Melancholia and arousal

I’m slowly pulling my roots from the ground, inch by inch. Packing my life away. Terminating my commitments and ending my engagements. Saying goodbye to the place that has been my home for the last two years - the streets, houses and the night sky. Getting ready to part from the people and habits that has been my life. It’s painful and scary but at the same time exhilarating.

I’ve done this before. In fact this is what I do. This is what I have been doing for the last six years. Starting new lives, just to leave them after one or two years. I feel a bit like a broken mirror, every piece reflecting a bit of the world but they aren’t combined to depict a uniform representation. As do I feel shattered and scattered all over the place, with no apparent place to call home and multiple, often contradictory, stories constituting my life. This chapter will soon be closed and I will start a new radically different one on the other side of the world. The mirror will break into yet another piece.

If all goes according to plan I’ll be gone by September.

The shock of conclusive success

I’ve been in a state of stunned astonishment for the last month. I accomplished what I set out to do one and a half years ago. No unresolved rests or lingering remnant issues. An actual ending. A plan fully achieved. That’s rare. So rare that it made me sit in quiet confusion for weeks. In addition I also received the cancellation of my plans for the next two years.

The absence and emptiness has been fiercely evident.

The road ahead has been cleared and I’ve turned my gaze towards new horizons, planning for great adventures elsewhere. Nothing is what it was and nothing will ever be the same again.

Premonitions – the possibility of knowing the unknowable?

Holding my breath.

It feels like the world has been cramping up, waiting for something big and bad to happen. I myself have also been on my toes, awaiting a catastrophe of some sort. For some reason I’ve been thinking for the last two weeks that it will occur today.

For the last few hours the panic has been slowly rising within. I feel like crawling out of my skin, I have goose bumps and a hole in my stomach. I can’t read, the silence is ear-splitting, the emptiness inside me is consuming me from the inside out and the letters in the book are floating from the pages.

I keep telling myself to keep calm. You can’t possibly know that something is wrong, that something terrible has happened. I’m debating the feeling in my head, trying to persuade myself of the irrationality of my thoughts, that I’m just imagining things, overreacting. And I come to the conclusion that I can’t know, so nothing has happened.

But still I can’t shake the feeling of unease.

Is the concept of intuition only a descriptive term referring to the ability to piece fragments and clues together and accomplish – on the surface – astonishing premonitions? Or is there more to it, a part that science has yet to explain? I honestly don’t know what to believe.

For now I wait and see…... hopefully I can dismiss this feeling as paranoid thoughts by tomorrow.

In the head of Camenes – Wednesday apathy

I spent most of my time in school looking out a window. I even think I spent most of my time as a kid and teenager doing the same thing.

It wasn’t the scenery outside that absorbed my attention, I probably didn’t see much of the view or the events outside, instead I fixed my eyes on sky and sunk deep into thoughts, hiding in my head. My body was still stationed to their pleasing, but in my mind I wasn’t present at all. A silent resistance. A refusal to participate in enforced activities.

I never really wanted anything but to be left alone, to my own thoughts and to make my own choices. So I spent most of my time avoiding doing what I was told, getting some agency from the act of opposition.

In my early twenties I stated to formulate a goal, something to strive towards instead of just doing the opposite of what I was told. Moving towards something instead of just running in the reverse direction out of spite. I felt free, and in at least somewhat in control over my own life.

Now for some reason I’m back in that classroom, it feels like whatever decision I make I’m somehow ending up serving an authority, like somebody is forcing my hand. And I fall back into being a stubborn child.

Today I’m lying on my sofa, once more staring through window at the grey cloudy sky. Feeling trapped again. Apathetically staring. This time I don’t even have the urge to go outside to play, getting drunk, kiss someone or to smoke a cigarette. Whatever I would do it feels like enabling them, serving the state, following the wishes of the society. So I lie still, staring with unseeing eyes. The only change in my state of being is when I see a plane go by, then I feel a sting in my heart and a longing to change places with one of those passengers. A short while I’m dreaming of a one-way ticket to new adventures. Then, back to apathy.

Homesick.

Virtual sex and cultural fucks

I wish for a virtual reality.
In a virtual world the notion of its construction would be no matter for debate. The preferential right of interpretation would not be seen as something natural, but rather as a constructed frame of agency.

Natural. I hate that word. The word “natural” implies that there are things that aren’t natural, and not in the sense of supernatural (another retarded word) but unnatural, something of lesser dignity than the “righteous” and “natural” way of doing things.

The dichotomy of natural/unnatural disguise the fact that everything that happens already is natural since it’s actually happening. It implies a right way of doing things but misses the fact that there is no given way of understanding things or actions. Not even eating, sleeping or having sex are distinct natural features of humanity in the sense that it holds a natural or homogenous set of practices tied to it. We don’t have any consensus about even these most basic of human dealings. It varies vastly over time and between cultures, and still people are claiming that there’s a natural way of having or understanding sex. It makes me tired, and ultimately sexually frustrated.

I wish for virtual sex.
Then we could negotiate and discuss the terms of bodily interaction without all the discursive understandings about “natural sex”, morality and all the other bullcrap that’s sabotaging and complicating our sex lives. and maybe, maybe we could then actually have sex with our partners in a more understanding and mutual way, without being simultaneously fucked by culture.

Phoenix

Cycles.

We all have them.

Linearity is a hoax and not a very useful concept, I might add, if you’re trying to make sense of events, you’re life and surroundings.

The processes move ahead in circles or spirals rather than forward along a linear axis

Thus life circles along in different cycles between success and despair. over and over again.

I’ve hit rock bottom innumerable times - that’s the most visible part of the cycle, because it hurts. But also because the top of the circle is obscured by our expectation about a linear progress of accomplishment and happiness, as something that should and can be constant.

But then the pendulum swings again and you crash and burn.

This time the desolation was widespread, but the depth of the decline also indicates a higher pinnacle.

I still grovel in the ashes

But a new cycle, aeon, has started.

Like the Phoenix I will soon rise again, be reborn and grow new feathers – this time even more magnificent than my previous plumage.