What crazy things
We wonder
When we are alone
In our minds
What impossibilities
We figure feasible
For the satisfaction
Of our fancies
What horrors
We conjure up
Only to have
Fodder for fear
What dreams
To hope
Especially
When we have none
August 07, 2021 at 09:53PM
I want to want
What I have wanted before
I know the wanting
Precedes the satisfaction
But I still try to force it
The sandwich and chips
I ate for lunch yesterday
Were delicious
Today, it is lunchtime
And I want to want
The sandwich and chips
So that I can satisfy
The same hunger
But I want something different
I don’t know what
I want to want
What I’ve wanted before
Because it’s easier
I learned to love
When I moved to San Francisco
I stayed up all night with strangers
I want to want that again
But I am comfortable
To hunger for a sandwich
Like when I returned home
From a hike yesterday
To lust for sex
As when I was young
And didn’t know what it was
July 16, 2021 at 03:22PM
As much as I worry
There are still worries
That I haven’t worried about
And I worry
About that too
Originally written on: March 9, 2021
As our plane ascends into the sky above the clouds, I am reminded of the heights achieved by man. Not one man, but many. One can only play his part. He cannot hope to achieve the whole of it on his own. Man is necessarily a social animal. They say, “If you want to go fast, to alone. If you want to go far, go together.” I am growing to understand this. My girlfriend is teaching me emotional intelligence. I cannot think only of myself. “To whom much has been given, much is expected.” I would be happy working for the good of others, and not just for myself.
Originally written on: November 11, 2020
Sedentary
Starting to stagnate
Sitting inside all day
With the drapes drown
Sulking
So as to further feed
My worries
When an open window
Would do me so good
I sat on the step
And watched ants
For the better part
Of an afternoon
So many ants
On the sidewalk
Made it seem
Like the cement
Was moving
Made me realize
My troubles
Were not so bad
With my elbows
On my knees
And hands folded
Scowling
Despite the sun
Sweet time
Slow enough
Such
Anticipation
Is part
Of the excitement
Building
Like all desire
Blinds us
To the past
And future
While we’re waiting
Impatiently
For something
Immediate
Like hunger
On the hunt
Or lust
On the way home
To bed
With another
And in many
Other
Much smaller
Ways
It’s that immediate
Promise
Of satisfaction
Moving us
Most the time
Just as I am
For certain
That it is all done
And gone forever
For sure this time
It all comes
Rushing back
Reviving me
Once more
To go on high
And then soon after
Subtly low
When I will again
Be for certain
Even more certain
Than the last low
That the revival
Will not come this time
Until it surely does
And I go back to soaring
Though I know
And of this, I am sure
There is one low
In which
I will lie for good
And not soar again
The same things I’ve seen
For some time now
So my thoughts
Are mostly deja vu
Like the same lights
At the same times
And the same habits
Wear this groove deep
Where I’m happy enough to be
So subtly
This groove creeps deeper
Being worn
By my own passing
Back and forth
Over and over
For I enjoy it now
Almost completely
Except for the small fear
That the deep wear
Caused by my repeated enjoyment
Will make it difficult
To climb back out
And wear again
Elsewhere
Why feel sad
I don’t know
I just do
Well stop
I say to myself
But I can’t
Not that easy
Feeling frustrated
It is not that simple
Like work
That I can work harder
In order to solve
To feel better
I wish it was
Then I would work
All the time
To feel better
Don’t fight the seasons. Go with the cold depressed wet rain. Run into the gutters and beneath the city like the plastic wrapping on a food item thrown away without any ability to pick itself up like a responsible wrapper and throw itself away just running with the rain. Lay down and let the cool winter air come in your nostrils at night and the muffled city noises come through your walls and into your ears. Let the radiator hiss now, for this is its life, quiet dormant and seemingly dead all through summer. The seasons have been forged over the years of a natural undulation of a frozen slow down sleepiness for things to hold form and stay where they are focused and rigid and indoors if possible while the summer will come to let all those out who have been cooped up and cold and will run amuck for long enough to sweat out hibernated calories and gather new ideas that can be seen in the bright light but only captured in the morning winter dark of a study with paper and pen in hand. Don’t fight the seasons. Let them take you.
i know now not to ride the highs too high holding on past stratosphere onto space where i’m alone smiling looking around wondering who’s here in the black silence only do i realize after the bright light of the booster flare fades that i’m all alone in my ascent and look earthward for who i left already falling
Moments of nervousness
Interspersed with joys
Enjoyed briefly
Forgetting so soon
The non-joy that came before
Until thrust back into it
Forgetting to remember
Forced near-sighted
by emotion
i am anxious
and incapable
of anything else
other than worry
wasting what energy
would be spent
pointed, purposed
let out listlessly
in all directions
i feel alright
undoctored
by my own doing
like usual
seeing a symptom
and writing
my own prescription
like coffee
in the morning
or a walk
for my anxiety
having
to self-diagnose
but this morning
the universe
saw my need
and helped me
on its own
i don’t want to actually experience that artificial depression madness sadness malaise as the experience itself is not so pleasant as it is to sit back removed and consider the possibility and ponder like watching a movie actor manufacture emotion interesting to think of what could happen to me or someone i love without it actually happening
walking is healthy for me when i have anxiety. just to get out and see some new spaces and get exercise without too much risk or danger. the longer the walk the better, getting into a sort of meditative state just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. especially if i can walk from inland out to the coast to see the water and horizon, reminding me there is more and i am small and it’s alright.
