My blessing and curse is to retain a high degree of lucidity. What I am processing is weeks of ambiguity. I hit in the past few weeks the Getty in LA, the LA County Museum of Art, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, and other places. I watched people, and more importantly watched art. I felt. I went deep.
I did Breathwork, and my spiritual guide was five circular saws dedicated to destroying me utterly. Yesterday and today, I decided to give it rein. I see myself being cut to pieces, sawed into pieces, dissolved in acid, decapitated, thrown from height, smashed into a pulp. Hated, always hated.
I have allowed and emphasized negative internal dialogue: you are stupid, you suck, no one likes you, you will fail, everything you do is meaningless, you are ugly and fat, no woman will ever like you, you are still stupid, you are still ugly, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
Funny thing: not only am I still alive, but something in me is getting stronger, and it thinks this whole thing is funny.
I will never be New Age material. I will never stop saying the word Fuck. But I will say that solutions are possible for all ailments. Sometimes the fix is making the problem worse. Do you disagree with me? Go fuck yourself. Use your right hand unless you are a lefty.
Ooh Rah.
Edit: goddammnit: I am a cliche. I feel love for all the absurd when I am drinking. I feel love for all those who don’t fit in. I feel love for curved lines, stupidity, bold but dumb chances. I’m on the side of those who bet their life savings on a bad tip and lose. I see those who try but fail. I feel those who love but lose. It all crushes me, and I die, but then I am still there. May you kill me in a new way.
Ooh Rah.
Fuck love: fuck love.
but we all know it will never die. It lives. It lives. you live. you live. Somewhere, we were meant to go, you can start, now. . . .