This is the sixth sense: 26 de noviembre de 2013
Diary entries, miscommunications, the prickly feeling on your skin when you can sense so strongly other people’s emotions in waves multiplying exponentially. This is the sixth sense, the psychological sense, the sense pulled into being by la marihuana; la marihuana, the little nudge in the direction of self awareness and discovery, tricky little goblin, smoke emitted from a burning pyre…
Describe someone without using physical characteristics, realize that you fucking control how you feel, and perhaps understanding why you feel particular ways may help you to adapt and change if something isn’t working. Tell someone honestly how you feel, don’t be afraid of any particular reaction, have no expectations. If you fuck it up, it’s ok, mistakes are made and that’s how you learn. Trial and error, realizing something about you is true, seeing how particular personality characteristics clash and that it takes work to make them cohesive.
The words spilling now, warm and rushing, steam and bloody chunky blocks, teeth biting and glass breaking. Your mind is a wall of mirrors, a darkened hallway, a cloaked figure in shadow. Your mind is a box of mirrors, a reflection of a reflection, a language told in knotted strings. Don’t forget to focus, don’t lose your need for analysis and concentration, for “putting your finger on it.”
Play with words and phrases until you find something worth saying. Spiral on into abstraction, be the remover of your own psychological obstacles. Say no if you don’t want to do something. Never explain yourself, let others perceive as they will, and simply roll on into the future oblivious to their judgments.
Listen to the coffee shop music when it’s soft and almost not there, a cup of joe, a poem of your choice, it could even be your own. Watery blues and purples, an invisible man tapping the beat with a leather shoe on a wooden, worn floor. An anonymous female wonders if she’s truly incognito. What she likes most about a particular past amorous friendship is her then-lover’s ability to play in an imaginary made-up world, his masterful manipulation of “playing pretend.” That’s all she needs, someone to go crazy with.
There’s always a seed and I will forever attempt cultivation, the development of an idea, the fruition of a planted sparkling star into something flowery and grand.
Language as a puzzle, an equation with subtle changes in meaning resulting from equally subtle changes in wording. Infinite opportunities brought about by new words just learned, connections you hadn’t thought of before materializing out of the empty spaces in your head; the quiet of the night interrupted by the chirruping of hidden insects, and the chuckling laughter of those other night creatures without faces, without names.
The moment when the bloom unfolds into something sublime, the petals open and a pattern is revealed, and everything is tranquilidad.