I may have had an epiphany, this morning at around 4. As I was sitting on my bedroom floor, rolling tobacco, making a mess, my mind drifted off to some other place, to some other face. And there she was.
I could feel her left arm pressing into my right arm. We were watching a movie, but not at the movies, in front of a computer screen. Then it was sunny, we were out in a grove, picking up mushrooms and yellow petalled flowers, and she puts one on my left ear, brushing away a bush of my hair aside. Then we were going 45 km/h on an empty road, through the rain, her hands clutching on to me like she’d lose me if she were to let go, and she had always feared me leaving her because of a tragic traffic accident. Then the rain turned from hitting my skin, to hitting on the window right besides me, we were travelling straight through the Javanese countryside on a train, her sleeping head resting on my left shoulder.
In every incarnation, I was silent. Being an observer of emotions, so to say. I’d let my self be pushed back into the background, and just let everything pass through. I don’t know whether I’ll be here, on this earth, for a long time, but I want to. I want to exist, I want to be loving, I want to be kind. I have debts that I need to pay, and I am reaching the due date soon. This time, I’ll payback every penny, with interest if I am forced to.
Sudden moments of clarity like this humble me. I am just another child of Adam. And we know that every child must grow up one day. Many were forced to relinquishing their childhood, by violent horrors such as war, and many more cling onto the state by trapping themselves inside of their own little bubbles. But we can’t escape what’s inevitable.
The past recedes into the far distant edges of the plane of memories. Bad or foul, disgusting as they are, they recede there. I know that whatever happens in life, at one point, will be forgotten. Some memories stay longer than others, albeit, they too will pass.
It’s tormenting to know that I was indeed a disgusting beast. But beasts will die, and their spirits will take on a new form. I am afraid of turning into another beast, with another obsession, in another shape, living amongst other beasts. I do not wish to have that fate.
Sometimes I still see the fear in your eyes. Sometimes I see what I don’t want to be, reflected in your eyes.
It’s tormenting to know that some pains don’t go away that easily.
It’s relieving to know that pain goes away.
I hope I can open my eyes again.
My body stopped becoming mine a while ago, but I’m back now. I missed myself, and I’ve missed out on lots of shit. I’m irritated at the fact that I can’t shake them off of me.
I don’t know what to do with myself, but I can’t afford anything anymore. Heheh.
your face appears in my head as a set of letters, and
every time that tune plays I see your name again, and
I want to be buried under a tree with your name carved into it, and
I may never achieve that dream, maybe I’ll never die, and
I don’t know whether you would like it if I die earlier than you, and
I’m afraid of thinking of death sometimes, and
my soul, if there are souls in us (I believe we do have them), is afraid too, and
I wear black most of the time because of a story our friend told us, and
I believe in that story, just as I believe in our souls, and
I don’t believe in astrology, and
your face appears in my head as numbers too sometimes, and
every time those numbers appear I start to have a Pythagorean orgasm, and
I believe no drug is stronger than having you in my thoughts, and
death is scary but losing you is worse, and
maybe everything sweet smelling and sacred refers to you in my mind, and
I’m afraid of dying before my parents, you know this, and
You’re still questioning why the back of my head isn’t bumpy, and
love and hate are not opposites, but indifference may be opposite to love, and
your face appears in the clouds if I’m stuck on an island in the Pacific, and
my complaints about life would never cease to stop, and
I’ve been awake for some time now, and I’ve been thinking too much, or, too hard. Either way, I’ll have to start to move my muscles now. Movement doesn’t come naturally; you have to force movement to come about. Some say that there are times when our bodies move on their own, but that’s not what I mean, the unconscious movement of the heart or the lungs aren’t the type of movement I’m talking about. The one I’m talking about is how one gets up from bed; how we stretch, how we scratch our heads, how we open our eyes, how we move from lying on our backs to sitting on our asses as we become more and more woke. That’s the kind of movement I’m talking about. We can’t do all of that without any intention to move, without telling our limbs to move, without having the will to move them, and without telling them to move.
But I don’t know how to, no, I’ve merely forgotten how to do it.
Do I need to continue thinking? Would it help me move? I doubt it. Maybe it’s because I’m too doubtful of others. Suspicion would be the death of me. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve lost due to my suspicion towards them. It doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re gone, they’re very much alive and well, it’s just I don’t hear from them anymore. I don’t know how they are doing, heck I don’t even know who they are anymore. Do they remember me? I doubt that thinking about this, at this time, would help me move.
I don’t know if it’s dark or bright outside. I can’t see anything from where I am. I feel too tired to move away from where I am anyway, there’s no need to move at the moment. There’s no need to do anything when you’re stuck in a place like this, when every thought that passes through your mind already forces upon you the weight of isolation. I don’t think I’m stuck at one point in time and space anymore.
Where am I?
Longing = the agony of the nearness of the distant (Heidegger, 1967).
Maybe I’ll never find the answers to those questions, maybe I’ve already found those answers (or maybe those questions) whilst having my mind probed by the many psychologists I’ve been to. I know that there’s something wrong with my mind, but I don’t know what, and none of those psychologists had ever provided me any answers as to what is wrong with my mind. I swear to god, those people would suck me dry of my allowance, and still they can’t even help me find out what’s wrong with myself. Not to be degrading or anything, but I think years of studying psychology should be enough to make a person become, at least, more sensitive to what could be bothering someone’s mind right? Maybe I’m just too optimistic about the very enterprise of psychology; and optimism is not my thing.
I think I’m going to stop seeking psychological help, therapy doesn’t help. But coffee helps, also whiskey. Booze is a depressant, and caffeine stimulates you, taking both at the same time fucks you up though. I don’t recommend anyone to drink coffee with alcohol. Or maybe, I don’t recommend anyone to consume any psychoactive substances to help them with anything. They don’t help. If humans, the likes of you and me, can’t help someone that’s going through some inner turmoil in their heads, substances can’t. If humans can’t, nothing can. That’s what I’m trying to say. What to do then? Sleep.
Sleep is more of an escape than a need. It’s not a need if you feel the same without it. I guess that’s how I see things. It’s not a need if you’re completely fine without having or taking something. An addict would scratch their eyes and cut open their veins if they don’t get their fix, now that’s a need. Well maybe it’s addiction, but who could tell the difference between ‘need’ and ‘addiction’? I doubt they’re very different from one another. I think both of them exist on the same plane of existence.
I chuckled a bit there as I said ‘existence’, like I know what that is. I may have opinions on existence, but I don’t really get what it’s all about. Some French writers from the 60s that I read wrote whole books about existence, but I doubt I’ve ever finished even one of those books. I’m a lazy reader. I can’t really focus anyway. I guess there’s some drug out there, a miracle drug that would help me boost my focus, some cognitive enhancing snake oil.
I’ve lost count on time. How long have I been awake? An hour? Five hours? A whole day? Or is this night? I guess I’ll have to think about that too.