(no subject)
I've never tried writing when I've been rolling, and I don't have much time before we go outside, but here's a shot.
I think I was right this time last year when I was all on about how this journal has been a catalog for my neuroses and self-image over the course of the years, but I suppose that while dealing with the abomination that is late-capitalistic suburbia, one needs to develop certain defense mechanisms. The trick is knowing when to let go of them. I've been writing again, in a notebook (finally able to do that), and I've noticed that the nature of my writing is different, totally... more honesty, less self-deception, less strategies of dealing with myself and the world.
I spent an hour meditating tonight, first on myself, my apprehensions, my anxieties and felt them lift away like an empty burden. Then, I meditated on my other typical preoccupation: My friends, my relationships to those around me and how I project my own anxieties onto them so much of the time, and then use that grounding for another offensive against my own self-esteem. Self-esteem, no, but the courage to desire, perhaps.
Then, my life, as a singular event.
So, uh, I'll write soon, I have a nostalgic missing of yinz. Nostalgia is a hell of a theme of the night, not in a longing for the past, but of a singular appreciation of it. And cultivation of a similar nostalgia for the present.
It's less about building bridges than realizing that they never were burned to begin with, that all else is apprehensive psychodrama. I've realized this while tripping, but was afraid of the dismantling that came with it.
Jill made a shirt today that says simply "I Love."
I've been wont to ridicule hippies, and the whole "love/peace" sentimentality, and I can't help but wonder if that's mostly a result of deprecating what I know in my body is right, slandering the idea because I don't have the courage to face its truth.
Fear has been the other theme of the night. The whole "love is the absence of fear" idea. I don't think we give enough thought to how much fear defines our actions, through all the "culture of fear" rhetoric... but no, this whole damn thing is propped up by precisely fear, not of government, but of everything, paranoia as a generalized attitude, bred into our lives by routine and rigid roles, and then woven into the texture of our own psyches and worldviews. No more, hopefully, but maybe I just need to roll twice a year (end of summer, end of winter) for a cleaning of my head and heart.
But I can't stare at this screen anymore... I could go on for hours and hours, probably, and probably would if these were speedy pills, but I'm feeling too... psychedelic to continue happily without feeling that all technology, particularly this, is a waste of time.
Oh, and maybe I'll quit drinking half a fifth of liquor every other day after all this crap. Another theme of the night.
That, and evasion.
You know, all the typical hippie-dippie shit with a linguistic emptiness but poses imperceptibly profound problems to the psyche and desire (if you let them and allow yourself to stare them in the face). Lose that ego, yo.
I love! (you)
(Notes to remember to write about:
* Nostalgic cultivation of the present.
* Meditate more, dammit!
* Summer. Love. And for the love of God, Adam, write about Jill. We are all finite glimpses in the lives of others, and she's been the most important thing that may have ever happened to you (in terms of feeling, experience, and simply changing of life)... explore her.)
I think I was right this time last year when I was all on about how this journal has been a catalog for my neuroses and self-image over the course of the years, but I suppose that while dealing with the abomination that is late-capitalistic suburbia, one needs to develop certain defense mechanisms. The trick is knowing when to let go of them. I've been writing again, in a notebook (finally able to do that), and I've noticed that the nature of my writing is different, totally... more honesty, less self-deception, less strategies of dealing with myself and the world.
I spent an hour meditating tonight, first on myself, my apprehensions, my anxieties and felt them lift away like an empty burden. Then, I meditated on my other typical preoccupation: My friends, my relationships to those around me and how I project my own anxieties onto them so much of the time, and then use that grounding for another offensive against my own self-esteem. Self-esteem, no, but the courage to desire, perhaps.
Then, my life, as a singular event.
So, uh, I'll write soon, I have a nostalgic missing of yinz. Nostalgia is a hell of a theme of the night, not in a longing for the past, but of a singular appreciation of it. And cultivation of a similar nostalgia for the present.
It's less about building bridges than realizing that they never were burned to begin with, that all else is apprehensive psychodrama. I've realized this while tripping, but was afraid of the dismantling that came with it.
Jill made a shirt today that says simply "I Love."
I've been wont to ridicule hippies, and the whole "love/peace" sentimentality, and I can't help but wonder if that's mostly a result of deprecating what I know in my body is right, slandering the idea because I don't have the courage to face its truth.
Fear has been the other theme of the night. The whole "love is the absence of fear" idea. I don't think we give enough thought to how much fear defines our actions, through all the "culture of fear" rhetoric... but no, this whole damn thing is propped up by precisely fear, not of government, but of everything, paranoia as a generalized attitude, bred into our lives by routine and rigid roles, and then woven into the texture of our own psyches and worldviews. No more, hopefully, but maybe I just need to roll twice a year (end of summer, end of winter) for a cleaning of my head and heart.
But I can't stare at this screen anymore... I could go on for hours and hours, probably, and probably would if these were speedy pills, but I'm feeling too... psychedelic to continue happily without feeling that all technology, particularly this, is a waste of time.
Oh, and maybe I'll quit drinking half a fifth of liquor every other day after all this crap. Another theme of the night.
That, and evasion.
You know, all the typical hippie-dippie shit with a linguistic emptiness but poses imperceptibly profound problems to the psyche and desire (if you let them and allow yourself to stare them in the face). Lose that ego, yo.
I love! (you)
(Notes to remember to write about:
* Nostalgic cultivation of the present.
* Meditate more, dammit!
* Summer. Love. And for the love of God, Adam, write about Jill. We are all finite glimpses in the lives of others, and she's been the most important thing that may have ever happened to you (in terms of feeling, experience, and simply changing of life)... explore her.)