September 24, 2013 § Leave a comment
“I took off my headphones, I took off my black leather platform shoes, just as the rain got super intense. Looking up at it, especially where it was sharply defined in the yellow light of the street lamps, I literally felt like something undefinable underneath my face wanted to burst out of me and go blend with the thousands of heavy drops. Physically, I felt it as a strong urge to cry.”
This is how our emotions can cause physical reactions. A tightening of the chest; a clenching of the jaw. How external stimuli cause us to become conscious of our bodies. It is at a moment like this where I can actually feel my chest. Or when I clench my fists in distress and feel the nails digging into my palm. That is when I start feeling my body naturally.
“And I just felt physically purified of all my sad, stressed and distressing thoughts.”
Physically purified of thoughts. Feeling things physically brings us back to our primal selves, even if just for a little while. The wet rain on my body, the tiredness of my limbs, the tears waiting to come out of my eyes, made me just for a short-lived moment blissfully forget all the meaningless mortal questions that so like to bang around in my head.
September 9, 2013 § Leave a comment
September 7, 2013 § 1 Comment
Writing my troubles away. Does anyone else feel this way? Yes, normally I would smoke a joint and sleep like a boulder (and wake up like a slug), but after two weeks now at my beloved mother’s, off of everything, I am roughly confronted with all my internal struggles. And so I burden the empty page for being burdened is its purpose.
When I get home in a little over a week and start “normal” life again I will stop myself in my tracks and start again.
I will be calmer. I want to be at peace with my friends and flatmates and especially with myself. I will install a lock on my door because I’m sick of paranoia and mistrust, and buy things for myself that I will keep to myself. If I need people for something, I will let them know. If the answer is unsatisfactory, I just jot them out of the equation. I will be independent of anyone’s energetic influence, as I am already independent of everybody’s opinion (except, as a matter of fact, my mother’s). I will wake up in the morning and do all the stretches I need, and any muscular workout I may be doing as well. A new wardrobe will be in my room because the landlord promised it would and I will have it done. I will remove excess clutter from my room and make way for productivity. Little by little. The morning will be for the body and the apartment.
In fact, as soon as I get back, I must get some cleaning products. I’ll ask nicely of them to participate in the costs but if they fail to, again, I can survive. I will ask about sharing the price of a water filter, and a clothing iron. I need leather cleaner.
I will ask I. for my white gold chain back because it is precious. If she is defensive I will insist a little bit…but then just say fuck it. I won’t lend you anything anymore. If she is flaky, I will remind her calmly but regularly.
I will work on my breathing.
I will write. My blog shall be my free time occupation. Perhaps I’ll finish editing my dad’s book if I haven’t by the end of my stay here. Writing will make me feel better because words are what flow the easiest out of me. I won’t make too much of it. My style might be unsatisfactory to me but its purpose is to let out the demons.
Music. Music. How am I not mentioning music? Because all this is to free my mind and get it ready for working on school. Writing will be good practice for perhaps a future career. It will also propel my degree in teaching me to sit still and relax and give in to (and even enjoy) what comes.
This won’t alienate me from my friends. I love I. and I can’t change her; she will change when she needs to. But I won’t go out and party if I don’t feel I have personally deserved it. When I’m satisfied with my progress and feeling happy, then I will confront the land of the lost souls; but I know it will be only a passing dream and I will have no regrets, and no connections.
For I am the only one with any influence over myself. Whatever repercussions external people’s actions have on me are of my own choosing. And I choose to take care of myself before anyone else.
Weed. Weed, weed, weed. Its aroma will seduce me day in and day out. I will be pressured openly to roll one up and set my brain ablaze until I pass out with both intense satisfaction and great disgust. But I will do it sparingly and not buy anymore. That’s enough. Not until I’ve got myself sorted.
I will get a library card and get to reading again. If they have easy Russian books, I’ll take them too.
Russian films as well.
I will not be too lazy to go down the three flights of stairs and go wherever I might need to go to get whatever I may need. (Case in point: Russian foodstore, pelmeni. Iron. Water filter. Rubber gloves for handling harsh detergents.)
I will not, repeat, will not, rely on my newfound love to push me along in this. I will start before his arrival and get into a routine: then we can live in true healthy partnership and not dependance on one another.
Sleep earlier. Although writing comes to me at night. We’ll see about that one.
I will stop forgetting my pill and take it at the same time every day. Maybe the irregularity is contributing to my short-circuiting brain by making my hormones go haywire?
I will be proactive and massage my gums as my mother said was good for my dental hygiene. And drink the supplements I’ve been given instead of complaining about varicose veins on my legs.
“A journey of a thousand steps begins with just one step” said not only Confucius but also, quite a few years later, Stephen Covey in his revolutionary (albeit comprising solely the commonest of sense that we all seem to have lost) self-help book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. It’s easy to turn one’s nose up at self-help books… so many are pathetic attempts at quick fixes and corny quotes to make people feel better about themselves. Let us not, however, look down upon a whole genre: this one’s top notch, folks. And it’s only saying what we all should know deep down (some deeper down than others).
I want to follow both Covey and my more clichéd love, Jack Kerouac, in their teachings of self-awareness and zen, respectively (although both ultimately seem to converge). As an aside, I later hope to travel to places of peace and find myself fully as Jack describes so well in his books. And also to learn from his writing, which I just simply love so much.
But most of all I want to follow my mother who seems to embrace all of this in a hard shell of many unhappy years and a rich, smiling, peaceful outlook on life that I wish I could even begin to achieve. All this she seems to do effortlessly. Truly my mentor.
So I’ve decided now that instead of being unhappy about not having made any steps all these years, and therefore not even bothering to take one, I will now be satisfied with each small step I manage to take. I don’t expect to do it all immediately; I have that habit of putting pressure on myself the moment I make resolutions. Well fuck that. When I’m thoroughly happy with myself, then I can allow myself enjoyment such as drugs. The steps I take shall produce enjoyment in themselves, however. Through zen I will enjoy cleaning the apartment because I enjoy living in clean conditions. Through zen I will enjoy stretching because it makes me feel good. Through zen I’ll find my way without forcing it on myself and without letting anyone force it on me.
September 6, 2013 § Leave a comment
September 6, 2013 § Leave a comment
September 6, 2013 § Leave a comment
From mid-July 2013. Archived openoffice documents.
M. was the name I wanted to give my strange trip to insanity. It’s so beautiful here and I don’t ever want to leave, I’m truly in a wonderland of mystery. How will I ever write like this sober I will never see. Stream of consciousness is in me. Touching myself is ecstasy. It’s like finding myself from outside of another me. I am truly a nymphomaniac. This flat is so twisted up. It’s time to move outside. I’m still in my world of weirdness but maybe time to move outside. Follow my partner’s visual cues. He is my tripping partner in this world of crazies and M. is on my mind as well and it’s beautiful. I can choose to see it as terrifying and change and
…Everything’s so strange. I’m moving around like a full idiot. I’m acting like I’m on hard drugs but I don’t even realize it. I can choose to think it’s terrifying or to think it’s mind-explosive. Expanding. It can be either one…just a traumatized body and a brain going haywire…or a mind going haywire with information it was not previously aware of beforehand…or is it imagining this…of course it is, the imagination is just as real and tangible as the reality of everything. It actually literally seems real and tangible in no frightening manner, simply as it is and truly being what it… look at me, trailing off into nonsense ranting. It is real ranting. It is as if the computer is being dragged from under me, I must stop writing, I’ll run out of inspiration, it’s draining me already to think of all this. N. is ready to go outside and I must follow him. I will be here shortly.