuals on a grander scale. There will be much to talk about once again. Much to talk about on an individual sense, and on a whole; there will be many outward discussions with others, and may inward debates. Things will start to move once again within the mind, and people will love it. They will start to feel more like the way they are entitled to feel.

Why do I keep saying this is my last novel—because it is! You have no idea how many books I’ve already written do you? You have no idea. Do you think I just talk about writing? Do you think I haven’t perfected my craft through trial and error? Some of my other books, they’re probably pretty good, they have magic and maybe someday I’ll do something with them, but this one is the one. This one’s the eye opener!

Writing is a means to an end for me. I just want to help people learn about themselves, learn about what exactly is going on in their minds and all around them. And if this book sells, if people read it, I will make some money. You’re not going to see me driving around in a Ferrari with the money; you’re going to see me making a difference. You’re going to see me put some of my philosophies into practice. And that will hopefully be my real legacy—not necessarily my work, but what I do with my life. Yes, yes, of course I’m going to pay my mother back so she can retire.

And if we are going to talk about the past to try to validate the future, everything I have ever done that was great always included helping people. Who cares about all the 100’s or “A” pluses? Remember when I saved that little girl on her bike from getting hit by a car? Now what the hell was she doing outside at 8 o’clock in the middle of the street on our dimly lit road I’ll never know, but if it weren’t for me, she would be dead. The car certainly killed her bicycle. And then the best part is her mother never seeing the car, or the smashed bike only saw her daughter screaming in pain with some kid on top of her. That mother tried to beat the shit out of me; she didn’t want to hear anything let alone my explanation. She was eliminating what appeared to be a threat to her child.

What about the time I raised all that money for the boy with leukemia. I raised more money for him than all the other organizations and charities combined. He beat it. Watching that kid play baseball two years later when everyone except his parents considered him as good as dead was awesome. But isn’t it sad, isn’t it incredible that without that money this kid wouldn’t have been able to get the treatment he needed to save his life. That always sickened me. That always stayed with me. Without money, that little boy would have died? Society, people, all of us would have allowed this boy to die? It makes my stomach turn just thinking about it.

But I need to do more of this. I want to do more of this, and I want and need to do it on a much greater scale. Aren’t you proud of me for that? Aren’t you proud your son loves people and wants to help humanity? Aren’t you proud your son isn’t one of those selfish bastards? Can’t you see all the wonderful things I am trying to do?

You know what mom; I don’t even care? There is nothing I have ever done, and nothing I will ever do for kudos and acclaim. I’m proud. I’m proud of myself for not letting this world kill me just yet! I’m proud of myself for staying true to my dreams and my vision. I’m proud of myself for believing that a revolution of the mind is possible and one day all of humanity will be part of the same warm collective consciousness. I’m proud that even though I’ve wanted to give up countless times, even though I’ve wanted to die, I’ve continued to forge ahead and give every bit energy I have into my work regardless of how I’ve felt. Believe it or not, I can assure you I feel great. I feel alive in my work. And that is where I need to be. That is how I need to be for now.

Yes, I’ll have something to eat with you in a little while. I promise, just give me another hour or so. I don’t care what we eat. Whatever you want to make, whatever you want to eat is fine with me. But mom, just give me another hour or so—that means don’t come in hear and ask me a thousand questions. Don’t make a big deal over you cooking and me eating something. I don’t want to hear do you want corn or string beans? I don’t want to hear about how something is almost ready. I need one more undisturbed hour, and I will come into the kitchen on my own accord. Thank you; thank you. Yes, that sounds lovely—you know breaded chicken cutlets are one of my favorites. Just as long as there is applesauce.