Today, I found something. Well Something that was never lost. Lots of those lost things resurfacing of late, only out of a realization of finding them on the end of your desk, where you kept placing it over and over again, your higher self, until you were ready to find it. It isn’t lost anymore.
All shiny and silver, but not so new like something shiny might be, but more like something less new and more weather. Maybe the grip of my palm will wilt it with some love. A Grey GE Fast Playback AVR device. This baby picks up some “groovy jams” and makes me want to go a little crazy to see how far it will travel with me. Inanimate devices never expect anything to extraordinary, so I can settle on dictation less than loud enough for a meeting or lecture, or as Mr.GE calls it “general use”. There is maybe nothing so useful about my generality.
I need to start jotting down yucky stuff about being here or there.
Back to the drawing painting hurting recording board.
The drawings, the past few days, well not the drawings themselves, rather the image of the intention of them within my mind sphere - they feel empty. Or rather not held to a substance which is helpful of their pertinence. The reliance of an outside source of foundation is unsatisfying, so I search for a method to bring modes of production closer to the heart. So begins the paper making saga. Part 1 : Find supplies
Tomorrow I will endure a strenuous amount of movement, both mentally and physically. The reward will be working through all of it, with smiles, cheers and laughs. I will grumble on home feeling accomplished and ready to hit the plushness of my bed. Tonight I prepared to be prepared for tomorrow. I made dinner. I researched things concerning libations of specific palatable values, I stuffed my sacks with goods and treasures that keep me comfortable. One red shiny corkscrew, a funny pack of pens. Not all the days have unfolded so pleasantly as these have of late. I feel the things most swiftly, but also wholly now. In a way that is only the most slightly familiar. The order of priority is “correct” in a logical way only sound to myself. I sit and ponder things like “logic outside of reason”, “the void”, and “wonder”, sitting wondering how very great it feels to feel.
Line drawings are something that center my ever adjusting perception. They, among other things, are keeping me tied to something here on the ground. I do not often know what, or why, but they do. The ease and frequency of control I have over each line, the difficulty and slowness I can enunciate, peaking small or long words. This leaves me satisfied. More satisfied than say a drink, a smoke, a drag, a late cab ride home. An assemblage of sorts, where heart and hand meet, with eyes at the center. Following lines, following rhythms, following a single fleeting feeling of feeling something. It has been a long time since the stillness outside matches that of the inside. For once, I breathe a deep sigh, and let the pen follow.
The process of self growth, self renewal, or whatever you ascribe to be reaching forward for what lies behind that next curve in the road. This stuff is hard.
I have found lately that the answers and questions that I used to find were most effective in alleviating tensions or mental stresses have quickly become remedies with no purpose.
I feel lost inside of a wilderness that I created, lost inside of positive change and thought. This context, i suppose, then reframes the connotations of loss, of being lossless.
What is most funny about this path is that my feet walk fully forward, and I stare back at the space that they used to be, entirely unfamiliar with the foliage and quality of air which once was called home. For things are changing quite quickly, but the change has become a bit of a routine, a process that I have become familiarly acquainted with.
Even these words, as I write them seem far away and distant. We should all be familiar with the dissonance of my own mind, and its rather disconnected relationship to its body, and its space, and its friends. Still I pull along my feet against the ground. Hoping for it to catch upon a stone or a rock, or a crack in the foundation of the thick cement we have covered the ground with.
To begin to deconstruct one’s own state of mind, one’s own process of thinking.
Can be started by dwelling and becoming sullen within emotional, psychological, and social complexities often dubbed “modern” or “postmodern”
Such dwelling will almost surely end in non-ending, excruciating inner pain
These feelings can be masked repeatedly by objects: proof of the materialism and superficiality of our current collective state (which should or should not be removed from a singular state of superficiality or materialism [often dubbed “modern” or “postmodern”]).
from this perspective, from this angle, on this perch, things are much different than they were before. lifted away from problems, and answers, and decisions, and the making of all of those things. up here, everything seems so unclear, blurry, as if there was water streaming across my head towards my eyes, down my chin, dripping, falling, closer and closer to the ground. I’m close enough now, to see that those decisions which happen so far away, they are the ones that really matter. far away, i can’t breathe as well, and far away my feet touch the ground, way down there my feet touch the ground, im too close, and you can see. because from far away, every turn of a head, every lift of the wrist, is for you, and for you only, and so when i sit and i think and i talk and i wonder about it all, i keep revolving around this singular idea: that you are you, and that perched up here, nothing is real.
