(no subject)
Two or more weeks of being sick and not sleeping, constantly rerunning the Rob Zombie song ("never gonna stop me, never gonna stop"), deeply enjoying the amount of time it affords me to play and the economic advantages of insomnia, then crashing into feverish sleep, filled with homoerotic wet dreams, dillusions of cybernetic friendships, theft and geek culture.
I have dissapeared from anyplace (me llaman el desaparecido?) only to find value in the traditional. Spending time with family, friends etc. rather than being part of a "scene". Radical thought is lost in its own stupidity if you never read Plato.
It all has something to do with Nievie... which should be obvious... but also wih the loss of Rebecca and the dissapearance of Rhett. It is as if there is some fundamental tension in my life between two worlds, the ultra-lusty-powerful-voodoo-Magickal and the open relaxation and presence of having a home. I am swinging towards the latter.
It reminds me what (or more importantly, who) I am fighting for.
I know that I must continue to fight and not settle, yet the strategy must involve replenishment, as it is the necessary condition for endurance. How easy it is to enslave oneself. This I contemplate with disgust. Remembering the oath,,, I struggle.
Never have I been so calm, yet so lucidly aware of the impending necessity for action. The storm rolls in as the sun sets... we enjoy the cool breeze off the sea. Legions sing merrily, a song, perhaps their last, as they sharpen their blades. Battle is never far off.
Yet within the impeding tension, a beautiful goddess seduces us, intoxicated, into woodlands and hills, into secret alcoves, cradles, groves, and there... sleep.
I have dissapeared from anyplace (me llaman el desaparecido?) only to find value in the traditional. Spending time with family, friends etc. rather than being part of a "scene". Radical thought is lost in its own stupidity if you never read Plato.
It all has something to do with Nievie... which should be obvious... but also wih the loss of Rebecca and the dissapearance of Rhett. It is as if there is some fundamental tension in my life between two worlds, the ultra-lusty-powerful-voodoo-Magickal and the open relaxation and presence of having a home. I am swinging towards the latter.
It reminds me what (or more importantly, who) I am fighting for.
I know that I must continue to fight and not settle, yet the strategy must involve replenishment, as it is the necessary condition for endurance. How easy it is to enslave oneself. This I contemplate with disgust. Remembering the oath,,, I struggle.
Never have I been so calm, yet so lucidly aware of the impending necessity for action. The storm rolls in as the sun sets... we enjoy the cool breeze off the sea. Legions sing merrily, a song, perhaps their last, as they sharpen their blades. Battle is never far off.
Yet within the impeding tension, a beautiful goddess seduces us, intoxicated, into woodlands and hills, into secret alcoves, cradles, groves, and there... sleep.