this won’t help you anymore, kid

14 04 2010

As far I know, no one knows where is heading. We kinda have an idea, we have maybe a lead and we construct our ego based on that, soft and frail threads of various color… some of us are actually feeling they’re right and they know. Good for them I guess.

Someone follows his own passions, thinking that doing so the world will be beautiful and interesting to experiment. Someone just stops and taste every single moment, feeling the drops of water on the skin and thinking the about the next kiss. And someone will stay at home, reading a book and living an adventure which is fantasy or real but maybe will have a sort of meaning at the end. or it will be nice to remember at least.

I am not that lucky at the moment. I don’t live with passion, I merely live just by living. I don’t stop to feel the rain, it’s making my coat a mess. And I don’t read too much… who has time to read now?

What puzzles me now is the measure of my own dissociation. Literally. I never thought we are made of a single piece, I always thought we are carved in a lot of different pieces then tied together with some kind of glittery glue. What fascinates me is that now that I can definitely state myself as owner, somehow not completely though, what I observe in my feelings and in my mind is something absolutely weird. We all have our dark soul, I know. It’s just very different to see the battle in action, it’s just not as simple as one can explain to wake up in the morning being at the same time very angry but also so guilty for being angry… sort of sorry actually.
It’s a parmenian dilemma, it’s  a white horse pulling the chariot up and a black horse pulling it down.
I have no idea who will win at the moment. And the intensity of what I feel somehow frightens me, deeply. I have no idea where all this might lead me and what will be of me.
I wish I had still a chance, somehow. Having a chance would make me run, surely, like a scared beast. But I am not a beast, not yet.
What a human does, a real human I mean, when he’s in trap it’s simple: he waits for the hunter to come and fight back.
A fox trapped would try to run away, would probably bite of his leg to leave the trap and find the freedom again. But a man would stay and wait and fight. For if there’s no escape, there is always the path of confrontation with the hunter, with our fears, with our shadow.
Or so the Bene Gesserit says.

In the meanwhile, observing the processes of my mind is amusing. I keep bouncing from intense fear and worry to the serene acceptance of what I am, followed shortly by a general state of total horniness. But then usually the Ego comes back and fight for the right to say that all this is wrong. deeply wrong.
I wonder if that’s the beginning of something. If that’s how a slave feels somehow.
I also wonder if I am just going mad. And I am merely speaking to myself when I say that, yes, I am – as far as I know – as mad as a dog.
And not even peanuts are helping in any way. Or crisps… or strawberry milkshake. I am missing something. Therefore I fear. Therefore I’m mad.




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