Justin had a small jar of icy-hot solution and started rubbing it on Trevor's stomach during Mass Com. It was like those elder days when taxes were fogotten and no one was persecuted for being dead while alive. Later, Trevor slathered a whole mess of Tiger Balm on my arms, and I cannot even feel my them anymore. Not ghost limbs, because I can see them and I can move them. It its like my arms are long bottles of refrigerated water. My sister hit them with her belt, I only felt a miniscule amount of strain on the muscles. Waves simmering to low tide. Tomorrow is Fourth Thursday. I am going somewhere I despise going: The House of Pruett. People over eighty with oxygen tanks and walkers; smelling like cinnamon in a very old dress shoe. The documentary will have the heartbeat of a sickly orca.
--
[co-intuitive online study part 6b]
***ACID TEST ADMIN #73A***
***NOV 22 9:29 PM***
//START SEXES CHAT id5
DistopianNutFire01: LOL YA AND YOU'LL BE THE ELEPHANT CAK =)
vixenofass: 2 MANY TIMES U'VE GONE DOWN ON YOUR DAD HAHAHA OH CHARLES
DistopianNutFire01: SHUTUP BITCH I AM NOT A CAKE CLOWN ^__^ YET
vixenofass: BUT YOU TOLD MEE "NOWS FINGER THAT BALLOON NIGGA" HAHAA11
DistopanNutFire01: FUK NAW I AINT INTO DAT GHEY SHITZ =)++
vixenofass: OMFGBYE
***NOV 22 9:34 PM***
//END SEXES CHAT id5
--
Someone told me to post this here.
Pass Count Definition #12: Mind Walls Standing and Tumbling
(from a larger essay entitled "Emptiness if Full of Everything", dated 11/17/05)
What the simple yet partially complex essence of my story and the cherished (although sometimes maligned) experiences that the youths of past and present allow to inhibit themselves have in common is the singular emotion of an acutely unaware state of solitude. As I found my body amongst windy grasslands, hardened mountainsides, and forest labyrinths that had not yet graced my vision, the feeling of tranquility gushed through my brain to align thoughts and physical motions into one swift but slow movement into the surreal. Solitude is the position of mind, body, and soul that sifts out all negative remembrances of the past, unsatisfying bearings of the present and uneasy feelings of the future and fastens them together like loose strings to what is known as the current mentality. As I existed within a solitary status, I forgot to realize I was in fact by myself (which, to be honest, felt more mental at times). While in a state of solitude, I put aside certain hardships, dislikes, and confusions of my everyday life in order to birth new aspects of myself and humanity as a whole that were previously unknown. I could not have achieved this new sense of placement in the universe without truly feeling solitude in the way that I did.
Solitude and loneliness, while both pertain to someone being by themselves in one mode or another, harbor completely variable facets of the human condition. Solitude is something that an individual instinct brings about by some breed of conscious choice (my opting to depart from my cousin’s home and travel the woods). Whereas loneliness, with its inexplicable sadness and longing to certain extractions of mankind, is an affection that people tend to bring upon themselves through the reactions to how they are treated by others within distinct scenarios that unfold around them at an untimely pace. It could be said that the majority of humankind strives to project themselves into solitude are increasingly more aplenty than ones who are optionally cast into alienation. Reliance on the urge to be self-quarantined and suddenly reclusive are possible causes for this dichotomy of the further privacy of young people, much like myself, who long for a change in their life circumstances. To be lonely is to pine for constant attention and even love, while solitude holds a supplementary state of putting human connection aside to examine oneself with a love that was never there in the first place. My time in the rustic woods of South Carolina showed this love to me by completely stripping away any sense of loneliness that inhibited me for the duration of the journey, and replaced it with solitude of the mind, body, and spirit.
