Reflection and Perception.
Life is so weird.
Simple shit can shift perspective in such a way that in perception, nothing is the same.
The typical baseline perspective we usually sit at can be jolted and everything from the way we see colors, see contrast, to the size of things, to how we interpret them internally, how we interpret sounds, it can all get shifted and we’re in a whole new spectrum staring at the same things. All we need is the right stimulus and mindset.
Only art can bring me to the places I remember as a kid. Places I invented. Places I was shown. I was connected to these people and these ideas as a kid, but so far away from them at baseline. I remember the trees and the colors and the warmth. School hardened me, quickly. I know people who refuse to experience what I am experiencing now because they developed or were born in such a way that they live on a harsher spectrum, a darker spectrum of perception. That’s ok. That’s fine. I imagine in portions of life in which these people feel loss and existentially question, maybe they’ll talk to someone or hear some music and they’ll “get it” for a little while. I recognize that I am cold, also.
I wish I could transcend the barriers of man, and see the faces of those in pain and reassure them in that way that I dream of.
I was at a party on acid and this grown man was drunk. He was laughing, and then crying. We were looking at each-other. I froze. Someone else took notice, and then he laughed again. Crumbling.
Just drifting through. The zoo at 10 years old, the aquarium, the ancients encapsulated in exhibits. Just wandering.
It’s weird to breath. And my jeans. Such a laid back set of clothes, but I’m shut in. The black is so black and the green is so green and the jeans are so denim. I just don’t understand the pace of the world. Why are we going so fast? We know time. They have clocks and time and dates and deadlines, but we know time. Together, sharing a moment in an alternative plain of perception, an alternative spectrum. That’s what really matters. And they forget, but I don’t.
Ambition is killing me. If i don’t make it through the other side, I will be alone forever, because I’ve left everything behind for something I don’t even have enough energy to finish. I feel like I’m out in the cold. I complain, but I cut everyone off intentionally. It was fear. I was afraid. I was so afraid of strip darts and nude magazines and football and conversing. I didn’t know. I still don’t know.
I don’t know what I’m going to do if I have cancer.
The coldness of a cell in contrast to what I feel like is the reality of what can happen is heartbreaking, really. There’s so many thousands of people in the world who are on my same wavelength, but I don’t know that I’ll ever meet a single one of them. This summer, I will walk into the woods at sunset and I will be overcome, again. The wheat field will tear at me, yelling at me. Go. Find. Someone. But I won’t. I don’t actively prevent it, but of course the onus is on me. But who am I? Just a creature of range, but I come up short in that respect. My range cuts off there. I don’t know how long it will take me to extend. I hope it won’t take too much longer, because this is lonesome.
I was once shot in the cheek, right below the eye, with a bb gun, and it swelled up. Why do I have to front?
It’s like childhood is the secret to consciousness. Or I’ve been stunted in this regard, and now I have some time that I’m forcing in, when I should be writing other things, and I am in such a state that it can reflect on itself. Nothing seems to encompass it all, it’s only in its totality.
I grew up in the pine tree sunlight. The artificial trees with the reality of networks and life integrated into a vast system of hubs and self creation, and I navigate. That this conception isn’t cold is a feature. There are threats and fears and scares and the potential for loss, but we thrive and we are a unit. We are a one. Rain on a tin roof, what a sensation. We really do miss the beauty of it while we’re trapped inside hiding from the world because we’re told that out there, there are monsters.
I say fuck the monsters. I say if we want to park over-top that field and watch it all, we should be able to. We’re so far from that place. How do folks reconcile the constant scraping and grind of life with watching the world come alive in the dew ridden misty mornings in the Universes country?