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About modmyth

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  1. HOPE: you made me feel like I could do anything, like I could face anything, that my life mattered enough to bother with the rest of it. I was elated that I had you. You know, at the level of the heart, when you feel inspired to be the way naturally, so you don't have to try to make it matter with your mind by trying to change the way you think, trying to be more positive, etc. And then it seemed to fade away, time kept passing and passing and it didn't make any more sense, a certain spark or magick wasnt quite there. Pretty sure I am making you sad or disappointing you. Is it you or is it me? Pretty sure it's me. Because I still believe in you; can't you tell? I can't feel it quite right... Is this a barrier in communication? It's something that I said or did, wasnt it? Is it because there's something wrong with me? I'm too boxed in still, it's definitely me and my trauma. I thought you would be happier if you weren't focusing on me on some level; maybe I doubted if l could ever really make you happy at all, except possibly in the very short term. Maybe that's all I'm good for, when dealt with in reality, when dealt with up close. I was starting to wonder if you stopped believing in me on some level, but I couldn't face it directly. Maybe you came all this way, arrived here, and then I was disappointing. I kept doing what I normally do. Just to focus, to do my work that I had been doing, and to keep doing it. To finish it however it was meant to finish. I stopped focusing on you directly so much. I thought I had to sort myself out, these other aspects of myself that I had not faced directly because I was not capable of it before. For instance, who is the real authentic me, because I feel like something is still so disconnected and so missing. What is my core personality and purpose in an absolute sense? Who was i? Who am I sexually without all these issues? Maybe we should be with other people. Maybe things would make more sense that way. I thought you all the time you know... Everyday. I missed you. I couldn't seem to make myself stop. I wanted to tell you everything. I didn't want to tell you these shitty stories about myself. I also never expected you to get so serious about someone else. Yea, that's not what I imagined at all. At that point, from my perspective, we stopped being on the same page more and more. I was kind of trapped within the bubble of my own mind and also in serious denial about reality. Like, somehow this will all work out however it is supposed to work out, and it will make sense. I felt like I was gaining more confidence in myself as I was learning more about who I was and am and who you were/ are, but also losing it so deeply in other ways. I seemed to be turning against myself in ways that I didn't fully understand, that I am still coming to understand, and that I seem so illy equipped to deal with and to process it consciously. For reasons I couldn't fully explain, you made me make sense of myself and everything. And also really not make sense at all, in a way that drove me insane.
  2. CLARITY: So it is my wish to make clear what was in the past, without a trace of padding or deflection for the sake of clarity. So it is much easier to speak of this clearly in the past tense now. Somewhat of a bitter taste remains here, but this above is a representation of arguably the worst of the blame and anger I experienced towards you, blown up in great detail to be analyzed shamelessly. To understand cause and effect. When truly deep in the heart of anger or blame; it is really hard to write with relative clarity like that. The relative clarity of the past tense, even if it is not entirely done with. I feel more strongly the positive elements of what I wrote earlier today than everything I wrote above, to be honest. Something in me keeps snagging here and there though. I could just as easily focus on the positive and leave it there, which is that I opened myself up and was inspired to feel something that I was not willing or able to before. Yes, that means something. Even if it has no exact relevance or purpose in the presence, in any kind of tangible way. There is a value of it in itself, that does not need to extend itself in any way. Sometimes I feel like I am repoisoning the well by focusing so explicitly on the negativity of the past in the way that I tend to, and so I am feeding it again in some ways, but sometimes I feel like it is really important to give the clearest, most uncompromising view of dealing with an issue with deflecting. No frills and directly as possible. Suppose I don't want to face it directly, so it means that I should. So it is. So the way life works out. ABSOLUTE LOVE IS TRUTH.
