Sunday, December 11, 2016

story, from a distance: i'm searching for a source of relation to plagiarize into a self. it's not that i'm any less obsessed with writing or anything. being a wormhole and shit, i need to become embodied by energies in order to commit to a gravity of my own. there needs to be friction.
it's possible a matrix has formed from which i now begin to grow. isn't that sweet? i imagine it's because of the therapy work i've been invested in. this past year has been like going through the motions of detoxing as much as it's been like waking up for the first time. the existentialism of it all is more prohibiting than anything when i go to write. i feel like a traitor to religion. it's like i've been relinquished of my duty to send messages.
i entertain the idea of adopting a zen attitude about this and many things that i worry are pure consequence, though i'm still trying to wrap my head around the role of "consequence". and it's not fucking funny!
my faith seems totally wishful right now. i worry i've committed a betrayal. i am hoping that none of this is true, of course, and that putting this out there will be like shattering a fucking curse- curse 'kuz i'm resentful of this "block" (or "death", if we're going to use language to appropriate feeling), and then i'll just start writing with focus and esteem that brings me peace again.