moving, burning, dancing, singing
I feel that maybe I shouldn't post this... it is almost like certifying myself as crazy... but I assume most of the people that read this already know the extent of my locura... and it is so long... that most won't read it anyway.
I am reading Minor Characters. This novel much like On the Road puts me in an interesting mood.
I am torn between identifying with the author who feels like the stable\ normal female in the supporting role to the self-destructive male beats, and feeling like a male beat myself.
It is strange because like the beats... I feel like I am often on a quest for intense realizations and movement. It is the reason I go to Mexico every few months. The reason I get antzy at school and have to keep myself busy... for fear of eminent self-destruction if I ever stop moving.
Oddly enough I claim that all I want is to feel good and be calm... when really that is just an attempt to balance out my over-active mind. Maybe if I slow my body down and listen to calm music... my mind will follow.
Some of the drugs follow the same pattern... others are used to cause the excited state I find myself in now... where I come to realization after realization of the world and myself.
I realized today that I am generally attracted to those who are creative and self-destructive. It is not that I want to save them... although I do feel the need to support them... it is that their intensity matches my own... the difference lies in my extreme use of logic and suppressed puritanical cultural imprinting. Those characteristics are what cause me to eventually reject the self-destruction as "bad." It is interesting that in the past I have taken these burning balls of light as my lovers instead of keeping them as friends. In most cases it seems that we complement each other more as friends than lovers... being friends prevents me from caring too much... caring too much leads to judgment.
I look for tranquility and peace... to avoid drama, uneasiness, and pain. What would life be like if there was really "no drama?" It would be dull... a series of routines to keep the body and mind going... working for a capitalist machine (money) or some sociological ideal... or both although denying the association with one of them.
Pain is a hint at death... pain seems negative but really it is just a reminder that we are alive and still conscious... it is also a taste of ecstasy... we are all a little masochistic... because the thing we are actually searching for and dreading at the same time is knowledge of death... the riveting pain with ecstatic surges of sensation that will at some point capture us and take us into the unknown.
The interesting thing is that what I fear the most is getting out of control... doing drugs to the point where I am unconscious... the state closest to death that we can achieve without making the only decision that really belongs to us.
I fear it because I fear death... and I search for those who embrace it because I admire that ability to allow oneself to let go... to really feel freedom without guilt or fear.
Our bodies can take a lot without actually breaking down or giving up... this is hard to remember... but important. I have no idea what the coming semester brings... if I continue to read books like this... it could be a long, long semester. If I give up... my life may become routine.
In the last few weeks I learned that ... that although competition is a bitch... one must still grasp the object of their desire... state a claim. It is dangerous and much harder than running... but the only solution when a relationship is threatened. Not only that but when dealing with self-destructive fireflies... darkening the landing pad only leads them to crasy or chase the only light around them ... it is much more helpful to shine brighter in that moment and make yourself known. Especially if like Joyce Glassman you are supporting the self-destructive intensity of genius.
Wow... this has been intense... and this doesn't even encompass my ruminations.
I am reading Minor Characters. This novel much like On the Road puts me in an interesting mood.
I am torn between identifying with the author who feels like the stable\ normal female in the supporting role to the self-destructive male beats, and feeling like a male beat myself.
It is strange because like the beats... I feel like I am often on a quest for intense realizations and movement. It is the reason I go to Mexico every few months. The reason I get antzy at school and have to keep myself busy... for fear of eminent self-destruction if I ever stop moving.
Oddly enough I claim that all I want is to feel good and be calm... when really that is just an attempt to balance out my over-active mind. Maybe if I slow my body down and listen to calm music... my mind will follow.
Some of the drugs follow the same pattern... others are used to cause the excited state I find myself in now... where I come to realization after realization of the world and myself.
I realized today that I am generally attracted to those who are creative and self-destructive. It is not that I want to save them... although I do feel the need to support them... it is that their intensity matches my own... the difference lies in my extreme use of logic and suppressed puritanical cultural imprinting. Those characteristics are what cause me to eventually reject the self-destruction as "bad." It is interesting that in the past I have taken these burning balls of light as my lovers instead of keeping them as friends. In most cases it seems that we complement each other more as friends than lovers... being friends prevents me from caring too much... caring too much leads to judgment.
I look for tranquility and peace... to avoid drama, uneasiness, and pain. What would life be like if there was really "no drama?" It would be dull... a series of routines to keep the body and mind going... working for a capitalist machine (money) or some sociological ideal... or both although denying the association with one of them.
Pain is a hint at death... pain seems negative but really it is just a reminder that we are alive and still conscious... it is also a taste of ecstasy... we are all a little masochistic... because the thing we are actually searching for and dreading at the same time is knowledge of death... the riveting pain with ecstatic surges of sensation that will at some point capture us and take us into the unknown.
The interesting thing is that what I fear the most is getting out of control... doing drugs to the point where I am unconscious... the state closest to death that we can achieve without making the only decision that really belongs to us.
I fear it because I fear death... and I search for those who embrace it because I admire that ability to allow oneself to let go... to really feel freedom without guilt or fear.
Our bodies can take a lot without actually breaking down or giving up... this is hard to remember... but important. I have no idea what the coming semester brings... if I continue to read books like this... it could be a long, long semester. If I give up... my life may become routine.
In the last few weeks I learned that ... that although competition is a bitch... one must still grasp the object of their desire... state a claim. It is dangerous and much harder than running... but the only solution when a relationship is threatened. Not only that but when dealing with self-destructive fireflies... darkening the landing pad only leads them to crasy or chase the only light around them ... it is much more helpful to shine brighter in that moment and make yourself known. Especially if like Joyce Glassman you are supporting the self-destructive intensity of genius.
Wow... this has been intense... and this doesn't even encompass my ruminations.