  3. WHY YOU?: (I feel like I'm repeating myself in slightly a more detailed way.) You made me believe. And I both loved you for it, and then I hated you for it, in an equally intense way. You made me feel not alone, and then I started to question the degree to which I was deluding myself specifically with heaping on piles of these covert expectations and hopes and desires. Desires which dare not speak their own name. I blamed myself for this afterward. I don't know, I didn't know how to cope with desire, how to make sense of it directly. I felt so illy equipped for it in every way. To be direct about what I really wanted. You can call it subconscious or societal programming. There has been this deep sense that if I want something deeply; it just doesn't happen. Modmyth does not get what she truly wants. And if she doesn't truly want it, well then the trappings of desire do not interfere and cause self-sabotage. I came to be more acutely aware of this, but it was another thing that was very hard to face directly. Before this point, I never cared excessively about that much, not truly, so I didn't need to think about this issue too much. I was just here on Earth to do what I needed to do. In a sense, this made things simple; it extracted 'me' from the equation. It's survive. Observe. Figure things out. Unravel your issues. Since I turned 15, this has always been my conscious and constant priority. Yes, it's been very challenging at times, but compared to all of this shit below? That has actually been relatively straightforward. Just stick to my priorities. I also have this sense that I am a danger to myself simply by virtue of being me, so the more “me” I am, the more I am a problem. The more I am possibly going to destroy things and people with certain aspects of my personality: namely rage and impulsiveness. I have spent well over half of my life babysitting myself. This is something that inevitably had to collapse, due to the need to be "me" fully inevitably. For whatever form that takes. You made me feel like a sense of home was possible, and I hated you for that too. I hated you because I remembered what that felt like, and because you wanted me to remember. At least at some point in time you wanted that, even if not at that moment back then? You seemed to be the answer to a certain and particular sort of connection I was craving. You made me feel like you got me. You made me feel like someone was on my side, truly. You made me want to identify with you so wholly too, as you wanted to with me. I believed in that. Anyone can say they believe in you; it's another thing to show it. In the end, I was not able to reconcile that with this deep-rooted tendency and way of seeing the world: people like me don't get to know what home is, and what it feels like. It never lasts. Not with my kind of upbringing and trauma. For some moments, I dared to dream and to feel it. I couldn't help it; it came as visions for a possible future. I didn't ask for it, not consciously. It's the kind of thing that I would never dare ask for directly anyway, as in, I wouldn't even dare think of it consciously unless it so happened to find it's way into my brain, as it did spontaneously. But it left an impression on me. I placed it aside, saying that things will work out however they are meant to work out. I blamed you for that too, in retrospect. And I blamed you for how you so flawlessly and easily you seemed to have that with someone else. Like oh, I feel completely invisible now, like I don't even exist, and strangely in a way like I never did exist. But the fact that you are able to mean that I guess that was what was meant to happen. Why is this happening? Why do I feel this way? I can barely seem to articulate it or speak it. I walked through about a year straight in a daze, perhaps under a spell of my own binding that I was not able to break at that point. Everything had become too convoluted. Somehow, this feels like an instance of my personal past repeating itself again: Modmyth never gets truly seen or heard, not when she truly needs it the most. Also, I have the joy of being shackled to you and I am stuck with the joy of watching you live your life and visions and dreams like I don't exist. Is this what it feels like? I really didn't appreciate that. How the hell did everything manage to work out like this? In space hell, no one can hear you scream. Like, I still can't reconcile that one, really, like what does home even mean, other than finding a sense of home wherever I happen to be, including if that's being by myself? Maybe that's all there is that truly exists? Life was better and made more sense when I didn't dare to dream in that way, when it never it occurred to me to do so. Suppose I should make sure I wipe all associations with that notion of "home" properly. So I believed in you because you believed in me, in way that goes beyond believing in someone when times are good, when you simply fit their agenda in a shallow, superficial kind of way. Beyond when it's easy to believe in someone, including even when maybe you don't want to believe in that person. You had longevity, that actually does mean (meant?) quite a lot to me. It made me take you way more seriously than I would have otherwise. Perhaps there is element of a lack of choice in it too, because like I said, I wanted to know what it was like to be you in pretty much every way (this means context appropriate for my own life, which arguably has ramifications far beyond what I could have anticipated originally). I feel that I surrendered choice, in a way. Then I hated you for thwarting all of my defensive measures. I hated you for making me hate myself because the end result of this was pretty predictable. I also very much thought this level of blame was stupid and unprecedented? Why can't I seem to walk away from this more easily? Why can't I give this up? So perhaps I am still stuck either in some kind of perverse double-bind too, where I expect this to resolve itself in some absolute way: either this whole thing collapses into proper neutrality or nothingness, or whatever is left is the base level of what is truly inextractable. Let it collapse or transform itself as it may. I make no claim or stake in the outcome. I suspect I have no power here over anything in relation to you in any meaningful sense, and so I have started to feel free in that way. Maybe now, knowing this, you can feel sorry for me, for how I felt. I never looked at you as an object of pity, by the way. You inspired me; I just thought you must have realized, but in the end, maybe it was just meaningless in context. I have been telling myself since about October, you didn't give a shit. You stopped giving a shit, you were ready to check out and live the rest of your life, so I no longer have anything to do with this. I was not inspired by how much hate I seemed to have in me, hate that I had not faced directly. This tendency to walk away from blame in me did not eradicate the tendency to blame entirely, in a sense, but perhaps made me even more incapable of dealing with it and resolving it directly, for the ways that I have found it difficult to do so with you. My reasons for blaming you seem a lot stupider than blaming my family, or a few other select people. It was so hard for me to wrap my head around why I was so childish for not getting my way for something that I articulated so poorly or well at all. So I have insisted on trying to force that narrative to fit ('you don't give a shit and you never did'), and then attempting to let it go entirely, as if that's some sort of logical progression. Something doesn't quite match up, and so it seems won't release itself. I wish you saw