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the iron core of your mind
Mar. 16th, 2016 03:43 amthere are the sorts of thoughts you stumble into like wagon ruts when you’re in the shower or stoned off your ass or dangling your toe carelessly over the abyss of sleep:
there are wagon rut thoughts. these are different. these are frequently the trigger for mood spirals and bad trips, wagon rut thoughts. these mental terrains are traversed with alarming frequency in spite of their inhospitable climates. you don’t like to think about these kinds of things so of course that means you think about them a lot and usually in the worst way you can. you know, like:
what the fuck am i going to do if it truly is a binary universe? i’m a disciple of nuance. i always have been. i need nuance. my last name means “gray.” one of the scariest things i can think of is that everything we look at is a complex expression of absence and presence, positive and negative, yes or no? okay, i get it, every thing has its shadow. but i don’t like that dull thud into eternity as an answer for what happens when our broadcast day has ended. it’s not a light switch. or if it is a light switch, it’s some kind of freaky tesla deal. flip it and things that were not assumed to create light suddenly create light. the light comes from the very air around you. it’s at exactly the level and temperature you need it to be, it flows easily to wherever you will it, and somehow the process of burning fuel creates new fuel, like agriculture but instantaneous and infinitely more reliable. this is a wagon rut thought. or
what if everything i currently believe i am experiencing is actually a vivid hallucination because that horrible trauma i thought i avoided fifteen years or fifteen minutes ago actually occurred, ending my life or making it unimaginably horrible, and i’m just still in that much denial about what happened. perhaps known to some of you as m. night shyamalan syndrome, i do not know how to shake this one or i would. because it is annoying. emotionally, not unlike the sensation of sticking your tongue on both a nine volt battery's snap connectors. that exact sensation and taste, but inside of your thinking. it’s exhausting, and usually comes to vicious crisis points while i am in the shower, which is supposed to be a happy place. this is another wagon rut thought.
these other thoughts. these precious, too-rare thoughts. let’s call them cosmic wagon ruts, or grooves in the universe: finding that there’s a thought here, and it’s warm, and it’s affirming, and you slip into it like slightly heated silk or warm water, and it feels like a lot of it has already been thought through or thought around in intricate patterns that are beautiful to look at and amusing to trace over with your fingers so you do, you vanish into that, you become completely absorbed in the thought and maybe, maybe if the thought actually is an external impression made in the intangible you explore a little bit further or add some lovely details into the design but a lot of the time you just experience it for a while and then snap out of it: wicked, wicked game.
it’s got to be what happened all those times i realized i was thinking about something very intensely but then understood i was doing that and couldn’t even remember what i was thinking about. such loss. moments like these are brutally contextualizing with regard to our place in the food chain, so to speak. that we have the ability to understand and desire such beauty, but not the strength to hold it, own it, experience it. to give it what it needs to stay. just know that it is sliding away, nothing to cleave to, reflections on glass.
at least it went something like that. i should've written it down. i forgot. you know? resistance. today i've been thinking a little about how there's a form of resistance in the phrase "be careful what you wish for." as in: inflicting and enabling resistance. if i can't have it, no one can. really, what an awful phrase. so destructive, so limiting, so distracting. instead of wishing for the big things, unity, happiness, peace, you spend your life lost in a bureaucracy of phrasings, trying to figure out how to say "i wish happiness for my loved ones and me" but not in a way that'll breach the hull, let in the darkness. make you see the folly of happiness, the horror of happiness, everything about happiness that there is to hate. at the very least you'll eventually get pretty sick of happiness, won't you? be careful what you wish for. don't even wish for something as simple as that. your desire will come right back at you. your desire will stab you in the back. or in the front, while you stand there watching desire plunge that betraying dagger into your most vulnerable core over and over again with whatever it was that you were so foolish as to desire. your desire will take you out.
do you desire love? be careful what you wish for. you could get love with no reasonable options for expression, or love directed into a black hole. you could get love that makes you a criminal, or love that can never be satisfied with anything short of death. my love it is a killing thing and you better watch out it's coming for you. my love it is a killing thing it must be restrained, held down, tied up, pressed flat, over and over, holy god, don't stop i beg of you please don't
there are so many stories about people destroying each other with their love. destroying themselves, destroying the person they love, destroying everyone who comes in tangential contact with that person or the person that person loves. it's embarrassing, it's a mess, but, then, it is love. what else would you expect? we're all scary and embarrassing in the end. in the middle, too. oh, okay, and also for a little while at the start. or not so little a while. actually most of the time. scary, embarrassing, and also ugly, if you want to be one hundred percent sincere and probably you do not. we are also validating, loving, and beautiful. we are also mundane and sour-faced. we are also scaly toes and chapped knuckles, dirty hair and broken fingernails, wax curled up over itself way down into the ear canal and that and that and that again too. i don't know what we are. we are all things. we are no things. there's a kind of thinginess to us all, if you really think about it. something like that.
it's a sin to deny anyone their human experience as an authentic human experience, and that's why racism and that's why sexism and that's why rape and slavery and civil liberty violations and all this community all this community what is this community ever spiraling out in every direction, some not possibly anticipated, from the heart at humanity's core: the big all of it, the minuscule none of it, the ether and the ore.