I’ve lost sight of what is real and what is true, i can’t remember when i was supposed to lift my fingers to call for help, or if i was supposed to make a certain motion towards a certain sound, a certain specific kind of ringing that will leave my ears buzzing with sensations like wisdom and truth. ringing of bells, like in churches, in valleys, in deserts, where no one can hear the ringing and so it rings on until alas it resonates in to a hum, spanning so far that your eyes start to bleed from squinting so hard to see where the hum ends.
i have to stop typing because i’ve become much too lightheaded to continue. for this i am sorry.
fluttering. lots and lots of fluttering. intersecting images about what i was supposed to think, what i was supposed to say, what all of those thoughts and those words are supposed to mean. and what i should perceive about the meaning. all just fixed notions to beats and frequencies that dont have names or words or prefixes or grammar rules or spelling errors. just me, you, them, and what we all sense, below the surface, tingling at the finger tips and maybe the tips of the toes, for some. it is not that i do not want to move forward it is that i do not want to begin to escape the comfort of being aware of the present and what may or may not come. struggling to understand where the line begins and the empty void ends, or if both have always been whirling cosmic forms and shapes with no names and no words to describe them. the fascination that can develop in trying to understand all of this, to try and understand why i use the same words so frequently and search for some that better illuminate what i attempt to rip from the depths of my soul and my mind and my heart and all the “things” that thing themselves between more things. maybe because when i say things your mind goes whirling in to more things, creating a thing for you to deal with. it’s all just things.
this is all just nonsense mixed in with a couple of repetitive words, some bad grammar, and auto-spell that keeps me at the line all the way.
Blurring boundaries between my heart and the hands that guide my head. Running running running, so fast now, so much faster then. To feel like you are standing at the peak of a cliff on top of the worlds largest pile of self-created shit. You look below, ready to jump in to all that you had climbed from. Startled, the motions stop, you begin to sway. You begin to say: these are the things that leave me restless, these are the things that leave me still. The entire universe, the entire existence of life, of creation, float in front of you, being split and fractured again and again and again and again until things begin to settle in to tiny and coordinated categories, categories with no boundaries, ones that end up looking like piles, mushing over on to one another, fraying and falling, stacking high then sliding all the way down. Just like you, when you stood at the top of that mountain, before you took the plunge back down. Not to worry my friend, for there is always more to build, more to be found, and always another hill, ready to be climbed.
I faltered. I stumbled, Maybe only swayed a bit, not so much that you could see, but enough to make you turn your head and glance to the side with a look on your face that resembled love or maybe fear, between the two was your nose all crinkled and smooshed against what may have been glass, more likely an invisible wall that i will break down eventually with the mallet that has been clenched in my hands for twenty-plus months and years to date that make me sick to my stomach. so i will break the wall. and smash all the little pieces on the floor over and over again until they and i and you are screaming your name in unison, in Ecstasy, eternally. forever.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do…And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we’re liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”—Marianne Williamson (via stayinthelightco)
Maybe I am over thinking, creating, fabricating memories out of distant thoughts about some kind of future things that creep viscerally like stuff full of blood and rushing beats of my tightened up heart. It hurts trying to think about not circulating around my behaviors of self consumed consumption about massive details so big that they blind you, from me. I just wonder if all of these swooshing rings in my ears are incessant motions of upward motivation from deep within, more inside of you than inside of me, yet outside the reach of stumbling footsteps on the marble atrium that dizzy head of all the children floating. More than this, just wanting relaxation such as sitting in a grove with blades cascading my feet above and below causing beats under upturned cribs for senses of sensations surrounding ideas like earth and its population defacing creations thrown astern for safe keeping past locks and chains and wardens with yellow suits leaking and squeaking as if passing with no sound would not do. just all this to want you.
I sit inside my mind, entering a new meadow of problems.
Attempting to fill up all of the tiny holes that were blasted out of my ego. Wondering whether to turn left or to turn right, but entirely content with the feeling that neither is falling down, spiraling out of control. For it can be said, and would be entirely true, that I was ready to let go, and would have had few gripes about not holding on. Yet somewhere, a light shined through, so bright that it pierced all of these little holes in this big ego. pushing away the things that were making me calloused, revealing spots of bright white light behind it, making me understand that what is ahead of me is more important than what is past me.
I’d like to think that somewhere the creator(s) is floating, smiling, proud that I have overcome the obstacle that was placed in front of me, ecstatic that it can place another ahead of me.
For I am running, arms open, head high, laughing, with the wind blowing through my fingers, realizing that this is the way that things can always be. sitting, content, quite, full of mystery.