I haven't been doing much lately, in terms of productivity.
But that doesn't mean anything, because there's always something on in my head.
Either planning, retracing, dreaming, procrastinating.
I have a lot going on, just nothing to show for it, yet.
But if you believe me and take my word for it, I might tell you what it is.
That's kind of the basis of everything to me right now. Me getting by on my own word. Those castles in my head that get visitors, whenever I see that someone wants to hear me out. But I do spend time mapping it all out. Replaying something or imagining something- endlessly in those rooms. I've found that I am unable to have long conversations with anyone because I lose interest while they are talking and find myself roaming around those large, airy rooms of my own. And when it's time for my response, I try not to say the first thing that comes into my mind.
I probably can't stop talking about myself. It's really surprising that when I'm in the company of some specific people, I don't. Does that make me a total hypocrite? Because I probably would like to say something or ask some questions that bubble up inside me and mostly have to do with myself. Is that cowardly? Or is it just something to do with my equation with them?
So, these rooms are large. Pretty well organised. Designed. Some of them are visited way more than the others. And I really think one of them just contains all the things I can't have. One for sure is filled with all the ways I can be the boss of everything. One is all the raison d'etres I have ever felt.
Do I have castle-to-castle rivalry? Well, yes. Favouritism.
Maybe if it wasn't for my recent lack of productivity, I might have had to keep dousing raging flames in one chamber and then the next. I've had warped visions in some, hazy and smoke-filled, confused. Some with violent flood, damage and destruction. Some morbid with ugly, wild, gesticulating projections on every side, closing in every time I walk in. Some plain painful. Some so intensely beautiful and musical that they end up repressed and locked for fear of losing them.
So it's really nice to be able to enjoy all of this at a simmering temperature. That really sounds a lot like coming-of-age to me. I understand now what it means to be aware of your own self, no matter what ecstatic or pitiable state it may be in. The rooms are no longer random, but chosen, deliberated and necessary. The frequency of their operation is not only emitted but also absorbed. The time taken to understand this is perhaps the most crucial absorption of all. And that each time they are occupied by a conscious me, they evolve.
Nothing beats the human spirit more than change. It's the one unstoppable force, this linear nature of time. And no one can put any numbers on that. No one can read these hopeless numbers.
It's infinitive then, my lack of productivity. I can call it an imperative journey, an astral must-do, if you ever want to hover above the grind of institutionalized productivity.
Thoughts?
But that doesn't mean anything, because there's always something on in my head.
Either planning, retracing, dreaming, procrastinating.
I have a lot going on, just nothing to show for it, yet.
But if you believe me and take my word for it, I might tell you what it is.
That's kind of the basis of everything to me right now. Me getting by on my own word. Those castles in my head that get visitors, whenever I see that someone wants to hear me out. But I do spend time mapping it all out. Replaying something or imagining something- endlessly in those rooms. I've found that I am unable to have long conversations with anyone because I lose interest while they are talking and find myself roaming around those large, airy rooms of my own. And when it's time for my response, I try not to say the first thing that comes into my mind.
I probably can't stop talking about myself. It's really surprising that when I'm in the company of some specific people, I don't. Does that make me a total hypocrite? Because I probably would like to say something or ask some questions that bubble up inside me and mostly have to do with myself. Is that cowardly? Or is it just something to do with my equation with them?
So, these rooms are large. Pretty well organised. Designed. Some of them are visited way more than the others. And I really think one of them just contains all the things I can't have. One for sure is filled with all the ways I can be the boss of everything. One is all the raison d'etres I have ever felt.
Do I have castle-to-castle rivalry? Well, yes. Favouritism.
Maybe if it wasn't for my recent lack of productivity, I might have had to keep dousing raging flames in one chamber and then the next. I've had warped visions in some, hazy and smoke-filled, confused. Some with violent flood, damage and destruction. Some morbid with ugly, wild, gesticulating projections on every side, closing in every time I walk in. Some plain painful. Some so intensely beautiful and musical that they end up repressed and locked for fear of losing them.
So it's really nice to be able to enjoy all of this at a simmering temperature. That really sounds a lot like coming-of-age to me. I understand now what it means to be aware of your own self, no matter what ecstatic or pitiable state it may be in. The rooms are no longer random, but chosen, deliberated and necessary. The frequency of their operation is not only emitted but also absorbed. The time taken to understand this is perhaps the most crucial absorption of all. And that each time they are occupied by a conscious me, they evolve.
Nothing beats the human spirit more than change. It's the one unstoppable force, this linear nature of time. And no one can put any numbers on that. No one can read these hopeless numbers.
It's infinitive then, my lack of productivity. I can call it an imperative journey, an astral must-do, if you ever want to hover above the grind of institutionalized productivity.
Thoughts?
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