or?
there are wagon rut thoughts. these are different. these are frequently the trigger for mood spirals and bad trips, wagon rut thoughts. these mental terrains are traversed with alarming frequency in spite of their inhospitable climates. you don’t like to think about these kinds of things so of course that means you think about them a lot and usually in the worst way you can. you know, like:
what the fuck am i going to do if it truly is a binary universe? i’m a disciple of nuance. i always have been. i need nuance. my last name means “gray.” one of the scariest things i can think of is that everything we look at is a complex expression of absence and presence, positive and negative, yes or no? okay, i get it, every thing has its shadow. but i don’t like that dull thud into eternity as an answer for what happens when our broadcast day has ended. it’s not a light switch. or if it is a light switch, it’s some kind of freaky tesla deal. flip it and things that were not assumed to create light suddenly create light. the light comes from the very air around you. it’s at exactly the level and temperature you need it to be, it flows easily to wherever you will it, and somehow the process of burning fuel creates new fuel, like agriculture but instantaneous and infinitely more reliable. this is a wagon rut thought. or
what if everything i currently believe i am experiencing is actually a vivid hallucination because that horrible trauma i thought i avoided fifteen years or fifteen minutes ago actually occurred, ending my life or making it unimaginably horrible, and i’m just still in that much denial about what happened. perhaps known to some of you as m. night shyamalan syndrome, i do not know how to shake this one or i would. because it is annoying. emotionally, not unlike the sensation of sticking your tongue on both a nine volt battery's snap connectors. that exact sensation and taste, but inside of your thinking. it’s exhausting, and usually comes to vicious crisis points while i am in the shower, which is supposed to be a happy place. this is another wagon rut thought.
these other thoughts. these precious, too-rare thoughts. let’s call them cosmic wagon ruts, or grooves in the universe: finding that there’s a thought here, and it’s warm, and it’s affirming, and you slip into it like slightly heated silk or warm water, and it feels like a lot of it has already been thought through or thought around in intricate patterns that are beautiful to look at and amusing to trace over with your fingers so you do, you vanish into that, you become completely absorbed in the thought and maybe, maybe if the thought actually is an external impression made in the intangible you explore a little bit further or add some lovely details into the design but a lot of the time you just experience it for a while and then snap out of it: wicked, wicked game.
it’s got to be what happened all those times i realized i was thinking about something very intensely but then understood i was doing that and couldn’t even remember what i was thinking about. such loss. moments like these are brutally contextualizing with regard to our place in the food chain, so to speak. that we have the ability to understand and desire such beauty, but not the strength to hold it, own it, experience it. to give it what it needs to stay. just know that it is sliding away, nothing to cleave to, reflections on glass.
at least it went something like that. i should've written it down. i forgot. you know? resistance. today i've been thinking a little about how there's a form of resistance in the phrase "be careful what you wish for." as in: inflicting and enabling resistance. if i can't have it, no one can. really, what an awful phrase. so destructive, so limiting, so distracting. instead of wishing for the big things, unity, happiness, peace, you spend your life lost in a bureaucracy of phrasings, trying to figure out how to say "i wish happiness for my loved ones and me" but not in a way that'll breach the hull, let in the darkness. make you see the folly of happiness, the horror of happiness, everything about happiness that there is to hate. at the very least you'll eventually get pretty sick of happiness, won't you? be careful what you wish for. don't even wish for something as simple as that. your desire will come right back at you. your desire will stab you in the back. or in the front, while you stand there watching desire plunge that betraying dagger into your most vulnerable core over and over again with whatever it was that you were so foolish as to desire. your desire will take you out.
do you desire love? be careful what you wish for. you could get love with no reasonable options for expression, or love directed into a black hole. you could get love that makes you a criminal, or love that can never be satisfied with anything short of death. my love it is a killing thing and you better watch out it's coming for you. my love it is a killing thing it must be restrained, held down, tied up, pressed flat, over and over, holy god, don't stop i beg of you please don't
there are so many stories about people destroying each other with their love. destroying themselves, destroying the person they love, destroying everyone who comes in tangential contact with that person or the person that person loves. it's embarrassing, it's a mess, but, then, it is love. what else would you expect? we're all scary and embarrassing in the end. in the middle, too. oh, okay, and also for a little while at the start. or not so little a while. actually most of the time. scary, embarrassing, and also ugly, if you want to be one hundred percent sincere and probably you do not. we are also validating, loving, and beautiful. we are also mundane and sour-faced. we are also scaly toes and chapped knuckles, dirty hair and broken fingernails, wax curled up over itself way down into the ear canal and that and that and that again too. i don't know what we are. we are all things. we are no things. there's a kind of thinginess to us all, if you really think about it. something like that.
it's a sin to deny anyone their human experience as an authentic human experience, and that's why racism and that's why sexism and that's why rape and slavery and civil liberty violations and all this community all this community what is this community ever spiraling out in every direction, some not possibly anticipated, from the heart at humanity's core: the big all of it, the minuscule none of it, the ether and the ore.
or?
