Writing is..
Is it wrong that I mispell, confuse, derive, but, especially, alternate languages with no concern?
My mind starts shifting from one language to the other (they're only two).
I don't seem to have found a space. I might be talking about a physical place but, it is, above all, a place for my mind to be at ease. It's not. It has been a hard time dealing with shit that goes around inside, and it also has been having a real tough time dealing with shit that goes around in the world. The whole world. The fact that I can actually be writing this, is prodigious. Because as we speak (it's an expression) I've been considering going to therapy, go to sleep, end my relationships, and recognize myself as a lame stereotype. All that went through since I started typing. I can let go of my own spells.
This last theme (the one about me being a stereotype) arises some curiosity. I am a failed writer, and in general I am a failed artist. I also didn't succeed in academia, yet for the past five years or so, I keep believeing to portray some faculties nobody else in the world does. What is delusion of grandeur? I wast just watching this guy, who is barely breaking even about himself, and all of the sudden, while waiting in the street, starts doing some push ups. And I am very like that, if I think about it. I always have this intermitent sense of self-enhancement, that reaches a mediocre point, only to forget about it and move on with his nothingness. I am in a lot of things. Yet I could have not stand from bed in the last four days, and nobody would have noticed. I call myself busy, yet people working and earning academic merits at school and doing some charity work and spelunking and travelling, seem to have it all worked out. Senselessly, I return to the idea, that I might have something that explains my social backslash and makes up for my lack of achievement.
Just like when I was a kid, I didn't have much money, but I said, only to myself, that the reason for it was that I had a hoover-like slide, ressembling very much the one from the Back to the Future, when it's the future and that slide cannot work over water. I think it's funny because I don't consider that movie all that relevant in my life growing up. I used to wonder about being able to say that I had that slide, which was overwhelmingly expensive and could not be taken out in public easily. But I had it, and it was the reason why I didn't have new fancy clothes regularly, my family could not afford a car, I was not able to show off how much money I had. Just like most the guys I went to school with did.
They say writing it is therapeutic, yet my mind cannot let go easily, and simply absorbes every action directed to her either directly or indirectly. I am lazy, unplanned, undisciplined, and my mind does a very big effort trying to keep things that way. I am depressive, nasty, very capable of doing nothing just as much as relentlessly blaming me for it. I could go on. I live a stuck life. It has had its diversions, but it must be clear that it has been like that for some time now.
I had a dream last night where some old friends and I returned to some space we frequently gathered in, and as we were leaving all of them started crying about how much they missed it. Can you believe how condescending my dreams are now over me? Sure I have ideas that look nice for some people. But making them possible and appealing for them and much larger audiences is a real difficulty I don't seem able to overcome. It's actually very little what I think I'm capable of right now. But it's more that what I tell myself, or what my mind tells me: she's got me over her spell, and she won't just try to work myself best.
I'm not sure what follows. If my lack of general interest in regard of most issues, and my preset attitude of quitting, were triggered by difficulties and laziness experimented in the reality; or if it's actually the case that the impossibility of accomplishment is due simply to the fact that nothing is really worth trying. I honestly can't tell. It's getting late, and my mind, while awake, is not concerned with finding the right answer, not even a good answer. I am getting really tired once again and she is just laying down, allowing my judgement to flow from one pole to the other, carelessly, avoiding by all means some required energy or peace in order to clearify some things. I feel like I don't know myself. I'm pretty sure I used to.
Is it the loneliness? This is the longest relationship I've been with, yet I'm pretty sure this is the loneliest I've ever felt. I like to test it, following strange things and coming up with very dark references, then try and see what happens. I sure do have a memory. But it's not what I'm looking for. Some say it's nice in long standing couples for that to keep happening. I'm aware I haven't been very present, worried about this and that, nothing really significant. Yet from my point of view, they fail. I know the part about having a score is kind of ill-conceived. Maybe that is the point. Lately, I merely try to screw up, either by intention or by omission, just to see what happens. Just to see if that will make us break. Hasn't happened. Of course I am not going to take action on it, especially because if I think through, there is not really that much more or better for me due to a new statu quo. I know things with will get ugly more regularly, and that pain or sorrow or disgust will be increasing day by day. Whatcha gonna do. She has a way to simply ignore all that and induce herself to believe I amd some kind of fantastic guy, so, I know it's not only me who is doing quite dellusional.
And let's face it. What is we leave? What if it all ends? Could it possibly be that what I need is just more space for myself and nothing and nobody else? When this things happen and I am abducted from society for a while, it is a pain in the ass to return. Even buying some groceries, making questions in class or meeting with people I'm somewhat or very fond to, makes it all difficult and messy, and ultimately undesirable. Do I need more loneliness? Or, maybe in a regular direction to what I said above, I am simply taking workaround to confront loneliness in an apparent more dignified way, because it is impossible to me to talk and meet new people? When it comes to sex, for instance, I think letting her go or kill herself is the straigh path towards complete absence. Who would print love on me then? Going after somebody, it's just not my thing. I wish I was forty.
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