yourself through my eyes. Somehow I was convinced that you would understand it all one way or another. If not now, when the time was right. Always a little bit from now, it was never the right time then. Why are things not falling into place? Why are things not making more sense? What am I supposed to do? Time keeps passing and passing. I am doing my best to make sense of the past and the present. My trauma isn't resolving itself. I had been trying to make myself into whatever I need to be, which is why I keep trying things on. I am not choosing things for my own greater benefit. Not really. I never have. I am and have been learning by throwing things out there perpetually, different priorities and modes of living that don't necessarily involve you, I did exactly what I thought I was supposed to do. I throw myself wholeheartedly into it for that reason. If I thought I was supposed to do something else entirely, then I would have done that instead. Yes, that could involve living ascetically or in the exact opposite way. It could even involve jumping off a bridge. Literally anything that is required of me, I will make that choice on a conscious level with mostly everything if that's what's required of me to serve the higher good (with the obvious exception of doing heinous shit to other beings, I'm just talking about what I'll do with myself here). You know what that means in a greater context now, perhaps? So if this now is a sort of resolution and “making sense”, I didn't quite picture this particular abyss of meaning. Perhaps I thought my life had been shitty enough up to this point that it didn't warrant anymore, and after spring 2017, I thought I was home free. I blamed you for this. But for all this blame that I have heaped on you in these ways, I have had just as much blame for myself, arguably. I suddenly see all the ways in which I am lacking, and it hurts. Along with multiple traumas, I didn't really quite feel like myself in other ways, for other reasons. I wasn't that proud to show this, to be seen in this way. I had become distant from myself. Maybe I saw myself as a 'fix it' project. Maybe there was a lot about me that I didn't want you to see directly. So I didn't want to talk about it. I became self-conscious about being seen in ways that I was not before, to the point of paranoia. I didn't have much of a frame of reference for caring in this particular way before. So I was in this bind of wanting to be desperately seen for everything that I am, but also, I really didn't. But I needed it, but I also couldn't bear the thought of you facing it directly. I somehow counted on you being available in a way that I both wanted and needed when all of this was over, and not like... whatever this is... when I finally felt enough in one piece to get my story straight, to do what I stayed on this Earth to do. But like, on a level of subverted expectations. I thought it was obvious because I trusted enough that things would somehow work out in a not horrible way because I trust you. Why? Because I was being stupid? You weren't there, it was logical. Why would have been? Well then, our business is done? Why do I feel this way? Obviously, if I tell you to do something or to not do something, if I tell you to go away or that I don't need or want you there, or if I have covert desires or expectations: even if I have no idea or possibility knowing what it means in an absolute sense; I am responsible for what I say in that way. What I say has to mean something in an absolute sense. If I say I'm ok with something but I end up not being ok with it, I'm still responsible for that. I didn't anticipate that it would all be such a big deal, that I would be devastated so badly, with all these aspects of unconsciousness and seeds sown in one way or another, all catching up with me suddenly come this summer. Whether I had any conscious intent or part in sowing a lot of what caused me trauma originally in my life doesn't matter in terms of effecting outcome... It's generally how these kinds of things work.
  4. 9pm FREEWRITE: Feeling my way through this, what comes spontaneously to mind. There is a space where you must have no concept of judgments, particularly good or bad. Here is such a space. Stupid Lil' Pomo Heart Sutra + A Collapsing of the Circus of Current Thought: Too much time. Too much imagination. Too many open-ended questions weighted with expectation, like deadened lead. Too much hope. Too much cynicism. Too many thought projections as intentions, as the self is split and displaced in increments across time; follow that up with amnesia. Not enough of any of that stuff. Reverse, compress. Collapse. Start over. Too much deadening of the nerves, of associating openness with this or that. Too much self-consciousness about openness and what it means. Too much splitting at the root of the heart, in ways which have apparently become invisible. Too much noticing what's wrong with yourself and castigating yourself. Too much judgment. Too much judgment against judgment. Repeat this process until you exhaust yourself. Too much feeling sorry for yourself (or telling yourself not to, because it's wrong/ bad/complete waste of time). Do all of the above and then ask yourself why you did that. Engage in too much dialogue intended to function as anti-dialogue. Too much blame or antiblame. Too much orientation of the self in psyche or work. Too much displacement and displacement. Too much turning away. Too much turning into something or another, to not be whatever you are now. Too much Martin Heidegger circa “Being and Time”. Too much of a concept of space or here vs. there. Too much psychoemotional myopia period. Too much of a sense of self (or not). Too many sieves through which raw perception and sense experience filter through, too many lenses, whether looking through one or juggling many, as if viewing them through a turning kaleidoscope. Too much myopia towards the lens in use, whether one or many. Too much perspective on those lenses, and now you've split again into pieces. Oops. One moment, it's intriguing, it's intellectual, it's aesthetic. You're charmed. You're submerged. Another moment, you want to stop looking, lie down, and never get back up. You're ready to step back forever. You've seen enough. Enough for twenty lifetimes. No more. When all consumption starts to feel the same, like tiny cuts or lashes in your skin crawling along the continuum of consciousness. Too much talking. Too much narrative. Too much myth. Too much information, nonfiction. Too much grandioseness; too much-loaded intent. Too much-shunted modesty and minimalism. Too much intent that is by design, gonna crash itself. Too much aestheticism. Too much style and in the intent of doing a thing in one pattern or fashion or another... TOO MUCH GENRE ORIENTATED THINKING which is split at the root. Too much asceticism. Too much silence which turns out to be absolutely deafening. Too much minimalist fucking pretense. Too much fidgeting in absolute silence by yourself, or in crowded, busy places. Too much circularity of thoughts. Too much stopping of thoughts. Too many feelings; medicalize them, spiritualize it, put it in the dictionary, put it in the DSM, put it in Schrodinger's infinitesimally reoccurring lockbox of thoughts, each box wrapping another box in infinitely shrinking layers. Too much fetishization. Too much fixation. Too many dead ends in the labyrinth. Too much fixation on addiction which morphs into an addiction about not being addicted. Too much tasting the pains and pleasures of preoccupation and then turning away from that. Stop. Start. Stop. Too much self-love as an alien concept, a thing outside the self just conceived. At its