it feels good to be back after a few days of rest and silence, and a little strange since it always comes back to a blank page to fill, and to fill it with substance. the slight pressure of that. of course the very first thing is to write no matter what, regardless of whether or not that topic is actually coherent. my mind is reeling with different ideas. speed. digital technology. the soul. death. alien life forms. war. invasions. natural disasters. disease. growing old. alien abductions. global destruction. work. family. video games. books. comic books. music. advancement in mental technologies.
energy flowing through us, us connecting, plugging in, to energy. a key into a car’s ignition – off we go. ignite the ethernet port and we are online. connecting online is really connecting to ourselves. in bed I think about connecting simply with the mind. ordering carry out without even having to call. without having to open your mouth. alien abducties report this, that they were spoken to by beings telepathically.
can barely sleep. energy. connections. how we amass stuff all around us, define our lives with that stuff. non-materialistic people can be forced, tricked into being materialistic, addicted. addictive personalities grabbing one thing to the next.
you work in a mall without a college degree leaving that job for a position in a department store. six months stale into it, you need to move on again. 15 years later you have worked a shift in every store there. artistic hands shake and tremble, no longer paint.
where is your heart in things? tight-ass folks. so normal. so sheltered. I think about race a lot, what it means to be whatever color you are. identity. how you have some sort of place in society. race. class. racism. classism. all the isms. can you save your neck? survive. goals.
time. time runs out. things die, collect dust, deteriorate. I am trying to collect memories. Manuel, Lalita Sundari and me, years back watched a three hour alien abduction documentary one early morning and were so freaked out by the stories and surreal imagery, we stayed up till sunrise. one woman was recounting a story and showing some of her sketches: “first thing I saw was, I looked over and an alien was right in the window looking at me.” the simple little drawing of this was terrifying. especially because it was pitch black out and our own window shade was up and looked very similar to the window in the drawing. I pulled it down pretty quick.
I can suspend belief just for a bit and use my imagination. horror is horror. maybe we enjoy it so much because we are horrified all the time in many different ways, so we also look to it as a form of entertainment when that “nightlife” rolls around. we daydream our nightlives and nightmare our daymares. attack our classmates, pummel them into organic toothpaste.
can’t communicate. I think about how I cannot communicate, how I want to change that. if I cannot understand myself, and communicate with my own self, I won’t be able to do it outwardly, so I know where I have to start. writing is such a good practice to improve upon this communication, but writing is not limited to keyboard input or pen to paper. there are thoughts you have, and some say these thoughts are encased in your very aura, and this is why the more psychically intuned can pick up on these thoughts – they are actually reading your aura. this comes back to connecting. if we are so advanced, shall we not advance further, to bigger and better brains without the use of external CPUs and stereo systems? Doug E. Fresh comes to mind, doing the beat box. I wonder what we are really capable of. what other worlds exist. just what is possible.
but it is getting quite late. please accept these notes kindly. of all the people out there, I’m searching out the kind ones. when I get to them I hope they get my whole deal and are not offput by my idiosyncrasies once I start opening up.