When solitude is felt in this particular way as I felt it, the emotions it tended to flesh out always felt new and fully refreshing. On the occasions when I unfortunately passed out do to a lack of energy circulating through my system, the world around me became my own for the first and only time in my seventeen-year long life. It was a place where time did not exist; a location that totally exteriorized the loss of footing on the slanted precipice of reality. This is solitude at its fullest and most comprehensible. Mental clocks not only stopped ticking, but they broke and the gears become flowers that swayed in a silent, comforting breeze. Continuance evaporated under the sun and became stationary in my wandering mind. Colossal thought ran amuck. This new personality I developed from a disposition of solitude is undoubtedly strong-minded and comfortable with what it is in that exact moment of existence. The tedious congregations of ignorant and popularity-clutching people that once flowed around me like the crashing currents of a monstrous tide soon began to simmer down to a stillness that is now unbeatable in terms of quieted satisfaction after my solitude adventure came to a close.
Any genuinely enlightened demonstrator of the solitary standpoint, such as myself, stands out in the crowd because of their momentous trust in self-certainty. When an anti-solitude being (You can tell, they have groupies and will not shut up) crosses paths with me, the lesser person in this situation is obviously and most commonly the one who puts the most thought into why the other person is the way they are. Confrontations such as this arrive without warning, and continue to work towards extenuating doubt and non-acquainted rationalities that all people who like to be by themselves are lonely. The more sociable citizen is likely to fall under this first category, because someone who does not count on the reliance of others to function properly and even happily is sort of a foreign sight to see. It is no wonder why there are so many teenagers today that prefer to accomplish projects and various jobs alone and on their own terms: the end result is far more refined due to extended focus and concentration on the fundamental goals of adolescence. As if teachers and bosses are not aware of what events have taken place during the course of the project, they belt out some absurd speech like “You should not let them place all the responsibility on you! Take some initiative and make them work just as hard.” This resembles a lit match on gasoline to the highest degree. I know this because I have been in this circumstance time and time again, and not always by choice. The becalming of this previously established self-straining can only temporarily benefit the solitude-practicing individual. He must come by his relaxation on his own terms as I did. Of course, this act does not have to involve such extremes as I experienced.
Solitude is, with no elbowroom left for stretching around to scratch yourself, the seeing of boreal space through a drapery of thermal sky. It is a cloud that can be ridden on; it circles the sun as you languish on its fine achromatic threads of stratosphere. It is falling, but falling in order to stand more erect after you hit the ground. It is punching a tree without cause, only to have a reclusive pinecone splinter into your head promptly after. The benumbed vision that follows grants you assimilation with the waking life you just slipped out of. It is a wingless seraph taking an airplane back to the kingdom above, first class. Solitude is unremittingly delighting in being grounded; the phone calls of cohorts that you cannot reply to only warrant progressively sounder napping. Solitude is casting the concept of a waiting room into oblivion; directly to the doctor without prehistoric issues of Sports Illustrated to blunt your mind up, pre-shot experience. It is not caring if a blackout takes place in your city. Solitude is watching your house burn down with a lambent smile. It is life and death in the very same breath.
Flight from human contact to the still sound delimitation emitted by solitude is that unprecedented stage of maturity necessary to progress through longevity. Cutting off ties with people is, in essence, something everyone must do at certain life-intermissions. It allocates to each individual the matter-of-fact answer to the “Who am I?” question that is asked chiefly by middle-phase adolescents. Even if the question is only partially acknowledged, the trials grounded within the solitary occurrence are enough to vitally alter the human soul past the long-idle blooming period.
To be honest, I never did think that I would have my very own flower buds, constantly opening into sky-colored petals right on the spine of my sprit. Which, for future reference, is in the shape of an African painted dog gliding on asteroid belts. I spent way too much time in the woods. Space is a nice change.
--
She stepped from behind the dark bole of the largest tree; and although I could scarely see anything, I saw her and knew she was tall as few women are tall and slender as no human woman ever is, and too lovely for me to understand, ever, exactly how lovely she was.
My arms closed around her, and we kissed. Her lips were sweeter than honey and warm with life, and there was nothing wrong that mattered because there was nothing wrong we could not mend; and there was love as long as we lived, and love did matter, love would always matter.
--The Wizard
I pray to the altar of Gene Wolfe. You should too.
--
Goblet of Fire review: http://www.stylusmagazine.com/feature.php?ID=1986
1 comment:
nice post there, especially the first part. but, what is the posted stuff in the middle? anything?
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