root, it splits away, it diverges. Dissolve it. Who knows. Who remembers? What is there to fix? Too much feverishness, not enough of it. Too much effort, the cutting sensation and freshness of effort. Too much effortful effortless and playful contradiction, running around in circles; one day it's all got to end and we gotta move on. The party in the mind is over. Too much staring at the self, or trying not to. Too much discipline; too much of a chokehold on the self. Too much freedom and not enough orientation. Zigzag. Stay still. Have a strategy don't. Stop thinking, don't. Stop feeling, don't. Exhaust yourself. Strategize. Reorient. Track your intent. Plan your trajectory. Succeed, fail, get disorientated. Discover something new, something unexpected. Amuse yourself, laugh at the absurdity at it all. Hold a funeral for your former sense of self. Be utterly unamused. Start again. Exhaust intent. Crash. Too much fatigue. Too much effortsomeness. Too much trying to convince people of your narrative for this or that. Too much self-reflection being used as a splitting mechanism. Too much effort spent falling apart or falling apart slowly, or falling apart elegantly in an artful way, gotta crash gracefully. Die beautifully or respectfully. Or at least, dramatically and in a noteworthy way. Die in a way worth writing about. Please, think of the future narratives. Or don't. Die invisibly. Subtract yourself. Pick a strategy. Pick. Subtract, subtract, subtract. Negate negate. Exhaust. Silence. I am possibility. Lo and behold. Parenthesis. Neither fiction or fiction. ( ) Speak to me. SPEAK TO ME MATTER AS FORM AS PARTICLE AS FLOW AS THOUGHT (_). ONE THOUSAND NEW POSSIBILTIES FROM HEREON OUT. Speak as one does. The universe gives birth to itself again. So does our human world; collective culture.
  5. ABSOLUTE LOVE = COMMUNION WITH EXPERIENCE: When you spend your whole life running against the grain, to run with the grain is what seems unnatural. Sometimes you doubt whether it is possible for what comes naturally, from moment to moment, to feel natural. To feel whole. You might think it's a complete fiction if you don't have the memory of what this means from early childhood; stories about fantastical beings, like aliens or fairies or ghosts, or ridiculously implausible inventions seem far more likely than this. All these other past and future worlds and imaginings. Free me, shackle me; what difference does it make? As long as I stop cutting myself into tiny pieces, and disconnecting. Either way, you're still here.
  6. DRINKING FROM YOU// I AM YOUR PARENTHESIS: I drank from you, and you flooded me. I opened myself to be flooded; it's what it means to feel. To be immersed so deeply and completely in the heart and marrow of experience. To be whole. To experience no sense of distance within and without, no detachment. At the heart of communion. Who asked you to taste so intensely, divinely sweet? And why does your bitterness offset this sweetness so perfectly? Your contrasts. All these fine distinctions and gradations of your personality, these roads you walked. You becoming you. Your aloneness and your isolation, your feelings of unworthiness. The ways in which you don't make sense to yourself, that you have not made sense of experience (not yet?). Who asked you to be so exquisitely you? Why do you linger in my mouth, the way you do? Why does your flavour invoke a certain feeling? Some tastes and sensations of the senses, you taste it with your heart. To be whole and to be alive, for better and for worse, you drink in experience with the heart. And so you see and feel it so wholly there that the force of tasting it, tastes you back. To have you is the ability to taste you over and over again, when it comes spontaneously and in invoked memories. I understand that clearly now, what this means. I understand that imprints and engravings of the soul, transcend memory. It can be described as the weight of memory. Even in the modern sense now, it is understood that what an addict craves is connection. Communion. That desire itself is no flaw or accident. (It's by design we all act and think like addicts, and those who embrace it the most fully, the most honestly, tend to become the most lucid.) Also, why am I just figuring out how to put this into words right now? Total submersion makes it hard to speak. You fall silent. You think and speak deflectingly, when you do. Maybe you say frivolous things, things you don't mean directly, things which seem so stupid in retrospect. Maybe there is no other choice.
  7. THOUGHTS OF THE HEART 3: A ROUNDABOUT WAY: There was everything that was, that dissolved. Love is untethered. I don't 'own' you, even if I have inhabited you. And I find myself wondering about the ways in which I have failed to inhabit you fully and the ways in which you have not inhabited me, that maybe you never have. What about each other have we not understood? What have we failed to take in of each other, if anything? I always had this notion in my mind, containing love smothers it to death. The same thing with labeling it too much, as it defines its existence by rigidly making it an object of mind. As in putting it in a little tiny box and then wondering why it fails to prosper when it doesn't have enough air, enough sunlight, or enough room to grow period, to take on its own spontaneous shape and form. For the ways in which it is imprisoned instead of nurtured and simply given the space to be. Like the futility of trying to contain water better by crushing it in your fist. Expressing this sentiment alone makes me seem commitment-phobic, probably, and it's true, I've definitely had this tendency my whole life and then some. Sometimes the best thing to do is to just walk away. I have harmed others with this praxis. I have had this thought on raising children, which will not be a part of my life, but it can be related to the nurturing and psychoemotional and spiritual development of all beings. I said, some people, or souls, have a deep and intrinsic need for structure and containment. The structure must be very clear and cohesive, and rules and consequences must be made very evident. It is for a sense of security to their souls that is necessary in order to prosper. For others, this is an absolute poison, even as very young children, like with myself, for example. There is something in me that is easily stamped out with too much smothering (aka. "structured nurturing") of this sort, that fails to grow properly as a result, and that gets claustrophobic so easily in interpersonal relationships. (This is very compatible with the notion of spiral dynamics that I have seen around these parts.) To love is to totally and devotedly mold yourself in and around this person and their experience, so flawlessly and without separation (while not excluding yourself in any way). How long can we keep this up though, practically speaking, when we're barely on the same page as ourselves, let alone others? With humans, you could say there is a difference in the size of our individual parenthesis, as souls having this experience of life. You could call this the scope and depth of perspective. This is one feature that makes us so distinct as a species; we really aren't all on the same page, not in terms of speaking the same language. Not yet. And not in terms of relative development, which was what I was speaking about here. But god, these concurrent urges. They sometimes appear to intersect and at other times, run in parallel lines, never meeting. How I had you, and I thought I had you. How I wanted to have you, and have you over and over again. You weren't. Yet you're still here, in me, in these fragments that speak and tell stories.
