(no subject)
It's hard to tell for how long and in what forms this has persisted, since the machinery of Reed has been so ideal for me, but my return to the city has once again revealed, violently, my deep retraction into my own head. It's as though my eyes have sunken behind my brain: the frame of the world is in clearer focus that the world itself. When I am alone, or not, my mind is forcibly possessed by few objects of thought other than its own structure, fragility. Of course such inclinations casually threaten everyone (whether they are threats or pleasures depends on the chemical interaction between the character of the thinker and thought), and for the past year and a half I sought respite from my brain through means of the time-tested remedies: intellectualization, playing music, sex. Reed offers all three with a certain convenience, but now I'm back in New York, where it's hard to get a band together (DOUBLE ENTENDRE), especially considering fluctuating levels of mobility and physical pain.