These last few days have literally sewn me to the floor. Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the fear of things of big change heading my way. Depressive behavior strangles every bit of momentum out of everything I normally enjoy. You may find bits and pieces like stones in a fire but shit fuck when it rages, silently suffocating – it wreaks havoc on the face of just trying to make it through the god damn day. I can see and feel it blackening things all around me, as I try to stay spun up so that I may be whisked away to no longer have to think, but rather just go into any kind of entropy – into the eye of any storm. And I see it withering people that I’m close to, and I just have to stare through from a distant piece of dirty glass and paint some kind of wirey smile on my face. It’s a million miles and going, it’s every speck of the shit sandwiches that I’ve had to eat. It’s looking around the corner to maybe collide into a broken down spiral of a person that actually has true warmth. But no, life hurls you venom. It’s fooling, and contorting in some vast magic scheme to make us think we are to ‘learn something’. I can plant a pile of seeds of experience and let it broadcast across your chest exactly the type of reality that is just getting up everyday. It really doesn’t matter, sometimes in decades of faces you would understand to be different – are actually just the same book, but with the new cover art. And that just fucking guts me from the inside out. The throttling, bottle neck behavior – I just can’t be around. If I was to ‘learn’ anything it’s that. It’s that ruining that wholeheartedly makes me sad. We are not JUST cut from different stone, we are often merely just CUT.
These dips in the week can go fuck themselves. I’m tired of the constricting, gasps and sight clinching of everything. Fix shit, break shit, run at shit – lets entertain so that I can set aflame the strings flying out of your mouth.
“When we love someone, who do we love? That person, or our idea of that person? Some years before virtual reality became a byword, Tarkovsky was exploring its implications. Although other persons no doubt exist in independent physical space, our entire relationship with them exists in our minds. When we touch them, it is not the touch we experience, but our consciousness of the touch.” – R. Ebert, Solaris 1972