  8. THOUGHTS OF THE HEART 2: I never explicitly asked to desire you in the way that I did. It just happened. But the soul asks for things that the mind does not dare ask for: not to ask for directly, not to look at directly. The soul asks directly in desire, uttered without words, sometimes barely audible. Like the softest drumbeat. Sometimes we hear those desires translated into thoughts, into words. Sometimes, we hear nothing, because it's too much, it's too much … It's like looking at the sun directly; there is that risk of burning away with pain and pleasure and fear. Boundaries dissolve. So we have all these secret and half-hidden wishes of the heart. I wanted to feel truly and deeply without holding back, and I did, and now on some level, I have been struggling to release this blame fully. As if one makes a choice and it simply releases. I have been mindful of this, and so I do my best to create the conditions and space for release as if nurturing it. When I get too agitated and think about the time and making progress, it seems like I am falling into another sort of game. The mind says, don't feel, not like that, not towards that one. And then, the lines of segregation are drawn. You stop feeling so openly, so freely. Inwardly you turn against yourself, all while focusing on this other person in your mind. And sometimes, holding this person as an object of mind happens simply because of your exclusionary avoidance. You're not thinking of that person directly, thinking of their name, their face, their presence. The memories, their mementos, the way they smell, the way they inhabit space in their peculiar ways of being, the charms and idiosyncrasies, the way in which they are completely irritating. All these little and smotheringly encompassing things. But their presence is absolutely ubiquitous in your mindspace because you CANNOT think of them. They define the scope of your mindspace directly. You have drawn a perimeter around that person in their shape, filled with a black hole. In a state of relative stillness, you feel their power over you, the way in which they are utterly defining you. Does that make sense? It's the same thing with unarticulated desires and fears, and whatever it is that you can't face so directly. So totally understandable and relatable. So very human. This glorious humanness.
  9. THE WEIGHT OF MEMORY AND HISTORY// METAPHORS, INTIMATE PSYCHOMETRY: Who asked you to come here with your beautiful eyes and a spirit that, for reasons I didn't understand fully, seemed so wide open to me? And why are you telling me stories with them, written as clearly as inscribed history itself? Why have I walked where you have walked (or why are you telling me that I have, or asking me about that in questions), that I get so strongly the sense and the weight of experience without the images of the memories themselves? (Later, much would come back to me.) Why did you just show up, making it clear that you had always been here? Just not in an obvious way? I was finding and rediscovering the ways in that you seem to be written over me, in intervals. Likewise, I don't even need to touch you to know the ways in which memory is written all over your body. Your history. Now and forever; absolute memory. I have been reading and rereading you. Like a favourite book that has slipped between my senses, and passed out between my translucent skin like a chill wind. I see memories wrapped like spun cloth unraveled and unspun across time in images and sound and all of the vividness that is the senses. Meanwhile we ourselves are centering around ... Do you feel it too? Is it just me, right now, in this understanding and this seeing and feeling? Why are you here, time traveler?
