Wednesday, September 9, 2015

the things crises made me do.

central authority is where babies come from and where babies go to. this is why old people regress (that is, with the exception of william s. burroughs. he remained sharp and pretty much sexy, which strikes me as unfair. he was also high as a kite, as usual, and old by the time he died.)

with blood, you perform miracles. miracle performing occurs within space. its dependents introduce us to time, which is how "long" it takes for us to move from point a to point b.

time is a culturing of space. political parties are also a culturing. obvious corruptions and the generalizations of such, and corruptions that are all about "subliminal messages", money (everyones baby), growth that comes from money, generalized attitudes- these too, are byproducts of culturing. culturing seems seedy to me.

i like seeds. i like the idea of starting life over as a pomegranate seed. everything about fruit is sexy.

everything else aside from culturing speaks openly about culturing, with or without examining its dynamics. aside from culturing, there is disempowerment.

there is viewing life as a life story. it seems pretty demoralizing to myself when i do this (which is really a lot of the time), considering i'm still in the middle of my life story. i remain in the face of adversity. this morning i called my mother screaming about insignificant things that i couldn't place significance on myself, not without screaming my head off. i also felt like i fuck up and that's all i care about. everything i do is "terrible" because i am "lazy". there was something i was supposed to do, and i didn't do it. i didn't even set my alarm. i don't know why. it's confusing.
recently, i did well for like five days. i maintained mindfulness. then i started to lose it. my thoughts are scattered and hard to keep up with, my driving is senile, i'm angry, i can't stop judging myself, people are scary, and i don't want to leave my bedroom for shit. everything is scary. the music i'm listening to right now, feels like i'm only "faking" listening to it. (die, impostor syndrome. die. die.) i'm a child in a dark room at night seeing monsters instead of shadows. this all together feels like a much bigger deal than "working" on "feeling better". i believe one day i will wholeheartedly admit to myself, in the middle of feeling unwell, that i do "work" on "feeling better".
right now, i feel like a failure. i feel ashamed and guilty that "i'm" losing grip over my "wellness" again, as if it's up to me. i feel like parts of me are just *dying* all the time, immediately after i see it doesn't matter whether they are alive or not as long as i maintain mindfulness. everything is acceptable when i maintain mindfulness. like, EVERYTHING. i feel blocked from it right now. it's always devastating when this happens. it feels like parts of my *cognizant functioning* are never to return. i feel like i'm in fucking grief.

in between ripping apart the people who "care" about "me", i resort to calling myself a psychopath, studying therapy worksheets and assignments (replacing behaviors that aren't beneficial for the well being of anyone with other behaviors), and doing what i can to notice my reactions, albeit, with my subpar conscious stream.
i feel burdened by my plants (because i'm a terrible earth-mother), but i continue nurturing them. i feel burdened by self-imposed obligations to write, to read, and to paint. i feel burdened by showering. i'm forcing stuff.

it has been three and a half weeks since i last intentionally injured myself. i want to continue defying my really pathetic expectations of myself.

a note on expectations: generosity is pure when expectations have nothing to do with anything. never set generosity in stone, because it acts as an infection does- it fucks the systems up- the ones that aren't teasing my cock about themselves- because we see no further than the boundaries our expectations set for us.

i hear church bells. but that's it. i don't feel them. i blame them for my pain. i continue to listen in case it's just me being silly. i know they're not trying to hurt me, they just happen to hurt me. i don't want to blast off with my emotional reasoning. there's a lot i don't get so i explain my emotions instead, hoping i can find logic. the church bells continue to hurt me. nothing seems capable
of touching me. i don't know the song. i am aware, however, there are dimensions interacting within dimensions, that everyone else is either used to or they're blind in this respect, and none of them will ever look alike.

the interplay of dimensions are computery puzzle pieces crossing through and pass each other. they aren't fleshy, but they are flesh-toned in color.

you must culture yourself and then rip it up.

you must understand that cutting your identity up into very little pieces is the only way to continue moving forward. let your legs grow long so you can walk through the grasslands.

the silk road lays itself spread eagle in front. you, yourself,
are out to get the silk road.