Here’s my curious side. The one that loves Exploration and New.
Sometimes you have to force “new”. It’s not going to come on a shelf with neon signs pointing at it. It’s not going to have that amazing little red star like dot, and it might not even have the words “new” anywhere in sight. You have to find it, and make it.
It’s messy and sometimes leaves an awful taste. You can look back at the effort of trying as a disgusting waste of time and energy. But, it’s a story, an adventure. [ Insert quote about journey’s and change here ].
Now, here’s my other side that says Fuck that.
In amidst all the chaos of life: the commutes, the deadlines, the bills, family/friends, drama – It’s impossible to expect anyone to make “new”? When I shut down the most, chaos is making me it’s bitch. So don’t go to “new” – go to “easy”.
Puke out the same old drab you did yesterday. Leave a turd on the doorstep of the world filled with meaningless metaphors. Look back at it and say it’s the shittiest thing you’ve ever done.
Yes, I get these. I usually keep’em locked away. Not here. Here I should be able to wear my inner black shirt.
where is this island, this thought? to find the shore i’ll seek its waves, the ripples as it moves about like a weighted freighter spewing rusted ruffage, powdery rouge that red whale! for others white and when my toes can bleed across its shores i’ll finally break it down, smelt it, smash it to the deep watch it writhe as it drowns, caked in its own vomit i’ll do the back stroke above a watery grave looking to the blue sky and whistling with a smile the sound of silence, of wind, of breath a calm night to finally rest my shoulders on.
Giving a talk in front of 500 people is less stressful than having to mingle with those people afterwards.
When you get on the subway, you sit at the end of the bench — not in the middle.
You’re in a relationship with an extrovert.
There are, of course, more that I connect with than others. And yes, one or two that I don’t think relate to me at all. Either way – sounds pretty damn
I forget too much. If yesterday I thought too much, today I’ve forgotten all about the sad things I thought about and am left with a clean slate to think about them again. I have thousands of empty notebooks waiting to be filled. I have tried check-in apps and logs, but again the root is forgetting. Even an alarm doesn’t seem to work, either:
a) I don’t set it, or b) it goes off, I see it, get distracted, and forgot it went off.
A bit of a chasing my own tail scenario I’ve got going. If I come up with a sense of purpose and passion – and Idea of where I want to go next, by the next day – it’s drifted and forgotten.
Things… the things that I surround myself seem to be like little Harry Potter like talismans, storing memories. Like the pen I use, the coffee cup I drink from. The desk and chair I sit at. The room that’s just for work.
Habitual patterns… habit seems to help. If by chance I do something enough, then it starts to trigger a pattern, and that pattern triggers a memory. Like hours studying at home transitions well to working from home. When I went back to school I wrote more notes than I ever did the first time round and interestingly enough, although my personal journals are empty – my work journals are stacking up – all full.
Things & habits. Habits & things.
Fuck I hope I remember this tomorrow – wait, I will!
I have a problem of thinking too much – it’s sad really. No, really, it makes me sad. Add that to the fact that I work from home, alone, the majority of time, in a small town, and I’ve got a deadly combination.
Doing things can break that. Making things can break that. Running can break that. Playing piano can break that. Human contact can break that. Making a pile of mash potatoes can break that.
I recently had an opportunity to hang around brilliant folks in their fields. Mainly it was wine and food – and ooooohhhhh such good wine and ammmmmazing food.
But there was something to their brilliance which had me think about this little quote.
“If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.”
Misquoted as a bunch of old guys
Excluding the non-verbal aspect of tasting the fruits of their talents – when I spoke with them, they easily got me to grasp what they did. No fancy language, not bells and whistles, no references to 18th century chefs & techniques that didn’t mean anything to me.
They had taken the time and could write a shorter letter.
Perhaps the leaders of tomorrow should remember that. Perhaps we’re already heading there with the infinite blogs and content creators leveraging skimming behaviours, smaller paragraphs and brevity to stand out in the crowd.
Perhaps it’s a tone we’re getting used to and looking for the more we head into a tribal state.
I understand the law of attraction, and without all the hippy dippy fluffery that surrounds it, it makes sense. You make your world in your mind and things start happening. You want a house — build it in your mind and you start seeing opportunities to make it real. Sci-fi should be a prime example of how a mind and collective mind have shaped our world from astronauts to cell phones to the internet.
While reading yet another book on it, The Passion Test, I get a feeling, that again, it skipped a core step.
What the fuck do I want to make with my mind?
It may be my own personal challenge. But that nugget, that core, that root, that single question confounds me every time. What I want, draws a blank. I don’t block or deny the rest of the process – I’ve lept and allowed the net to catch; I’ve done amazing things; I’ve completed things I knew were crazy. And then, once completed… what’s next?
No. I do not hear voices [ right now ]. This is about my personal voice, and being comfortable with who I am. If you want information about how to cope with hearing voices and how to manage, I suggest you look somewhere else
So you’re “confused”?
Yes. I am. I’m trying to figure out who I want to be. People who “know in their bones” who they are, and who they want to be, are mesmerizing. They are without apology or restraint. I want that. At certain points in my life, I thought I was getting there, I felt a strong certainty… then… it… faded. Life happened. I happened. Doubt. Confusion. Fear.
What it’s all about.
This is a form of shock therapy for me. I could write a personal journal, you know, the old fashioned way, where I swear and yell and scream with vowels and then hide the tattered pages under my bed. Not saying those pages aren’t there in the shadows, just, they aren’t helping. I need to say these things out loud in a crowded room. Not shy away. So it needs to be public.
There will be fucking swearing. I struggle with censorship. Self censorship mostly, hence the tagline. It’s this little voice inside my head that says, “if you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t post it.” And generally it’s a great rule of thumb and works very well for my day job. But what’s ended up happening is slowly what I defined as “nice” ended up being “don’t offend” and “please everyone” — and there’s the problem. So there’s not going to be censoring — matter of fact ( more for my benefit than your’s )… elephant fucking, shit tard, cock nuggets, penis!! Done.
This time I’m looking for answers [added Jan 2018]. When I first started this all, it was to start down the rabbit hole. Now, I think perhaps I need to add some more analytical work? Be a professional and shit and really critique myself and others. I want to not only break the silence, but find clarity and focus in my voice.
I’ve done this several times in several ways — start, stop, start, stop, get distracted by something sparkly, forget, then it rots. I would love to say that I won’t do that again — but at least not today.
I’ve been going for too long, too many things on my plate, too many wrenches, too many curveballs, too much time away from my bed, too much stress.
But I don’t think that’s not why I’m drained. I think I’m this exhausted because I haven’t done a good enough job in filling the tank. Fuel is having fun, fuel is reading a good book, fuel is writing, fuel is drawing, fuel is music, fuel is a quiet coffee in the morning, fuel is no plans. Fuel is finding more fuel.