  10. AIMLESS REFLECTIVE THOUGHTS// LONELINESS// THOUGHTS OF THE HEART: Is there anything more alienating than being alone but with someone? (Or alone while with a large group of people?) Sure, maybe it's drawing out a latent sense of loneliness and isolation. Right now, I feel like I can't relate to people. (How much of this is socialization and the isolation that I've both chosen and has been forced upon in this life? How much of this is something deeper within the marrow of my soul, beyond the circumstance and provocations of this life?) You were almost within reach. So I believed. So it probably was a perpetual delaying of the inevitable. Did I make this (via shitty LOA) or was it destined to turn out this way? Who can tell the difference at a certain point between the projected and the projector, when you ascend the chain of hyperawareness? (They call this oneness.) …. You left me nothing to hold onto. Physically, I feel empty. My fingers felt deprived of the physical touch. That lack of connection. Suppose I could just fill in all the gaps with my imagination. I can't live that way; how do people manage like this for years and years? What people spend years, decades holding onto, I seem to burn through in such a short period of time. How do people manage this? How do people's physical bodies sustain this weight without crumbling entirely? (Sometimes I think about the delicacy of this entire operation we call life.) What do we do other than survive this? Anyway, it seems like I had been holding onto myself mostly this whole time. The propensity towards self-indulgence turns into delusion at the slightest turn of awareness. Like the quietest click, where in a moment of self-absorption, you don't notice it. You were too busy staring at the mirage, and absorption into it for even a split second. That's the hamartia. Here I am, looking at every human and personal tendency and calling it a hubris, while also magnifying and celebrating it. This humanness. The sentimentality. This blindness. They call it blindness and it really is just an immersion. An unselfconscious, glorious immersion and total commitment to one's experience, to the point of amnesia. A profound communion, as profound as anything. I'm wondering if I'm speaking obtusely again, as if in riddles. I wonder if I should just stop this, stop this simultaneous writing and thinking. Maybe I should just go down lie down and let myself go comatose for a while and bathe in the waters of oblivion. There's a certain kind of abject self-negation I find refreshing. I wake up, and I find myself in another place. As if I've destroyed myself painlessly and instantly, and woke up to find myself in another place and in another body, psychoemotionally. As if I destroyed and then replicated myself. Like I keep doing this all the time, over and over again, constantly.
  11. PROGRESS REPORT (for the last week to week and a half): So, I am actually feeling better after barfing out of all of those thoughts in public in ARS AMORATA. That's why I do it. I know it doesn't work for a lot of people; I get that. It's helpful to me in relation to my life path and where I've been since last November or so. Before that, not really. I did my journaling work in private. BOOKS READ: So probably the major reason why I've been stressing this week, I've mostly covered academic literature (as in, people usually only read this stuff if they're writing academic books in this field, and not for fun, unless they're some kind of massive nerd. *dramatic cough*). A lot of this stuff is within my former field of study though. So I am going to get this information processing/ synthesizing dynamic right or as close to perfect as I can possibly manage. So I should be in more of a flow, and I should be able to retain an extremely high level of focus perfectly for the whole duration of time. So after 30 minutes, 1 hour, sometimes 2 hours, sometimes this is difficult especially if the text gets really fucking boring, and some of the stuff was definitely borrowing. My ability to move at an accelerated pace, process, and synthesize in close succession relies heavily on my sense of focus, interest, and maintaining a certain kind of high. I have been pushing myself even though it causes me pain. Imperial Matter: Ancient Persia and the Archaeology of Empires (330 pages) Philosophy of Desire in the Buddhist Pali Canon (284 pages) Wittgenstein Logio-Philosophius (88 pages) The Biosocial Model of Health and Desire (224) Celtic Mythology (this one is really short) (44) Ancient Terracotta from Siciliy (250) Words for Writers (450 pages, this one I combed through very meticulously.) Tech Giants, Artificial Intelligence, and the Future of Journalism (200) Magic Vocab Guilder for Mandarin Chinese (186) The language between God and Poets: Ma‘na in the Eleventh Century (296) Dhalgren (about 800 pages, but I only got through 145 pages) The Machine Age (260 pages) Sapiens (414) Ray Kurzweil - The Singularity is Near (434, about 100 pages in) So, that's going to be about 3605 pages once I finish "Words for Writers" and "The Singularity is Near". Mainly adding this up for my own curiosity; I made a conservative estimate and noted it was probably about 2000-3000 pages, probably in the upper range. It's worth noting, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus I've read before; so I don't have to concern myself with digesting it freshly. As I have also read Dhalgren, so I read a little bit, and then decided that I didn't want to ruin fiction by giving it this treatment, even though I also wanted to test out my approach. Also worth noting, I took those book page numbers from Amazon, and I did not comb through the references; which I would definitely be doing if I was doing a research paper. Some of these reference lists can be very long; it's proper for an academic book. Stupid fucking postmodern academic prose writing style. I was so excited by the number of free books you can get through amazon kindle (unlimited or not) that would otherwise cost a lot. I can appreciate that the stuff touching on tech is much easier to access, at least language-wise. This may or may not have fuelled my irritation towards Wittgenstein. (I may also have some kind of unresolved trauma here, haha. ) Well, that explains at least partially why I've been stressing the hell out. Even now the act of sitting down to read has started to stress me out due to anticipation because I push myself to read according to a certain pace and set of standards. And right now, my brain is like, modmyth no. And I'm like, brain, do better, and at the same time, relax, because if I get too stressed I can't focus properly. Agitated and high strung and moderately annoyed, I can work with. Anything more, no. That's usually why I stop, because my brain physically hurts. Anyway, what I am doing is trying to get this procedurally perfect, as much as possible. And it's pissing me off. 70% of the time, if the book was a physical book, I'd want to throw it across the room. Getting there, I guess. I've taken a break the past day or two and slowed down greatly. ART: On the side: a little nonblog writing, as in jotting down ideas, sketching everyday (I try to do at least one page no matter what I'm doing otherwise, but once in a while, my brain does get really dry, and I both keep recycling the same ideas very explicitly over and over again, I've also managed to do 3 paintings in the past week, on my brand new 8 by 5 Moleskine watercolour album; none of them are quite finished. For me, this is relaxing. Put on some music or a podcast, and stop thinking so much. *LANGUAGE: Also, I have done a little bit of ANKI mainly focusing on Mandarin still (I usually do this in 1-hour intervals, give or take half an hour, again at a rapid-fire pace). Maybe half of those days, I have been managing to do it. *EXERCISE: I've managed to keep up my calisthenics + pilates routine, although I skipped a day or two because of female monthly cycle things, hormones, more stress than normal. (But that didn't stop me from reading and shit). MEDITATION: I do it to relax mainly at this moment and to stay psychoemotionally very open and connected, on top of whatever else comes naturally. I'm not structuring it too heavily right now. *Also scripting still, which requires being in a sort of emotionally high and focused state, or else I won't bother doing it. OBSESSION: For reference, when I was in academia, I've cleared a whole shelf or half a shelf on an incredibly specific subject within... maybe 2 weeks? But I would go to classes in either the morning or the afternoon, and the stay until 11 or 12 am or until I could get the last bus out of campus. No, I did not read every passage equally, but I went through every book to make sure I got relevant passages. How much did I actually read? I have no idea, but a lot more than I listed above. It's kind of a blur TBH. I'm mainly bringing this up to say that I'm not a stranger to this sort of obsessive information combing; I was very good at it (also, formerly considered a sort of big deal in something I didn't end up wanting to keep on doing at all.)
