Everything is related until infinity: 23 de abril de 2015
Men just make me so fucking weird, what do they want? What do they think I want, and how does my perspective of their opinion influence my reaction to them, my interactions with them? There are too many spirals circling around and around, everything is related until infinity, everything is subjective until your memory mists steadily out of other people’s subconsciousness and you’re forgotten instantly.
My weed, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, just like my functional eight personalities when two or three are MIA. When someone doesn’t show up the others get pissed.
Weed makes me feel decisive, or at least totally comfortable being indecisive. Without the memory of that feeling, I slip into anxiety, concerning both indecision and decision. I feel myself pressuring myself to make decisions quickly, or know what I want, or have every decision result in something positive, and if I don’t succeed, I feel anxious, like my life means nothing actually important. (Which I guess is true in the end, but it shouldn’t be so scary.)
Most of the time I don’t know what I want, and I hate that feeling. I hate feeling indecisive, because I get stuck in time and I can’t move, I don’t know where to go or what to do. If I don’t have to do anything, what should I do? I should get a job, no? I should make my own money, I should hang out with other people, I should talk.
Do I want to do those things or am I pressuring myself to do them? It makes me so anxious, even though I know it’s okay and it doesn’t matter and that whatever happens to me I will live and still be loved by the people that love me, and that I’m so fortunate with what I have. My green friend helps me to know how to feel alright with indecision, how to just let it happen, let it go, do what you need to do, what you feel is best. Wander around like a chicken with its head cut off, who cares? Why do you need a destination?
THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE JUST HAPPEN! LIKE EAVESDROPPING.
Misinterpreting each other’s facial expressions, not being able to control mine, they become yours, instantly. And then I hide here. Do I write to escape you, or do I write because I have to tell you something? You know, I have to tell myself, I have to tell everyone, not just you. I have to write because I have to remember that one line that felt beautiful in my mind. I have to remember small moments of fine-lined precision, of detail, of emotion colored outside the lines forming your personality.
How can we tell if someone’s slouch is anxious or relaxed? Comfortable, or insecure? How must we read our own body language, at all moments, to make sure we feel relaxed, comfortable, confident? Body language is the secret key to the mind, I can influence my own security by sitting the right way, I just gotta figure out how that way is.
This sultry twilight is a heavy bulging fruit that has been sliced across the belly. Lush, juicy sun smears into baby blues. The colors mesh huckleberries into peach ice cream, green surges, será el pelo de la pachamama. Artificial glowing orange streaks my otherwise pure view of a quickly darkening sky. The moon is a shy slice of watermelon and there is only one star.
We got so high today with a gifted flower cigarette. I remembered not to be embarrassed, I remembered I only need to feel a slight curious befuddlement and it’ll all be okay. I entered the spectrum, breathing in color, laughing to myself and being unable to explain why. A strange assault on the energy source within me.
He started telling me about Tai-Chi, how energy flows through the palms, how you can become a dancing animal with a quick fist. His shy eyes burst into stars and I felt my facial muscles twitching, a visual representation of inner emotions that I cannot stop, that I cannot hide, that I must react to, that seep through, unwanted. I think sometimes I have a horrible poker face – can’t you just glance at me and know exactly how I feel? What I’m thinking?
I feel a thought bubble erupt into a white cloud above me, detailing every thought, with pictures and captions and random paragraphs about nothing and everything. I feel so obvious, and then I feel exposed. I try to keep calm, have courage in the ability to ignore negativity waves, waves of insecurity, even when you yourself are generating them. Especially when you yourself are generating them!
I felt so sexual and I tried to shake that feeling off, like a dog, smiling, shakes river water off his furry body and into the unsmiling faces of the nearest innocent bystanders. But I couldn’t get it off because it wasn’t water, it was sticky honey in my hairy high mind. Like my once lover had told me a long time ago, “Your body is made out of sex.” There’s nothing I can do.
Oh, how often I am a fly in a spider’s web, unable to respond, twitching and dazzled by a scrambling other-being. A world of strange possibilities hovers a moment in our dimension and then disappears, a blip into another perspective, another mind-state, another way to “be.”
Light pollution really gets me down. I am a sulky mushroom, wallowing in my own low-energy state, letting the sense of sound trip me out.