Full week. Overload of emotion and engagements. Crammed digestive apparatus. Lack of concentration. Daze – can’t be on cloud nine all the time, for chrissake, with everything easy and within reach. Monstrously sensitive to stimuli. Happens at times, almost unbearable, even though once it’s over I’ll appreciate this discharge of unmanageable feelings. Or even miss it, on dull Sunday evenings when it’s cold and I’ve went through all my Google Reader stuff. Now sit still and wait. Lightning crosses whole frame and disappears into the ground beneath my feet. But, problem is: body can’t sit still. Restless, nervous, watchful. No self discipline.
Find a wool yarn hanging from somewhere, catch it and follow it to its root. Like jealous wives with blonde hairs on their husbands’ jackets. Like curious kids in Terry Gilliam films. A ripple crosses my lake. At the other end of the wool thread – gaping possibility:
1) a simple, innocent loose end, ending (no pun – blah blah) the story
2) a whole sweater
3) a corpse wearing it
4) the entrance to a maze
Find a yarn and feel hypnotised. Now sweaters, corpses, mazes, villages, cities, houses become alive and concrete before my eyes, palpable as this same keyboard I’m typing with. I found a yarn and – you know, experience – there must be something at the other end. Whatever it is: after a predictive leap, my perceptions align to my guesses, then take heart and put into food processor. Feed the dog with it. Go out and tend the heart-tree. Is there the indulgent hand of some deity or superhero to free me from my imagination?
Become vigilant. Start gathering evidence. Brood. Until the load of information or data in imagination overcomes the brim. Then speak, conjecture, lash out, rage, plead, laugh – everything, every expression and emotion known to man. No human thing is alien to me. It’s going to take ages. It feels eternal, from the inside (I’ve always been like this, I’ll always be like this). This “always” affects my language, I use it all the time (You’ve always done this, you’ll always do it). It’s not a murder charge: problem is I feel that this present – right now – is eternal. And all is always now 1.
Heartpounderscantsitstill. If I feel this. Must be real. It reminds me so much of. Why doubt my perceptions. Do I want to doubt my perceptions? Maybe better if write? Late, actually: not Friday. After writing: light as a feather, maybe 😀