Excessive loneliness in the air again. I’m so sensitive to the people around me and I live in an apartment building. It’s kind of like taking someone with immune problems and having them live inside a school that never gets cleaned. Tons of kids and germs everywhere. Dude that came over yesterday to pretend to fix my lock had so much negativity coming off of him, my electronics stopped working. Some days, man… the good old days and nostalgia, and oh what a cold beer would do.
I’m getting a little tougher, growing a little more used to it without having to turn ugly. And by ugly I mean say something I’ll regret and make that old negativity spiral bigger or… spreadier. I don’t know how regular people respond to slamming doors, or old men bending over and putting their ass three feet from your face so I have that in my favor. I can pretend like all of this that is clearly not normal, or professional, is. My brother made a comment the other day about all the noise from the remote-controlled people downstairs and all I could say is, we’ve already complained and were told it’s not them, it’s us. So it goes.
How to train a master of mind control, perchance?
Did someone say obsessive digressive?
Right on the edge of some profound thought, some connection of understanding, some writing that I would really like to get down before I lose the thread and boom! Bam! Slam! Boom!
Staring out the window thinking nothing, washing dishes thinking nothing, nuttin going on at all… crickets. PTSD symptoms are lessened now. Exposure therapy, I guess. You know what would work a lot fucking better? Not having to live right next to abusive assholes because I can’t afford to move. You know what else would be better, to stop getting triggered long enough to feel like a worthy enough human being I come up with a good idea instead of feeling compelled to solve the meaning of life, the secrets of quantum gravity and the ethics of all things in order to find a way to prove it’s a good idea that I get life and soul sustaining sustenance even if I can’t work a nine to five and by nine to five I mean any other job than writing what my soul says must be said in some sort of entertaining way or at least coherent way instead of the old way which was rambling and half pictures and …
Not the easiest thing to do when it feels like you’re in a giant fishbowl and a bunch of snot nosed brats are outside of it trying to poke the glass to make you do something. It’s like getting a super hard to tune in radio station and just when you finally get it, you call in that certain someone that all of us psychonauts have in our lives, you know the one that likes to tell you there’s no such thing as that radio station and you’re just wasting time and energy when you could be out there trying to get a J.O.B. So when you finally get the fucking thing tuned in, and say hey, ok, here come look and the way they walk into the room or yell or bump you knocks the antenna just enough to prove em right again.
That’s a great metaphor for gaslighting, Melissa. Thank you, um, Melissa.
It’s that feeling you aren’t allowed to be upset or uncomfortable or make requests or even do what you love. Just work. Just get money by any means. That feeling that emotions are the enemy. That feeling of not having any rights. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s like some mad endless competition to be the person who lies the best when you’re amongst liars, threatens the best when you’re among threateners, destroys the best when you’re among destroyers. I just want to be around people that seem to like the way my mind works. Think I’m pretty, interesting, funny. Understand why I meditate so much. Appreciate the struggle it was to come from …what I fucking came from without making me feel like I’m egoic to think it was remarkable. Be interested in me instead of accusatory about then, encouraging, instead of… be happy you’re alive….and quit wasting time with that radio.
I always feel bad saying that cause in order to say that I have to make a lot of assumptions. I want to be around people that like me, that are interested in talking about things I’m interested in, that want to make art with me and then decipher it. But I am so hyperprotective of myself. And having the closest humans I have contact with be so aggressive is not helping ye old trust factory. Their vibe is mostly anger and injustice and witchcraft.
The people who do love me have an overall sense of have to. Have to work a shitty job. Have to think of the world in such a way that allows one to keep the shitty job. Drudgery followed by entertainment no one should find entertaining. Everything gets boiled down to utility. Can you make money off it, will I still have to go to work tomorrow? What’s a poet/artist/mystic supposed to do with that? What’s the grand purpose, the motivation, and new inspiration gonna look like to people who feel they are working just to survive?
Most people in the class of people I get to be around are so miserable, so out of touch and disconnected due to this misery, you could project a holographic diamond floating from the center of your palm and they wouldn’t care for more than a minute unless you could take it to the pawn shop.
And these aren’t even people that are physically impoverished. These are people that eat, that sleep in heated homes, that have indoor plumbing, access to a host of entertainment and information through the internet… but they have all been programmed away from awe for the sake of awe because they spend so much time doing work they don’t want to do. This huge amount of economic inequality makes it feel like it was all for nothing.
Where there used to exist a feeling of collaboration. A feeling of “Hey, you do the shitty job, we’ll figure this sciencey stuff out and when we get something good we’ll kick it back down.” The angels kept the peace and America went really, really far with this model. The face of this economic inequality, the face of absurd amounts of homelessness and desperation, the elephant of remote controlled humans in the room, really looks like that kick it back down thing didn’t happen and that ya’ll decided on the hunger games instead. I don’t want to believe that. Because belief…
And full moon clearings…
I can see the changes around me. That’s why I keep going. I remember enough events to know, they can’t gaslight it all away and on good days it’s easy to remember the bad ones were only a state of mind. Even though it isn’t fun to be the wrecking ball, it is fun to watch people enjoy the sunshine you leave in your wake. Don’t forget that.