you can't get there from here

blogged into blank.
I had a nice rhythm going, but change abounds.

tab infestation.
they creep in and linger.

it may be from shooting material from which i have little understanding, from a scattered mind that presents itself in cryptic notes, underlined sentences in 10% read borrowed library books, marks on wrist i am no longer privy to origin and words that circle from simultaneous record players skipping at various intervals-the mantras old but the synchrony ceaselessly hypnotic. Or it could be the sheer hours, the lack of concept, the insecurity in content complimenting form or vice verse (oh calarts) or matching intentionality w/ content w/ form w/ innovation w/intelligence w/ simplicity w/ authenticity, to run and jump, to be free and fly. Sometimes I quickly run ahead of myself build an obstacle, run back, walk causally forward and trip. I act surprised, even hurt, chuckle at my own construction, then run away and hope no one saw. At times I fling myself out into the ether just to feel a stronger dislocation of self, so the current one feels comfortable. It is there I observe degrees, test limits and scare myself back to feeling comfortable in my norm. The danger with this approach is the continual need to top yourself. Humans have an amazing ability to adapt.

i valorize insanity
sometimes i reminisce of being 13 years old and wondering if schizophrenia would find a nest in my brain. I don't know that I hoped for it or expected it, but maybe secretly just waited steadfast, unafraid. It was right after I realized there had been a split between self-concept and self, that waters rise and fall between internal self and projected self. That inner self meant being alone inside with many unknown chasms and layers while persona was outside performing, entertaining, singing, dancing, playing. I think this is a common middle-class female thing to experience (maybe it's more universal, I only speak from experience and accounts in the books). I was reading all the proper books The Bell Jar, Prozac Nation, Girl Interrupted, all the delirious, mind infested, mental institution books I could - to identify, possibly emulate and definitely imagine. I find myself older now. I have left the those books behind and picked up others, but I still inhabit the delusions of unlocking a mind map, understanding the parameters, the traps, the caves and turbulent winds. I visualize an inescapable capsule. We attempt to crawl forth from our subjective submarines, each of us alone, living among our inner thoughts and perceptions, eagerly awaiting the moment our vessel bumps into another. Humans are by nature social, so try as we may to communicate, facilitate and reach others, make lasting unions. We seek people who might share or understand our viewpoints, our thought patterns, our intentions and desires. And for a time we feel close, understood. We attempt various systems to solidify this feeling, to guarantee a mutualism. We are not good with change or letting go. Forever linked in a common struggle, shifts continue, change pervades, time proceeds, and we move along maneuvering our vessel without manual. I often try to compare mine to others, what is theirs like on the inside, the knobs, levers, sounds and alarms. Do we have a similar model? I find comfort here, in comparison. I often think it would be nice to take someone else's for a spin.