being alone is great. i say this after six days of minimal social interaction, limited to strangers who work in shops i visit and assume i speak their language (i can say no-thanks and yes-thanks but to every other sentence addressed to me i simply nod or grin). what i felt and what i didn't say (because i didn't have to whom) after one day was quite different. it played in the league of sorrow and sadness and pitiful misery and it made friends with the daddy longlegs that lives under the living room couch.
but then, oh, it got better, i started to feel the rhythm of this alone-ness and dance to it and everything fell into place like the 1500 puzzle pieces that are lying on the floor would, with the difference that they would only turn into an ugly (or beautifully kitsch, if you prefer) picture of three girls on a motorcycle and my newfound sense of being wouldn't. it won't. really.
i had many notions spinning around in my head and sometimes, usually after a meal i had assembled based on want and consumed less speedily than when in company (!), they would slow down and i would be able to grab onto a thread and weave them into long emails, cracked-open-heart-and-soul emails, bizzaro-mackrel-and-cheese emails, spur of the moment emails, delicate-30-degrees-wash emails to people i felt tuna with. it's good to let it out in writing. it's soothing like camomille on pinkeye.
unless you wish for a reply.
then the pinkeye is back.
camomille never happened.
shit.
i read of a man once who kept a list of all the people who didnt reply to his letters and when he was fed up with waiting (years went by, the man was patient!) he killed all of them (he was also mentally unstable!) using the pen he wrote all his letters with on the same day even though they lived in different countries and some of them where out of their houses at parties or yoga lessons. but he did it. and what i learned from him is that to avoid breaking a good pen one must refrain from writing to people who can't reciprocate. (i learned this word in first grade from my deskmate who was surely a precocious little fella and it has since left a profound mark on all my human interactions - that's perhaps why i nod and grin sometimes to people whose words i don't understand. so they don't feel terribly alone because their sounds go right through me and float off the surface of the earth into space where no one can hear anything because there isn't any sound because the molecules are fickle out there.)
imagine you suddenly feel removed from yourself
you can't
it's senseless
why it happened to me i don't know
i wasnt suddenly removed, i just suddenly felt as if i was removed from myself
and always had been
and never noticed
as if i wasnt sure i was living
or not living
guessing i must at least be alive
this uncertainty means she has too much time on her hands, said the gentleman who was just passing by walking his past, tense
i do
i have open time on my hands
it's so heavy i need to sit it on my lap
slap slap
all this open time that lets me look into it -
that lets me look into things
that lets me look into me
this i dont-know-who i've seen a million times
scary like porky pig's dog-canary
(not scary-scary but more like "why don't you do something? - well, i can't tell you"
"can you sing? - no, but i do" "please, stop - please, start")
continue.
it's not easy being this dog. i feel like this dog, disguised as a standalone human, i feel both like this dog and like a human designed to function independently.
design vs. application.
intent + dissent.
screaming and kicking.
chasing my tail.
i'm chasing my tail.
do not disturb.
