again, picking up the thread. i am uncertain about my relationship with continuing, repetition, and “finishing”. perhaps i’m circling a larger interval. perhaps the rhythm is not measured by clock, time, sense, conscious recognition. i read yesterday somewhere there is science done regarding precognition. i read a while ago the title of a youtube video “the rising of fake science”. i am always, but not all the time, engulfed in a question of conscious mind, reality: “what if nothing can help me feel real, Dr. Winnicot?”
two stations after i started calculating the penalty for running a ticket i got caught. note to self: it is too late to start validating ticket after you see the bvg thugs swagging onto the bus. supposedly the more you accept yourself, the better your precognitive abilities. i’m not sure if this is a tell. i’m always, but not all the time, unsure.
many times i’m envious of people who are sure. i suppose we all are, were, at some point. the abandonment of a routine, prescribed by institutions (education, tradition, etc), corporates and other authorities (horoscope, divinition, etc) is making me feel like a vigilant bus rider sitting always on the right side, keen eye locked in on to the crowds gathered around each station, looking for a sign.
today is the day, today is the day that my life would turn around, that i will, finally, wake up with a spring under my feet.
i’m always making a mess. thinking about blending all the separated parts together. despite the inevitable bleeding by law of proximity. on friday at lovely M’s raclette party, it is becoming somewhat of a staple, raclette in the workshop, little tiny wooden shovels, my trick is to put garlic slices and onions underneath the cheese slice before subjecting all together to roasting heat. on yet another friday, i talked with S, who carefully redirected our conversation away from my provocation: have you heard of art therapy? by gently saying: “i’m not sure if i want to mix them, therapy work i do with this group and photography i do on my own.” i can never resist mixing, perhaps i am just never good at separating in the first place. or they are all like glass, and in my body as the pressure chamber, going through speedy melting back into one.
organicism considers the problem between parts and whole. cybernetics, holism, esotericism, instagram spiritualism… haven’t we exhausted all creative ways to convince each other that we are all one? but the real question is time, when did the one separate into many, or did it? or is melting back into one an inevitable destiny? somehow, somewhere, i sense an irreconcilable fallacy between radical differences as ground and “university as professional managerial training ground” producing finer and finer specialized workers.
is pendulum the unavoidable mode of existence? wave, we are all freaking light. jumping up and down, back and forth. from hegel to eve kosofsky, is it a continuum or mirror refracted lines?
luckily i really trusted my worry, albeit 8 seconds too late, but just enough to play the dumb tourist card. on the last day of the month i guess i should try to free myself from these kind of nerves and just buy the monthly ticket again.
i can’t remember how many oscillations i’ve made regarding the details vs. global picture mode of engaging with affairs. lucia is helping with the side of the details, a very specific kind of details, tending to details, covering some and revealing some others, in her succession of masterful unveiling, i almost feel climactic joy, oh lord, please grant me her senses.
now onto some other things to reconcile with, perhaps again.
no one is there, no one is coming, no one is watching and no one is listening. disappointment is the withdrawal from the grandiose sense of (the right) to be paid attention to. nothing deserves, nothing is for granite. and then we enter the classic debate of nihilism. it is easy to stay wallowing in sadness, meaninglessness, depression, thoughts, holding on to control. if easy is what you desire. it is harder to keep going despite the impossibility, going without knowing. going without a destination.
Permenant and Pertinent Resi(st)dance 