After a visit to Oakland 2014

The Albany Bulb is a landfill/ cum park on San Francisco Bay where people take their dogs walking and others set up places to sleep and express themselves with art they make out of refuse. It is stunning and confusing and random and beautiful
 
I need to be speaking to whomever out there/in here wants to listen.
My computer is so full of conflicting and connecting information that it opens up windows where stuff is written over other stuff. Since I live alone with my dog, and my dog is only tolerant of my connection to this medium of information or fantasy, and does not participate in it, the connection here is between my friend/enemy/obsession computer and me.  I’m old and I’m confused.  I  think, like the web and its developers, that there is righteousness and responsibility in sharing my unique (That’s sarcastic) insight with others: that it will inform their lives and make things better – which is solipsistic- yes?
The boundaries (if they exist) blur.  Nothing is true. That statement is true. (Then something is true, is it not?  Beats me!)   The problem of working in a nursing home when you are almost 74 is that I cannot separate oneself from the basic fact that old age leads to death, and the path is often neither easy nor pretty.  As everything narrows, what are my expectations for achieving that which I have not achieved before, now that I have the last chance.  And as my faculties fail – or widen – am I more open and wiser to the expansive possibilities of being or seeing, or am I just dementing. 
Most of the resident/inmates of nursing facilities are demented to a degree, but it is in the education of those who care for them that the disconnect from reality, as we once knew it, is not necessarily demented.  Just different.  Resident’s lives are constrained and limited by their geography: a room. a hallway. a dining table, a wheelchair.  They get to see only those who visit them. Otherwise, their lives are filled with dreams, memories and the misunderstandings of projected images on tv that are themselves, fictional, even when they purport to be the news of the world , i.e,  true reality. Their contexts are distorted: do I see a parrot or a pair of sunglasses?  and they don’t get the joke in the ubiquitous advertisements, which depend on being hip to the current trend.
For example: We watched 26 days of repeated reports, videos and speculations about the missing plane.  Experts standing on maps of the Indian Ocean bringing to bear their expertise and academic credentials to explain why the new search area was 700 miles closer to Perth than it was yesterday, interspersed with images (perhaps acquired yesterday, perhaps from stock files acquired two years ago) illustrating the state of this particular ocean, so current viewers can picture the difficulty of seeing debris while being informed of the various possibilities that will explain (there is always an explanation) random accidents of life, nature, the planet and the solar system, the universe and the possible  parallel universes.  It’s a lot to take in without blinking.
So they, in their rooms and I, with my stuffed nose and cough acquired from them, am/are confused and past and future, dreams and things that actually seem to have happened when I was awake, and knowledge that I know and pieces of information (or data) that I think I may have known, and experiences and fragments of imagined experience mix in the soup.  It’s delicious, but is it nourishing or is it contributing to the plaque accumulating in the vessels that provide the blood supply to my brain?