(no subject)
a saved entry from last time:
a nice moderated combination of uppers and regularity (not the bowels kind, though, yes, that too) is doing well to combat most of my anxieties - except for the bedbug one; the thought (and consequent sensation) of bugs crawling all over my body and possibly having lain eggs inside of it. (my roommate got a mattress out of the garbage) Unfortunately my newfound sense of psychological stability does not much defer the sense of resentment one feels towards an act which caused the infestation of a particularly evasive, hard to get rid of, blood-sucking parasite in one's sacred space.
I'm kidding. I mean suppressing. I mean kidding.
Oh the confession is deceptive in both cause and effect. The thought that you're releasing or organizing thoughts by enunciating them seems crazy... that ...
...
and this time:
I'm starting to feel contented by everything. I now understand why the calmest, most enlightened people tend to be boring conversationalists; there isn't much to say once right and wrong lose all potency. But I also understand that I don't understand, so: everything that always had a clear quality of attraction or repulsion to me, myself, the observer of illusions are variable depending on the vantage point i choose to observe them from...
now my thoughts are scattered and nothing has any innate quality to me... and in order to have conversations with people, I have to navigate around this thing. much about being a person is self-referential. the thing i mean, not the self is self-referential; that's given. i guess people are willfull collections of ideologies, and not much else.
I haven't watched it yet but I'll suggest it before I watch it because I'm certain it'll be good because I decide now that I will like it: Holy Mountain
easy.
I might be losing 'it.'
I dont know what else to say (to myself)
a nice moderated combination of uppers and regularity (not the bowels kind, though, yes, that too) is doing well to combat most of my anxieties - except for the bedbug one; the thought (and consequent sensation) of bugs crawling all over my body and possibly having lain eggs inside of it. (my roommate got a mattress out of the garbage) Unfortunately my newfound sense of psychological stability does not much defer the sense of resentment one feels towards an act which caused the infestation of a particularly evasive, hard to get rid of, blood-sucking parasite in one's sacred space.
I'm kidding. I mean suppressing. I mean kidding.
Oh the confession is deceptive in both cause and effect. The thought that you're releasing or organizing thoughts by enunciating them seems crazy... that ...
...
and this time:
I'm starting to feel contented by everything. I now understand why the calmest, most enlightened people tend to be boring conversationalists; there isn't much to say once right and wrong lose all potency. But I also understand that I don't understand, so: everything that always had a clear quality of attraction or repulsion to me, myself, the observer of illusions are variable depending on the vantage point i choose to observe them from...
now my thoughts are scattered and nothing has any innate quality to me... and in order to have conversations with people, I have to navigate around this thing. much about being a person is self-referential. the thing i mean, not the self is self-referential; that's given. i guess people are willfull collections of ideologies, and not much else.
I haven't watched it yet but I'll suggest it before I watch it because I'm certain it'll be good because I decide now that I will like it: Holy Mountain
easy.
I might be losing 'it.'
I dont know what else to say (to myself)