replacing boxes with other boxes
deeper, go deeper. reading and thinking so much it's giving me a headache. what now? what's next? I am here, now, so the next subject can present itself. don't know which way to go, so much stuff. do I need to deal with it or just go on? what can I leave behind and what must be dealt with? how do I make this distinction?
it is an I still, so this I can't make a well-informed choice. not that there are any well-informed choices. life presents something and 'I' go with it. so now, maybe it's the next thing to do to just write, like automatic writing, barf on the pages, get it out of this head, make room. and then, nothing.
maybe God is an appropriate subject. although I don't believe in 'a god' in a traditional sense, it is one of the names I use. Universe, Life, All That Is. God. so. right. what do I believe? I believe, suspect, think, feel, that everything and everyone, all that is all of this and that and everything in here and out there and in between, all that is God. everything. why do I think this? it seems the most logical. considering everything is made from the same stuff, according to physics, I'm not a physicist, but it seems logical, since everything that dies feeds everything that lives and eating produces growing nails and so on.
is this important? should I be going this way? I'm not sure.
God is everything. I don't know. dead end street it seems. nothing else comes up. does it?
since I've had many faces I don't have a problem with dictators and paedophiles being just as much a part of God as anything else. donkeys, Mother Teresa, mushrooms, the stone in my shoe. everything. so why am I writing this down? to keep things going? seems I'm just groping around in the dark hoping to touch on a subject that is the next subject to write about and leave behind.
when I'm sitting in my chair, and I come back from dozing off into a book, or watching tv, and I pay a little attention, it seems there's this slightly vibrating veil over everything. it reminds me of how I saw things that time when I hadn't slept in three days, not even a minute. it doesn't feel real. nothing feels real. it's not just like those times when I sat back in amazement cos my life's so weird and I look back on it like it's a movie, it's... stating a fact (having trouble here, finding the right English word). it does not feel real. that's why I don't feel like sleeping a lot is a waste of time. everything seems like a waste of time, some things a nicer waste of time than others. it even feels like I'm sleeping and I'm only doing what I'm supposed to be doing, but my heart isn't in it, or something like that. does that make sense?
my heart isn't in it because.. it's not the real deal yet. that's why I can't get excited about big stuff. small things, yeah, like my rocking chair, I was happy to see it was still there waiting for me. but it's like ..oh well. like I'm waiting. in a state of waiting. as if I Know something, like I'm sitting in a bus and looking out the window, somewhat amused but not wildly enthusiastic because it's not where I'm going and maybe I'll get out once in a while to drink some water, look around, stretch my legs and then on with it, the bus drives on and I take my seat. and nothing can hold my undivided attention until the bus arrives at the destination, my destination.
so what do I need to leave behind? I mean right now, what is the next thing or next bunch of stuff that needs to be discarded. or maybe I shouldn't ask, maybe the writing is enough for now. stuff's happening inside me anyway. need some exercise, think I'll move around some furniture. give it a rest.
it is an I still, so this I can't make a well-informed choice. not that there are any well-informed choices. life presents something and 'I' go with it. so now, maybe it's the next thing to do to just write, like automatic writing, barf on the pages, get it out of this head, make room. and then, nothing.
maybe God is an appropriate subject. although I don't believe in 'a god' in a traditional sense, it is one of the names I use. Universe, Life, All That Is. God. so. right. what do I believe? I believe, suspect, think, feel, that everything and everyone, all that is all of this and that and everything in here and out there and in between, all that is God. everything. why do I think this? it seems the most logical. considering everything is made from the same stuff, according to physics, I'm not a physicist, but it seems logical, since everything that dies feeds everything that lives and eating produces growing nails and so on.
is this important? should I be going this way? I'm not sure.
God is everything. I don't know. dead end street it seems. nothing else comes up. does it?
since I've had many faces I don't have a problem with dictators and paedophiles being just as much a part of God as anything else. donkeys, Mother Teresa, mushrooms, the stone in my shoe. everything. so why am I writing this down? to keep things going? seems I'm just groping around in the dark hoping to touch on a subject that is the next subject to write about and leave behind.
when I'm sitting in my chair, and I come back from dozing off into a book, or watching tv, and I pay a little attention, it seems there's this slightly vibrating veil over everything. it reminds me of how I saw things that time when I hadn't slept in three days, not even a minute. it doesn't feel real. nothing feels real. it's not just like those times when I sat back in amazement cos my life's so weird and I look back on it like it's a movie, it's... stating a fact (having trouble here, finding the right English word). it does not feel real. that's why I don't feel like sleeping a lot is a waste of time. everything seems like a waste of time, some things a nicer waste of time than others. it even feels like I'm sleeping and I'm only doing what I'm supposed to be doing, but my heart isn't in it, or something like that. does that make sense?
my heart isn't in it because.. it's not the real deal yet. that's why I can't get excited about big stuff. small things, yeah, like my rocking chair, I was happy to see it was still there waiting for me. but it's like ..oh well. like I'm waiting. in a state of waiting. as if I Know something, like I'm sitting in a bus and looking out the window, somewhat amused but not wildly enthusiastic because it's not where I'm going and maybe I'll get out once in a while to drink some water, look around, stretch my legs and then on with it, the bus drives on and I take my seat. and nothing can hold my undivided attention until the bus arrives at the destination, my destination.
so what do I need to leave behind? I mean right now, what is the next thing or next bunch of stuff that needs to be discarded. or maybe I shouldn't ask, maybe the writing is enough for now. stuff's happening inside me anyway. need some exercise, think I'll move around some furniture. give it a rest.
posted by M. at 3:36 PM
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