{being; liquid}

i am so, so glad to have had the responses to my post that i did, all reflecting humbling & different reactions to the topic i was deflecting aways from.

i really feel no guilt about leaving newcastle which is very amusing to me. as someone who had experienced early life abuse, sexual & mental, i developed that particular response which is to internalise everything that occurs as a reflection of my actions, even in events that have no direct correlation to me or my sphere of influence. guilt is what i spent the majority of my currency of youth on, but without the purchase i wouldn't have surmounted the being i am here.

{as such i find the news a terrible thing to watch.}

so to be causing such rupture in my status quo, genuinely hurting some people, brings forward my other focal drive, empathy on every level. my exquisite points shifting, a sfumato venn diagram with all those who i touch. my reactions become informed by a blending of the emotions other's present to me & the internalised, reciprocal empathy that i generate. that empathy is my defensive reaction {attacking through retreat} brought about through lingering fear of rejection. a calm cry for intimacy. as such i am acutely intimate with everyone i meet, a mercurial prism flitting between shapes, suspending at centre a fine sliver of personality. as i shift i do so to attempt to centre both myself & the person i am communicating with.

but when viewed from the side, which is rare for me, that fine sliver, though narrow, is high & broad indeed. my communications are cross-sections, presenting only finest slice of myself.

last night martin's babe had me brought about, berthing me into a three-quarters broadside. ever the comforting consul he simply & succinctly teased the threads of my sliver into view & my story tumbled, a babbling brook, spilling out across their suburban floor til we were ankle deep in me. it wasn't bad, it wasn't nice, it just was. for once the moment & myself were one, I was.

& in the same way the topic of my previous post, carefully slivered between self fulfilling deflection & ham hock expression has brought my literary friends into broadside berthing as well, even if the angle may be hard to maintain {eljen}, hard to admit {martin} or just plain brute-iful {lux}.

all, i think, reflect the ways of each individual in coming towards their friendships, each leaving fine cockerels of personality on a shifting shoreline, still wet, & cupping clear sea water.

you are all very fine.

>:3

{being decentred, and i chastised by i for hypocrisy]

i was just about to demand of martin a blog post, because i haven't heard from him in a week. but i decided that considering all my posts' of late had been responses i should instead invite response.

but what do i actually want to talk about?

i'm awfully hard on myself, never saying so many thoughts because of how i perceive the conversations would continue on from that point. for instance i was going to write...

"i find myself at a crossroads that seems to be echoed in the collective unconscious. the indecision in the political landscape of australia plays out much like my confluence of opinions about my departure from newcastle and the doubt that massive upheaval brings to bear on all my relationships."

but this felt instantly disingenuous, as most everybody has actually made up their minds, it's just that an unsuitable number of voters decided in a majority, making the indecision a perceived after thought, not the actual experience of any individual. also i didn't want consoling about the process of moving, nor about the transience of relationship doubts. as with my take on misogyny these feel unoriginal and as such, ingenuine. but more than either of these, and the reason i had to frame what occurred to me initially in this way is that once i've created something of excellence, something that has resonated with people and given insight and enjoyment, i don't want to post something which doesn't reverberate through the minds i touch. {or at least something i perceive as not possessing that quality}

such is the tone of this space, of this writerly voice i adopt in this space, that i hold myself enthralled to my own creative doubts in the very same way that it allows me to express in a voice that is of my making, but not my own.

much like many, many, many writers before me.

and yet i couldn't have it any other way, merely because this makes sense. because i want this challenge, so that when i alight here i am forced to become this mode, express just so, and feel i achieve something entirely for myself.

solipsism is a beauteous thing.

{being another responce filed neatly for my own ego}

Run for the Dawn said...

Here may be some respite:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Unbearable_Lightness_of_Being

I'm staggered, this place we're leaving has been such an amorphus psychic space, such an unfogivable burden that we perpetuate...

i think i have some insight into how dae feels about his catholicism, except you know, without the whole born and raised and daily reconfirmed aspect.

i'm glad i feel something though, not just the scrambling need to make a mark, to show we were ever there (claire) or the petulent mumblings of "i told you so" (burden, whoops, i mean budden)

and you know, it's a complete erasure of our years and years of work, like we never existed. we'll pass unmourned into a faint memory of those who we touched lightly over the years. I've written 3 manuals that will never be used again, deleted with a single click.

but i'm at peace with this erasure, it's part of my life that i'm so very happy will be packed away neatly into a beautiful little box, sitting in the corner of my study. a square little thing with raised pink paisley motifs on cream linen cardboard, wrapped in gilt, vivid red ribbon.

scented of mint and old paper.

when you open it the sound of the lid coming away is that reassuring hush and sigh of firm cardboard, almost crisp, like sound of your lips coming apart as you exhale clove tobacco smoke.


and inside will be the most pristine, perfectly formed turd.


like something out of a joke shop window,

only the stench of it kicks you so powerfully in the back of your throat that you're afraid to ever breathe again.

a sacred momento morai, letting me feel that magpietown were some dream i had, only to awaken a much younger man, in a distant place, with a head full of memories that aren't quite mine.

August 12, 2010 9:55 AM

[responce and repose}

i put this up as a comment to a great friends post and felt it pertinant to put it up for my own record ----

original post - http://opalbracken.blogspot.com/2010/07/what-do-drugs-mean-to-me.html

Blogger Run for the Dawn said...

i find george carlins illumination on the pleasure/pain cycle to be a very interesting understanding (clicky below)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UzmD9GEpdTw (from about 3:10)

watched that?

good.

pain becomes it's own reward,

it compartmentalises your experience into a cycle, it is the pain that governs the need for pleasure, not the need for dissolution or oblivion in and of itself,

it can be a seperate pain that drives your need for departure, but the pain of addiction locks in the need for a self replecating experience.

It's the same with legal addictions, a night out on the town follows the same form as a heroin user's cycle:
pain, seek, score, high.

Work all week for no immedaite physical or emotional reward, created desire to go out in town, need to dress up, organise with friends, get transport to the club, wait in line outside, finally get in, pay ludicrus amounts of money for small portions of simulant, realise the pub sucks, high ends, secondary need created (Let's go to the fuckin X! {where X is another shithole pub}), repeat previous 10 steps until too drunk to get in/lock out happens/purchase a 7/11 pie and stagger home.

these are self induced, mediated experiences that allow people to carthasise any number of emotions, and their physical stimuli reinforce the repetition of the cycle.

I suppose you can guess my general feeling about these behaviours, and I hate them for pretty much the same main reason I hate misogyny,

It's just so completely unoriginal and a spoon fed set of behaviours.

they create nothing,

and I'm tired of consuming without reciprocal creation.

P.s.

I really liked the trope about the ViewMaster, concise and eloquent.

August 2, 2010 9:51 AM