(no subject)
[Sep. 11th, 200804:56 pm]
This morning I woke with a revitalized sense of independence. Maybe all it really requires is a few sips of the drink to allow my brain to think in the way I need it to; in the way it did before all my thoughts in some way or another had a way of relating to you. Perhaps that isn't entirely true, but as of late, I am not myself when I am not inside of your warmth. A few moments of thoughtlessness drift on by in the sweet cold wind of a September night, a few seconds of laughter, a drink in hand and I am more mine than I have been all summer long. These eyes of mine shall perceive as they always have, and no it isn't empty when you're living more than anything, for colouring in the pencil outlines within your head; I was a fool to assume that life is more meaningful,or perhaps just more respectably normal when I'm living for the bones and skin within your bed. I am a fool. I am a fool. But, I must remind myself of this in order to remember how to be smart. I need to be stupid in so many ways in order to actually believe that there is any value in the inclinations I feel towards articulating reality. Lately, it has occurred to me that there are simply too many ways for articulating, too many approaches to conceptualizing the subtleties that few other than me will ever really care enough about to see. I am not pretentious, well yes I am, but only in that I know for a few years of my life I left behind this thing I call me in search of the stars. Even if I never really made it that far, I at least tried to systematize to some degree- I thought of more than ways of fucking the girl with the tight ass or what was on the next test in a business class. I stopped pushing the limits of my reality when the paint began to peel, there was nothing left to feel when all i could see was the dry wall behind it all. This morning I recalled what I read about Nietzsche, and realized how far I had strayed from a life I thought I might someday wish to aspire to, but even as I attempt to articulate what it was I felt this morning as I walked towards the bus stop I become incapable. I am more mindless and wordless than I can recall being in the last four years. For the longest time I was sure that I was destined for burning madness; for a a lonely life of Logos, but what is required to feel genius, I no longer hold onto. I am no longer fully alone. I am no longer at loss for love. I am no longer full of so much anxiety-the academic acheivements that once fueled my fire have simply began to bore me. I am not afraid of failure in the same empowering away; I am really not much afraid of all that much psychological these days, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, (make sure to knock on this wooden desk) . And, who am I kidding, everything is psychological. Within the way my mind perceives, there is nothing to any of it, there are no real bars or burlesque bedrooms behind the walls of this western movie town. Sop then, how will I choose to make it all meaningful again? I've been able to avoid my dwelling upon the idea that there is nothing, if we ultimately only live to forget, to die alone in some old folks home without even the slightest vestigial trace of the girl's face whom we first kissed, or the the way the summer truly felt when we were twenty three, the burning bright firy light that once sheathed over our entire reality. What, without memory, will any of the present mean to me? We're already shadows is how it all at times can appear to me....perhaps it still does, but lately I do not think in this manner. I simply try to open my eyes towards the present moment outstretched in front of me, and oh difficult such a simple task can be when you've led your mind into a world of words and conceptions, and systematizations of existence. Today, we walk to the river, sit on some rocks hidden from the rest of the world by tall green weeds, the sun is shining, I take my shirt off half jokingly but feel the sun baring down upon me and feel as if I am on a fishing trip, or in a cottage town, resting by a stream not too far from the beach. I say very little and she makes what looks like a flower to me out of rocks. I think her so much more Buddhist than I could ever be as she holds onto my head with her hands, pressing her cheekbone into mine as we've come to do. I tell her I think she is...and she tells me that I am not Buddhist at all; sometimes I wish she just wouldn't speak; sometimes I am certain she will disagree for the sake without even knowing what side it is she claims to take. But..for now, I shall simply remain in awe of her way of living in the present tense.