(no subject)
i accidentally fasted the other day and at six o'clock had to choose between making a whole big mess of mac and cheese and keeping the fast going until i shriveled up into a solid, cranky, yet serene statue. i chose to eat but felt that i had missed out on a different sort of fulfillment.
w/e... it's just sort of an extreme reaction to the fact that there are always too many things to have to take care of; e.g. i'm hungry, i'm thirsty, i'm tired, i'm cold, i'm lonely, i'm worried, i don't have enough time. if i stay absolutely still it matters less. but i have to respond because i am no permanent pearly aura, i am a human being. i've been working with a distinct aroma of clean BO, amsterdam shag, and spray-on cedar masking scent. i've got two fists with brawlers knuckles which i'm always thinking about using to make a solid point, but i know that if i really have to try that hard to make my feelings clear to anyone, they're definitely not the type to ever understand the important things i have to say. so why bother. i spent the other night with someone stirring their skin up into textures and pliancies alarming to the both of us and talking dirty. i know it isn't something to trifle with unless its sincere, but i was doing it because i was moved to honesty. so my point was made. i laid awake in bed with the fan on (remember that it's the dead of winter) thinking about my impotence, that that which seems granted for life will fade. that that which fades isn't always replaced with an equal faculty. what exists "for life" is "for life" while it exists, since a) it exists and b) you are alive, but the possibility looms that it wont always exist, and once it doesn't it turns from a character trait to merely the theme of a previous chapter. i thought about the common thread that ties together all inabilities to perform. i was sort of trapped in a spell of helplessness and was a stranger to my own prowess until i had a chance to remember that it's not too late yet, and... i mean, i can't be sure of this, but the longer i use it, the longer it might take to lose it. i've been sitting on brick walls and listening to downtown areas filled with squeaking buses and a stream of passing conversations and feeling entirely comfortable. we've had mild weather here in north carolina, occasionally squashed by freezing miserable rain.
I woke up on my second day of class this semster, and something without my permission while i was asleep left me with some residual gloom which I could only blame on both the immediate and long term future as opposed to that which I could not see. or rather could not remember; that in which i had no participation. a little unfair. the day turned out to be alright.
sydney said she likes my abstracts more than my narratives and my uncle danny told me a couple of years ago that he went to an exhibit at the hirshorn and that he just doesnt get modern art. these are real people who have said real things to me, just as a matter of conversation. none of them intended to, but they've tied ghosts of their sentiments to my inner monologue, and now since the time we talked, various once-personal discoveries i make fuction also as proofs that will sway their theoretical selves towards my opinion. i can't tell if these thoughts would register or even exist if the conversations never took place. they're there, and the most relevant problem is that i treat them as ordinary thoughts, and therefore dont take the trouble to record them for the next opportunity to continue the topic. i sat syd down and had her watch most of jigoku, particularly for a scene that isn't too dissimilar to my tastes:
and told her that there's room for all the same imagery in narratives, but it requires more work on the viewers part to gather them into the bouquet that something like a music video pre-arranges. to have a set of striking images which are incorporated into a network which connects depictions of human interaction with the passage of time and all which might arise from that can't really be replicated. i guess it's still a matter of preference. at the initial conversation i told danny that the point about "modern" art isn't always to make an explicit statement but instead to present a state of mind, but that didn't seem to open any doors for him. i feel like i've left him hanging with this partial answer, and i'm abstractly waiting on the next opportunity to continue the conversation, even though i see him once a year at most - at the galloway christmas party. i suppose its more important to me than it is to him, so i should initiate it, but last year danny just talked to me about the bible the whole time, which i enjoyed. i feel like i could sum it up with "everything is everything", but i don't think that's in his vocabulary yet. though that might not matter. vocabulary feeds into consciousness, consciousness into vocabulary
w/e... it's just sort of an extreme reaction to the fact that there are always too many things to have to take care of; e.g. i'm hungry, i'm thirsty, i'm tired, i'm cold, i'm lonely, i'm worried, i don't have enough time. if i stay absolutely still it matters less. but i have to respond because i am no permanent pearly aura, i am a human being. i've been working with a distinct aroma of clean BO, amsterdam shag, and spray-on cedar masking scent. i've got two fists with brawlers knuckles which i'm always thinking about using to make a solid point, but i know that if i really have to try that hard to make my feelings clear to anyone, they're definitely not the type to ever understand the important things i have to say. so why bother. i spent the other night with someone stirring their skin up into textures and pliancies alarming to the both of us and talking dirty. i know it isn't something to trifle with unless its sincere, but i was doing it because i was moved to honesty. so my point was made. i laid awake in bed with the fan on (remember that it's the dead of winter) thinking about my impotence, that that which seems granted for life will fade. that that which fades isn't always replaced with an equal faculty. what exists "for life" is "for life" while it exists, since a) it exists and b) you are alive, but the possibility looms that it wont always exist, and once it doesn't it turns from a character trait to merely the theme of a previous chapter. i thought about the common thread that ties together all inabilities to perform. i was sort of trapped in a spell of helplessness and was a stranger to my own prowess until i had a chance to remember that it's not too late yet, and... i mean, i can't be sure of this, but the longer i use it, the longer it might take to lose it. i've been sitting on brick walls and listening to downtown areas filled with squeaking buses and a stream of passing conversations and feeling entirely comfortable. we've had mild weather here in north carolina, occasionally squashed by freezing miserable rain.
I woke up on my second day of class this semster, and something without my permission while i was asleep left me with some residual gloom which I could only blame on both the immediate and long term future as opposed to that which I could not see. or rather could not remember; that in which i had no participation. a little unfair. the day turned out to be alright.
sydney said she likes my abstracts more than my narratives and my uncle danny told me a couple of years ago that he went to an exhibit at the hirshorn and that he just doesnt get modern art. these are real people who have said real things to me, just as a matter of conversation. none of them intended to, but they've tied ghosts of their sentiments to my inner monologue, and now since the time we talked, various once-personal discoveries i make fuction also as proofs that will sway their theoretical selves towards my opinion. i can't tell if these thoughts would register or even exist if the conversations never took place. they're there, and the most relevant problem is that i treat them as ordinary thoughts, and therefore dont take the trouble to record them for the next opportunity to continue the topic. i sat syd down and had her watch most of jigoku, particularly for a scene that isn't too dissimilar to my tastes:
and told her that there's room for all the same imagery in narratives, but it requires more work on the viewers part to gather them into the bouquet that something like a music video pre-arranges. to have a set of striking images which are incorporated into a network which connects depictions of human interaction with the passage of time and all which might arise from that can't really be replicated. i guess it's still a matter of preference. at the initial conversation i told danny that the point about "modern" art isn't always to make an explicit statement but instead to present a state of mind, but that didn't seem to open any doors for him. i feel like i've left him hanging with this partial answer, and i'm abstractly waiting on the next opportunity to continue the conversation, even though i see him once a year at most - at the galloway christmas party. i suppose its more important to me than it is to him, so i should initiate it, but last year danny just talked to me about the bible the whole time, which i enjoyed. i feel like i could sum it up with "everything is everything", but i don't think that's in his vocabulary yet. though that might not matter. vocabulary feeds into consciousness, consciousness into vocabulary