  12. And if I'm hard on you, it's because I obviously still care in an absolute sense. Like, I feel responsible for you. I feel responsible for the hate I feel and any consequences that might have, one way or another. I can't help it. At least, I hope it's obvious.
  13. IN THE SHADOW OF A FORMER OBSESSION 6// BLAME: (ISFO? shitty acronym!) So we're stuck then resolving this absolutely in a karmic sense. Let's have it. Absolute resolution. Say on an absolute level, we're all connected. Say on some level, you won't leave me alone, or I can't leave you alone because there are unresolved feelings. You know the drill. The more you clear out psychic space in an absolute way, the more that whatever remains as an unresolved issue, tends to bring itself starkly into focus. It's like the elephant in the ever-emptying room. The elephant that refuses to escort itself out of the room. Say I have to be able to say what I've previously been unwilling to say. Say that I have done this over and over which is one of the reasons why I started Confessionals, that I have been doing my best to commit to it even though it makes me look like >insert unflattering description<. If you want to know the truth, the truth will be here, to the best of my ability to write it down. I have said there near the beginning of that journal that I lie; because I am used to adapting socially and social artifice, hiding certain things from myself in way that I mostly have been for most of my life (as in, deeply ingrained and unconscious habits), and smoothing things over in a way that comes naturally to me. You know, it takes a lot of effort and unwrapping through many layers to get as close as possible to the core of the spirit of truth, with whatever I share in words; surely the spirit comes through. Yes, everything not done in absolute consciousness, with some degree of disintegration? I have classified this as a lie; not the absolute truth. Maybe it is a truth, but it does not communicate properly. If you want the truth, you'll find it one way or another now. I have felt so much hate and dislike for you at times, specifically blame, that I have found myself distasteful at many times, in a way that I did not find myself before. Do you know what's strange? In some ways, you were the hardest one at all. Not my parents or family, and yea, that's been a mess. Not some of my shittiest friends in the past (this here is linked to sexual trauma). You. (I did say I wanted to understand you as deeply as I could; so I anticipate that I am very much reaping what I sowed here; without having. To know the weight of what you're risking but to do it anyway, even if you can't articulate what exactly is at risk? That's faith. I had faith in you. You didn't even ask for it, did you? Did you even want that? Probably not like that.) I also hate the woman you're with just by default, and I dislike that I feel that way; at times, I have hated myself. I find it ugly. And yet, apparently, it took a few times for me to get this right, side with myself or fall into pieces (see above). I choose survival in the most literal, rawest, psychoemotional sense. Yes, I let myself be pushed that far before I indulged in my reactiveness. Anyway, it could be any other woman, and I would hate her just as much. I didn't know that I was going to be like this or that it was going to turn out this way. Again I have never been like this before. Anyway, I find it ugly because as far as I know, she didn't do anything in particular to deserve hate; it could be someone else and I would probably hate her too. I find myself wanting to pick her apart and I restrain myself strongly. If I compare myself directly with another woman in such a petty spirit; I've already lost. It's not in my lexicon and It's not even worth going there; it is beneath me for the most part; except for survival. Even then, I have to think about it; sometimes I have picked 'being virtuous' in my own mind over 'hate'. My life or my pride, my image, and the chance of being unnecessarily hurtful? It has gotten ridiculous at times. My own heart schooled me rather aggressively. You understand this is all very highly restrained, right? Like, I might push the boundaries of taste in my writing at times, I cuss a lot and am extremely blunt. But you know what I don't compromise much at all on when it comes to? Ethics and integrity. I value being completely consistent across the board as much humanly as possible. Like, I value being the best I can be, and I want other people to be the best that they can be. That kind of petty spirit above makes me feel gross. And apparently, this issue with you has given me a lot more to deal with that previously wasn't on my radar at all. I do not like to blame. It doesn't come easily or naturally to me. I have had a hard time blaming those that perhaps deserve the most blame in my life (not that I play this game of 'deserving blame' too much if I can help it; it's a game where no one wins ultimately. Congratulations, you deserve blame! So I win the award of being spiteful. Great.) Yet with you, I feel the desire to blame compulsively which crops up in intervals, which I then want to keep suppressing. I have to keep running consciously against my own grain in order to release the impulse that I find myself wanting to react against in a different way: walk away from it, try to interpret things in a more positive way with reality as it presents itself, or just call it stupid and move on. So I blame you and make a show of it. Sort it out in the open. Practice that principle of openness. By the way, I thought you were the complete package deal. I was impressed with you. I never would have been that attracted to you otherwise, you idiot. I had barely stopped or been interested in that much too deeply this lifetime before then, very little moved me, and I didn't let very much move me either (fatigue, survival). But you moved me, and you moved me so very deeply. Which brings me to this: so I watched you evolve a lot and address a lot of issues... but how is it that you've managed to be that dense here? It's been so hard for me to wrap my mind around this, that I perpetually come to the conclusion that you just don't give a shit and somehow you never have. It just makes no goddamned sense to me. Anyway, normally this comes up for an hour or two and I purge it out of my system, and then. *POOF* things are back to normal. It's on to something else. ***The more directly you deal with something, the less you deflect and spread it out over time. Which I do not have time for. Who gives a shit about how it looks. I care about effectiveness. ***There's something almost like an Oedipal tragedy in what happened to me with you: if I was the fortune teller that anticipated my own death, and then I killed myself instead of killing someone else through a serious of really unfortunate setups. "Fate".
