So you want to know where I am in my life right now. To be completely honest I couldn’t tell for sure. What I feel one day may be far different from what I feel the next
, but you understand this, of course, being the silently blank omniscient object
that you are. I couldn’t even tell you where I was yesterday- the memory is like a train; you can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
. But I can tell you of now. There is calm. That’s all. Good music playing on the computer- a man singing words I haven’t felt inspired enough to write in a long time. Love
. A sad type, but love nonetheless. I’m not sure it is a feeling I miss at all. Meditative balanced horizon mind is something I enjoy far too much right now to wish to lose it to some surge of emotion
. My general sense of illusory objectivity
is pleasant, if transient. Still though sometimes I wonder about when and how the whole search became less important to me. Was it after that last dream of soul mate
(what a foolish word) encountering or has it been gradual. I always knew somehow that the optimistic force that had come over me wouldn’t last too long in any event. Impermanence
is a grand idea to come to terms with, don’t you think.
I am a fool easily swayed by words and plastic.
Sometimes I feel the books I read have too much of an influence on me. That may seem silly, but authors can be wonderfully terribly convincing. The thoughts I have- sometimes I’m not even sure they’re mine anymore. Senseless to try and trace them though. I wonder about this whole writing opening of oneself up to strangers sometimes too. Why is it so easy for me to fill an 80-page notebook of deep mind ramblings and send it to someone I don’t know in any physical sense without any difficult feelings and still find it difficult, if not impossible, to do the same with a family member. Is it that whole ‘familiarity breeds discomfort’ thing that Pony and I were discussing the other day. Could be. She is one human I can’t wait to meet. I am hoping that when she comes to New York she will be to me what the mythical Nadja was to Breton- an all encompassing, dazzling presence with long lasting, far reaching influence. Who knows. Pointless to speculate. You want total honesty- that is what I think I am giving, but have the deeper intuition that this is all self-conscious blather. Everything is though, to some extent. Anonymous honesty may destroy me. That’s another collection of words that I used to believe. Though now I prefer to see anonymity as a sort of shield. Definitely not damaging. It takes far more strength to be candid and open than maintain a smokescreen. And I might let it down if it weren’t for the eyes in this room. That’s what bothers me most. Silently judging faces whose minds I can’t read. But that shouldn’t be so important. It’s all just an image really- whatever these words creates in the minds of others might hold some truth, but it would be more of an interpretive picture they would get after the lines filter themselves through ears and brains. Some might think I’m writing to impress. I’m not.
“I’m sick of myself and everyone else trying to make a splash.”
I can’t help but agree with that more and more every day. Do you think it takes more courage to endlessly search for immortality or to fully take the shroud of an absolute nobody. One of those people that others may see as directionless, light, but who secretly has the curiosity and time ability to explore the minutiae of life to a degree unknown to the overly ambitious majority. Both are difficult, no doubt, but the latter would seem to bear so much more pain if you consider the periodic episode of loneliness pain. I like the idea (wandering), it’s…enticing. My first taste was finally had this summer past. Traveling, running around from place to place. But that goes back to the whole question of anonymity and whether or not it is a smokescreen. Being unknown to people around you is protective, right, or is it somehow more exposing as an embracing of total transience. My inability to effectively express my thoughts is slowly driving me crazy. Sadly this is far clearer than I could make it if forced to speak. My fingers flow over a keyboard, but words jumble at my teeth. This might seem confusing. I don’t know. It makes sense enough to me. I can’t explain it all to you now- I’m running out of words. And I do think I want to sign my name here but it is 9/5/01 and I’m still not strong enough for that kind of openness.