Thursday, February 19, 2004
Letter to a Friend
~
Miss L.,
You know, I often confuse a lot of ideas between these two ears of mine. I often get angry at myself too; sometimes it helps jumble then gel these thoughts into something concrete or at least bridge new links that weren't obvious before. Of course, elation and paranoia and sleeplessness and orgasms and inner dialogues spoken solo help too. I'm a mash of too many things and I fear that might be the downfall of this immature post-suburbanite. I think I'm just a generation too early for this mind. I really hope to get reincarnated into someone like me, but in a more socially-advanced time. Whatever that means.
I find myself shying away from declaring my independence, for fear that it would serve to release things that I've worked so hard to subconciously store. Because, occasionally, these demons surface and scare me. I fear for the future; mine and for that of my partner, my children, my wake. It's odd living like this: I have done so much and think about all of it in its totality and singularity but come to no conclusion about how it should or could apply to me. It's like there's all these memories and actualities roaming free in a world of events roaming around my body and throughout my core but that never seem to anchor themselves to anything pragmatic and concrete. Is there no model or textbook or mould for me? And, at the risk of sounding trite, am I alone in this spaceless quicksand?
Barring everything above, I woke up this morning with the feeling that a long, dark cloud had passed over me and with it, taken the remnants of dirt and despair and desolately distant time with it. Spring has sprung and I need to breathe with these newfound lungs. As always, I will report, with news, from the front.
Forge, foresee, forgive, give. Live. Je t'aime.
S*
2004.02.19
Miss L.,
You know, I often confuse a lot of ideas between these two ears of mine. I often get angry at myself too; sometimes it helps jumble then gel these thoughts into something concrete or at least bridge new links that weren't obvious before. Of course, elation and paranoia and sleeplessness and orgasms and inner dialogues spoken solo help too. I'm a mash of too many things and I fear that might be the downfall of this immature post-suburbanite. I think I'm just a generation too early for this mind. I really hope to get reincarnated into someone like me, but in a more socially-advanced time. Whatever that means.
I find myself shying away from declaring my independence, for fear that it would serve to release things that I've worked so hard to subconciously store. Because, occasionally, these demons surface and scare me. I fear for the future; mine and for that of my partner, my children, my wake. It's odd living like this: I have done so much and think about all of it in its totality and singularity but come to no conclusion about how it should or could apply to me. It's like there's all these memories and actualities roaming free in a world of events roaming around my body and throughout my core but that never seem to anchor themselves to anything pragmatic and concrete. Is there no model or textbook or mould for me? And, at the risk of sounding trite, am I alone in this spaceless quicksand?
Barring everything above, I woke up this morning with the feeling that a long, dark cloud had passed over me and with it, taken the remnants of dirt and despair and desolately distant time with it. Spring has sprung and I need to breathe with these newfound lungs. As always, I will report, with news, from the front.
Forge, foresee, forgive, give. Live. Je t'aime.
S*
2004.02.19
