Tuesday, October 17, 2006

I feel floaty; if that is a word. Ambiguous? Ether-ed (does that fall in opposition to tethered?).

Unresolved.

And I need time and space, away from activity, in order to reconcile with the unknown. Or the half known as the case may be. Or the fully known but unwilling to accept as in this case. But this is where I come up with the million-dollar quantum theory question. Does this sort of supposed, so called ‘fully known’ and fully sidelined end up being a self-fulfilling prophecy just because? In other words, which part of myself am I most willing to sacrifice? The believer or the knower? And why are they at such odds with each other? What I’d most like to do right now is my job. Correction, what I’d most like to have right now is a job. This is free floating ether, inconsequential conundrums and fully accepted and acknowledged ennui. But then to what purpose? Calming, spacing, separating, digesting…what exactly is this hiatus all about if I can’t get my brains to shut up?

So no, I don’t want to believe that this is going to work. Or anything for that matter. Give me one good reason why.

I waited outside the bank while the rain fell in pincer strands all over the streets. Cars rushed past, refusing to let it dampen their hurried negotiation of life and space. Hurrying scurrying, God knows where. And when I stare around, I can see the compartments etched and displayed. Rich, poor; car, not; tall, stoop; bald, not. Differences and cacophonic ditties. Is my dissatisfaction clouding the world or has reality seeped in?

She was here last year. I spoke to her. Now I don’t even feel loss. What’s sadder I wonder? Why this inability to hold feeling? This incredible mad need to move. I want to sit for a while. Wait and weep and want. It’s not happening. Sometimes, all these conscious states of mind...this insidious, relentless illusion of control.
Some.
One of these days, I want to be a picture in a frame. Either that, or deranged. Let my limbs float and my head shut up. Be disembodied and monochromatic.

This country does not affect me anymore it seems. But that’s a little unfair. I am doing precisely what I critique. Taking unity at face value. Beauty still affects me, colors still move me, strokes still make my head turn. What I do not buy any more is unity. Of this land being covalent with that milieu; of people necessarily inhabiting a culture; of mind and body being one. Signifiers are about signification and not a set of signifieds. And yes, Marx invented the symptom.

And now I sit, a little buzzed and uncomprehending as to what it is that I have managed to build around myself.
A little security? Not necessarily.
Some community? Maybe fleetingly.
And is this how it is to be? Always.

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