  14. IN THE SHADOW OF A FORMER OBSESSION 5: I thought you were incredibly beautiful, that time had made you more beautiful. And more interesting. Whatever you thought was an issue with yourself, I didn't see you in that way. I didn't want to see you that way. I wanted to see everything about you, and love you idealistically anyway. I did. I thought you could tell that this was very much in my mind constantly. I spent more time looking for things about myself that needed 'fixing' and healing that projecting that outwards towards you. I deliberately avoided focusing on my trauma too directly. I thought I would have been poisonous to you if I was too open, and then I would force you to deal with it for me. Do you realize that a good amount of my distance and standoffishness is directly a result of that? It was some combination of it being 'ugly' and thinking you couldn't handle what my life had been like, feeling directly how I felt. Maybe that's not a fair assumption, but even if you could have handled it, I hate being a burden. At the time, I didn't want to be looked at with a certain kind of concern that would have felt too much like pity. You were beautiful to look at. Beautiful to feel. I got addicted. You brought me pleasure and pain in that way. I don't think you realized. That when I felt like I had you, that you wanted to be had, it was difficult. But so so good. Maybe I had to stop looking at you directly for that reason alone. It hurt. Nothing in my life had really prepared me for feeling quite like that. (It didn't help that I spent the last almost 10 years being walled off and disconnected.) I valued you. I thought you were it. I thought you were a big fucking deal and I couldn't face it too directly. I valued your work. It mattered to me; it's just that I can't look at it directly at all anymore, ok? It causes me pain. It made me feel like I mattered so much, and then after a certain point, I felt like I didn't matter at all. You became a hazard risk. I also don't think you interpreted most of my negative reactions correctly at all. I don't think, for example, that you were being creepy and obsessive. That implies you weren't wanted. You very much were. I thought about you all the time. I deflected from it. Why on Earth did you think I didn't want you? I thought it was so obvious how I felt about you. I started wondering if you found a lot of shit about me that you really just didn't end up liking, and again, if we only make sense from a distance. You know, interesting from a distance, but not so good to look at up close? I had that thought, here and there. I kept putting it out of my mind. You know, say you feel fine, relatively speaking, in one area of life. Not that insecure. And then, someone draws all these sort of insecurities out of you that I didn't even know you had. That you feel like you've never developed the coping skills to deal with. It feels like it's too much, too suddenly; it's far too close and too present. You might feel claustrophobic if it wasn't all hitting you so quickly you don't have time to react in a deliberated way. You don't want it to stop, you want to keep feeling... the heart wants to keep seeing the world in colour... So I was trying to figure out how to process it while processing everything else? At a certain point, my brain kind of shut down and I had to figure out what to focus on, what to prioritize on. Whatever rational part of my brain that was still working. Anyway, But someone has to look out for me. Apparently that's me, even if during that time period, I sucked at it. I stopped being so careful. If there's one thing I won't allow, it's to leave this Earth without doing what I came here to do.
  15. IN THE SHADOW OF A FORMER OBSESSION 4: Actually, I valued you more than I ever managed to show. Clearly it wouldn't be not obvious from the amount of complaining I've done about this. Which I, at least initially, keep wishing that I didn't feel inclined to do at all. When is this going to be over? When it is it going to end? No, it's true. I don't know how to show you what you meant. I just keep talking about the way you made me feel, which was mostly 'negativity' in retrospect. Mostly, this is all I have been able to get out of it in retrospect, up to now. It seems strange and inappropriate to speak positively about you now, but I suppose it is actually feasible now, considering you so very formally moved on. I can at least speak in past tense when it comes to love. Enough has either been cut or burnt away. Say there exists something which isn't capable of being destroyed by either time, separation, or negative emotions, or even my best attempts to destroy what's left. My expectations and desires and hope clearly was not it. Because I have been trying to do that. No, I haven't always been fully on board. Whatever remains now, is truly what's indestructible, isn't it? Why on earth do we have to do this?