Some old entries from a diary.
May 2, 2016 § Leave a comment
Yeah, I kept one regularly for about 5 days once.
I am Jen’s frightened mind. And I am here to write about all that occupies me. I have written and talked about this subject more times than I can even begin to conceive. But I still don’t know who this Jen is. I can’t process her incessant super complex emotional algorithms. She gives me no hint as to what it is that she’d like me to focus on. So here I am, minding my own sex-driven, sarcastic and bizarrely artsy and hedonistic natural state while trying to perfect my witty comebacks and seduction techniques, when she comes storming in from a place of deep emotional torment which I have little to no control over, and throws it at me like a torrential assault hurricane.
“And what am I to do now? Why am I yet again driven to such confusion and contusion, delusion and pools of nonsensical thought? Can I enjoy a healthy relationship until I find inner peace? If not, why the fuck don’t you show me a way around it, ‘Your Mindjesty’? Hell, you couldn’t help me think of a better pun?”
Jen: you are allowing the emotional center to overflow and interfere with other functions of the brain. You inhibit rationality from doing its job properly, which it is usually very competent at, and instead create one-dimensional justifications accompanied by the illusion–reinforced by the aforementioned emotional overflow–of being right, or at least more so than the extrabodily opponent.
It is very difficult to alter the programming of someone’s emotional center, important though the task may be to the progression of one’s enlightenment and general state of zen. The whole brain resists change. As “open-minded” as one may describe oneself, far away will be the day he or she stops bragging about all his righteous doings. For what offends the brain’s very nuts and bolts is not opening one’s circle of political tolerance to accept transsexuals and poor people, or whatever, which really doesn’t affect one’s life in any radical way except by helping to get in with the cool crowd of other open-minded youngsters that one may want to be seen with. I’m not saying they wouldn’t believe these things if they didn’t have perks. But becoming vegetarian, doing yoga, and recycling are far from the biggest challenges a brain can face in its lifetime.
No, the toughest thing is when the obstacles in your way are deeply ingrained thought habits, behavioral habits that you must overcome to finally face the challenge and defeat it. It’s when it must detach itself from automatic response and focus on filling up the wisdom tankard far far back in the subconscious realms which will ultimately show through. It’s when one no longer considers oneself “open-minded” or liberal ; no longer considers oneself at all.
Where those little things which have always been your “little things”, Jen, are stripped, naked in front of a metaphorical crowd, feel very ashamed of themselves and must forcibly surrender and let themselves be overwritten. In extreme cases, it may be necessary even to format the drive and reboot, lest the brain continue its life in stagnation and despair over its own shortcomings which it can not escape. What– talk about run-on sentences, babe! Yeowkes, this is going places isn’t it.
Anyway, had a fight with him again. Basically, conceptually speaking, about all the aforementioned crap. I feel always as in between feelings of equal strength. I LOVE you but I am restless. I am restless and you annoy me, I think probably cause I’m still not at peace with myself, but–I love you, and so on. So what? And then again, what clamouring entrance into the mind’s headquarters, full of complaints. Stop me even thinking such stupid, worrisome feelings and learn to follow reasonable intuition. Though quand il est question de l’amour, all does admittedly seem far removed from the rest. The hitherto unused love center seems to have Homer Simpson at its controls and regularly suffers core meltdowns, muddling the hell out of all other processes.
Anyway, I do ramble on. The night is getting old and I have a full day with my man tomorrow.
Must think of novel idea… must think of novel idea… must stop thinking my musings are the least interesting succession of words ever written… must think of novel idea… ust thi of nove ide…………………..
I watched a dude’s art videos today. He has a proper big fat website full of big fat cool FX and a load of conceptual nonsense deep enough to fish a catfish out of. Funny enough, before even realizing it was part of an art project, I had an inkling that it might be something of the sort. Thought maybe it’s not that boring if you look at it in its whole. Oh, jesus bajesus, I take it back–boredom reigns! The Value of Society, it calls itself… give me a break. “Getting drunk alone”, “sex alone”, et caetera alone, yeah, “interesting”. Really makes you “think”. So humans are social animals eh? Let’s sit through all these individual fifteen minute videos, without an ounce of depth or intrigue between them; that’ll prove that sensational theory. Whoop-de-freaking-doop. Say, I should really be a critic.
Heyyy, that “sex alone” thing really makes me wanna masturbate a little.
I feel, refreshed, I feel, enraptured, I feel, in love, I feel, unable to write this bullshit any longer. It’s all so forced. Writing is a love, writing as long as I have something to bloody write about.
It’ll come. It’ll come. It’s coming, I know it is. The day I live an adventure truly worth recounting, I shall truly recount it. Is this all an elaborate excuse to not finish anything properly? Proberly. Oh fucking doo-dah well.
I spend all my time worrying I haven’t found myself. Who the hell am I, what am I trying to do, what can I achieve, all that nonsense, when really—haven’t I found myself already? If I am so certain, in chatting with random people, of my true being, then why is this persona not good enough for public performances? It clearly wins many people over in personal interactions. I have no need to look for anything, for I found it a long time ago. There is no reason I can not use it for more than one person at a time. It is me, and me is what I will be, whatever that may turn out to be.
(NOTE FROM INSIDE ADMINISTRATION: That little motivational note up there didn’t do much to change stuff round here. She hasn’t reformatted our info one bit, and stage fright and insecurity still reigns. Talk about the power of expressing oneself through one’s art, eh?)