a climactic fit of joy
I feel very young. And feel very keenly that I am supposed to be a man. Instead I caper like a fawn in a forest full of giggles. I also feel very tired and while I am happy at work, I come home and feel like some sort of outburst as exhaustion catches up to me. Bob bosses like a bitch. He is supposed to be a man too I guess, but acts like he wants a husband (because his mother was a father?). What do I want? I think, emotion. Because whenever I think of it, it is feelings, vignettes, not necessarily an eternal union, not necessarily a necessity, but something that should be experienced in different manifestations, because that's how you learn. Vague. So at work, the Men, capitalised, talk about women, bending, thrusting, crying, grunting, laughing. So physical, and... not empty? But like looking at cartoon in a newspaper and thinking that Rembrandt. It's all stab, stab, stab. And when pressed I'd mumble something all shy, like "Oh well, it's nice, but doesn't really mean too much to me..." and they'll think me a fag, and the fawn capers. The fawn can caper, but he's fucking weak: the hunter can use sonar, GPS, a shotgun, and kill him from a mile away. I think about this in that state of exhaustion, I think about the drunk comraderee of love and friendship which turns into the nodding aquaintancy of the morning, and get quite caught up in the unsuccessfulness of it all. Because during the day at work I feel like the retarded bellhop. The guffawing butt of jokes, but always trying to fit in, and always trying to do his best but fucking it up through comical incompatency, then shocking everyone with some hidden (and not too useful) savant talent, and stumbling in a tunnel vision daze of absent-mindedness. And when I'm done with the world I want to be done with that place where the fawn is constantly dancing away from the hunter but I get stuck in some limbo where I stare at walls, TV, the internet, feel depressed, beat people with the baseball bat of hate, and I just really want to find someone who is utterly filled with passion, and bug everyone in an attempt to find that.
Why can't I just do it by myself (like the great writers?). I try and it just makes me feel sad.
Recently I acquired acid from a very reputable source. I met up with Anton last night. A date will be set soon and I will go to the place where the fawn isn't a metaphor.
I talked to a christian about God. I was very drunk and eloquent, I described this: That the way I understand religion (in a way I can understand) is that religion is an attempt, by man, to describe the infinite. I believe that senses are imperfect, but simply because of dualism, because if I can see something, then there is probably something I can't. So it's like we're in a box. And the infinite is whatever exists beyond that, beyond ourselves, and our possibilities of understanding. So in this fairly academic way it becomes an interesting myth, fairytale, allegory. I think he agreed with me, but didn't know it. It was a dance party. Afterwards, I danced like a spastic monkey, and loved it. Several dolled up girls watched me with distain. I danced as spitefully as my funk would allow me.
Why can't I just do it by myself (like the great writers?). I try and it just makes me feel sad.
Recently I acquired acid from a very reputable source. I met up with Anton last night. A date will be set soon and I will go to the place where the fawn isn't a metaphor.
I talked to a christian about God. I was very drunk and eloquent, I described this: That the way I understand religion (in a way I can understand) is that religion is an attempt, by man, to describe the infinite. I believe that senses are imperfect, but simply because of dualism, because if I can see something, then there is probably something I can't. So it's like we're in a box. And the infinite is whatever exists beyond that, beyond ourselves, and our possibilities of understanding. So in this fairly academic way it becomes an interesting myth, fairytale, allegory. I think he agreed with me, but didn't know it. It was a dance party. Afterwards, I danced like a spastic monkey, and loved it. Several dolled up girls watched me with distain. I danced as spitefully as my funk would allow me.