i think one reason for depression of the artist is that any good feeling must be immediately expelled into the receptacle of the art form, quickly before it passes.
art is about feeling—and for most, feeling cannot be controlled. so when a good feeling comes, the artist jumps to take advantage of it, by translation into her art form. while good may be produced in the art, there is none leftover for herself. this can lead to depression when the good is constantly poured into the art and never left for herself.
this idea, however, i now realize, is partially due to my own bias as an artist, as i am the type that produces only when i am feeling good, maybe because i think this is what is preferred by those to whom i will show my art.
but now, i wonder, what is it like to be an artist that produces from the bad feeling. does the same effect take place where the bad is expelled from the body and mind, and absorbed by the art? is this why art is sometimes used as therapy? is this the type of art people will want to consume? is that type of art, consumable art, the art that should be created?
i love someone
stifling
a smile
trying not
to laugh out loud
inappropriate
in a public place
covering their mouth
and shrugging their shoulders
turning away
from the crowd
to have a private joy
with a merry thought
that popped up
unexpected
i don’t trust my ups
when i know
there’s a down
right around the corner
ready to
pull me down harder
if i get higher
gaining momentum
during the fall
watching the face
of one experiencing joy
as their eyes open
and a smile creeps
at the corners of their mouth
and their cheek muscles relax
when at first
immersed completely
in the joy
until the eyebrow creases
and the nostrils flare
now wondering
how long will this joy last
suppose that some times
were better than others
remembering
and wishing to be back there
something now
reminding you
of what was then
to go off into this other place
and time
lived only on after
in a blurring
and erring optimistic
memory
needing it all to be productive even wanting my leisure time to make more for me having gotten into this bad habit of looking at everything in terms of its value and looking at myself in terms only of what value i can produce and this value system being minimally investigated though i suspect it is based on monetary american capitalist fear-based material systems and i have let them get hold of me in an effort i thought some time ago to lean into it for a while so that at some point i would have enough to live comfortable and be released and able to build my own value system with enough “free” time — yet that time has not come and i am getting antsy but know that if i break early before my money is made then i will return to the same problem having not enough money to survive and slipping below the standard of life required for the value system i would build based on non-monetary tenets so i realize the two worlds are linked by the ends of the world’s monetary system and the means of my own idealist world i cannot yet surmise that a complete break is possible especially with the lingering suspicion that a human being animal may not be able to release from his nature whereas the monetary pursuit is an advanced version of the primal pursuit for food and shelter so really wanting to split from my nature and remembering again that this is not possible – which i would not forget except for the ethereal moments when the sky opens up and shines down on the earth in a way i want to look at the world forever or a feeling for a person i love overwhelms me in a moment which i wish would last forever such that i could exit time in that moment and have that be all there is, yet it is this trade, which we do not necessarily choose to make though i think we would choose it if given the option, where the barter for more space is always to endure more time. if you want to see, feel, hear or otherwise sense the world differently than you are sensing it right now then you must endure more time. and this goes on whether we like it or not more time always coming and brining with it subtle changes in space that sometimes you don’t notice, when you’re sleeping for example, and other times you notice very second, like the final seconds in a football match. and in those moments, in a small amount of time, we reach up to the ethereal opening in the sky, but then are pulled back earthward by our animal needs to eat and otherwise care for our bodies that might die if not cared for correctly
takes time what i want to blast all at once in one big surge like a dam holding back the largest river which breaks at only one point and the jet stream that comes forth from that small crack the force of a whole river coming through that one point but even more than that because the whole river must still wait patiently for that small opening so i want the same small opening but the whole river at once rushing through with a blast that could destroy planets the same as a thousand taxis through the entrance of one roll bridge or a thousand camels through the eye of one needle which is the same impossibility i suppose i am asking for in this case that which jesus said was impossible for the rich man to pass into heaven with all his belongings but i care not for my belongings but rather do not want to leave this earth here to pass into heaven which is what i suppose i really am trying to bring all at once the whole word into the ethereal much along with me and still be able to display it to the world as art making me realize now that the belongings which i am most burdened by are not my possessions but my attachment to others and to myself
