i don't know what to say. today was somewhat busy. i took care of things. i did the calls that i felt were important. i attended a meeting for the fifth grade teachers. i even sent out a bunch of mail, payment for some stupid bills...
i initially had the mentality of being constantly active, of making each touch with the world a resistance against entropy. but i had the idea (perhaps i mentioned this yesterday) of passive resistance. of the resistance of freedom, of infinite possibility. you lose your - well, i was going to be explicit, but just stopped myself- but you lose your- i'll be a bit tasteful here- libido for the world when too much of it is offered to you. well, when there is nothing left to do. the best way to live, the moment that i tend to identify with, is the one where i have a direction, a vector, a purpose. something to do, and a way to do it. but of course life isn't like that most of the time. it loses us. we lose it. i don't know. and that confusion is so hated for me. it makes me turn in on myself. it makes me hate myself. why is it that i can't abide by that sort of situation? why is the hatred so restless to cave in to me?
why can't i be innocent and stupid?
there were moments that i wish i could be a child. i wish i could play. i wish i could appreciate this life. but something constantly compels me to put a purpose to things. i don't know if it's a good or a bad thing. i mean, it's the truth, that if you want to get to certain places, then you need to prepare, and you need to work. but it's also the truth that you fail to appreciate your reality if you constantly abstract yourself from it in order to pursue something else...
***
i'm not sure what else to write about.
are we always either in the moment, or out of it? so engrossed in what we are doing that we can't speak? or so out of the moment that we can no longer understand it? no longer relate to it? i guess that has always been my quandary. "now that you feel it, you don't."
***
the things that compel me, maybe, are fear and sex and beauty. truth isn't really a motivation. i mean, if we're ever really honest (see what i did there), we don't really want the truth. it's just there. it's waiting for us when we drop our illusions. and much of the time, for me, anyway, it's kind of a disappointment.
***
there is a feeling of perfection, of immanence, in the doing of things. the reason we like beginnings is because there is little resistance to the action, and the immediate necessities compel us to move, they shape our pathways. i guess that's always comforting. when the story goes deeper, and things become far more ambiguous and less clear, then we get lost, and we get dirty, and we know longer like the story so much.
necessity.
the way that the walls get put up around a situation and compel one. that is exciting. that is compelling. it is like the walls of a hose, that force water in a direction. motive force. the walls make the situation, as much as the motive force does. in fact, you need both.
freedom isn't necessarily what we want, for freedom is the release from the walls that give us shape and force. sure, we might say we want it, but the consequence is a loss of form, and therefore a loss of meaning.
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