You just Gotta go on creating what you do being who you are digging deeper into the trench (edited, was “Trent”) you are born into past what may hold you back seeing others do something similar or different way do you like that you should or should not be looking out ahead and seeing what will come of it or looking backwards and thinking that this doesn’t match with who you are forget all of that it doesn’t matter but were you when you were in it and really beating chugging along wheels are on the rail punches are being thrown the water is boiling it’s time to go now being in it and God that’s it that present that time when it’s just you and you know you’re doing it or maybe somebody’s with you and you’re doing it together but god that’s the moment and all other times you’re just thinking of moments that I’ve been before and why it’s been so long since the next moment that’s to cut that start to come so you wait until it’s upon you and then you’re not prepared and can’t catch your breathBut have to make do with the breath you’ve got to sprint on (edited, was “spread done”) through
just make it won’t you man make more for me now while it’s here because it won’t always be talking in abstracts using adverbs instead of verbs not wanting to commit to much to any given idea right now but rather wanting to just express the feeling generallySitting on the edge of the bed now holding my Head in my hands my elbows on my knees my left finger is resting on the back of my right calf to talking to my phone I can hear the refrigerator in the apartment in the garbage truck outside in the bus that says one California to Gough and Clay looking at my phone surprised that it typed out those street names correctly and the bus takes off leaving me with only it’s Noise and nothing else to talk about the beep of an alarm and tell the car door slams still the fridge wearing onomatopoeia‘s are recorded very well by speech to text always got that word but not this out of the fridge just me alone to talk to myselfAnd being caffeinated so not wanting to do anything else
I don’t really know if it will last but it something right here now to me and that’s for sure a lot of goodness in life at large seems to be this way because it only so much can get to a size or last long enough for Manny to hear over years and in different places and see or however it may be experienced but the vast majority of things which are good seem to be experience on a smaller scale maybe only one person drinking his coffee in the morning on his usual bench watching the morning or lovers that of been together for sometime returning to one another after a brief vacation there are many of the small simple things
there are steps and rules to follow holes to slot quarters in lines to walk between buttons and computer keys to press laundry to fold instructions to read carefully emails to read and delete watches to watch and schedules to be on time for
with love, drugs, and other sorts of emotion, the main problem with getting up high enough is that you have to come back down
words make you feel because you use them. if you heard a word, but had never used words to mean anything yourself, i wonder if you would hear anything. words are fat with the weight of past experience. different words are more important to different people. the reason that writing can be so emotional for me is that when i write a poem or make up a story, the words i use are inevitably defined by how i’ve used them in my personal life.
looking up
seeing art
or head down
walking past
what’s there
either way
i’m dead and all the art is out of it and there’s nothing to be said
(when i write this into the blog they seem kind of funny because i see the art before and after it and know it certainly wasn’t all out; but i treat these seriously because i know i was really feeling down at the time and had to push through to get the art out)
one thing gets
just slightly off
and i wonder if
the whole world
has changed
and everything
i knew, was a lie
i write something
when i feel bad
even though
it might be
the same thing
i would have written
feeling good
i’ll throw it out
and only if
my good feeling self
digs in the trash
uncrumpling and
exclaiming, framing
everything that my
bad feeling self
threw out
but the point is
the lens is more
for both reader
and writer
than the writing
itself
sometimes
when i’m happy
i wonder why
have i not
written any
when i’m sad
now that i’m sad
i know i can’t
write like this
several separate times
tend to show space past
premature dreams
really can’t
forcing myself
to write this poetry
can only paint i guess
while depressed
there’s no way to describe
with exacticity the melting feeling
of depression other than
the paint that i drop in globs
on the canvas and let run
by titling the canvas side to side
wasting my time
and dreading the morning
writing
what i feel
sometimes
results in
not understanding
what i wrote
when i read it
later on
i get overwhelmed
on both sides
thinking it bad
sometimes
and other times
thinking it good
as long as i don’t
go too far
in either direction
caught up and moved along like a pebble on the ocean floor stopped being myself for so long and just went with the waves that are my emotions and the luck of circumstance and the demands on me from others and ended up here now as a product of all that which is also what some people call the self and not really sure if what i was trying to do before being myself apart from everything else was any different or superior in any way or just unnatural and spinning my wheels against the way things are
gone in
to genuflect
for tears jerk
against my
better
judgment
after only hours
empty hearts are stored
with mind’s memories
racing past
logical parapets
to an emotional core
keeping sacred
time spent with those
two and many
almost becoming one
for the times that
walls and moats recede
for hearthy warm
merriment
remembered fondly
find your joy in the little things that won’t go way: sleeping, breathing, working, all five senses, being grateful, giving love – these make happiness within your control
the only thing keeping you from being happy is the belief that you are alone. you are a part of everything.
like laughing after barely avoiding death, some of our joy makes no sense at all
Do not build your self with glue from a world that does not hold together—ideas of who you are, how you look, what people think of you, how much money you make. All this will pass and often be beyond your control. Build yourself with a stable foundation like your breath and unconditional gratitude and love. For as long as you live you will have your breath. You can always be happy and grateful if you choose to. These are the stable tenants of the self.
So often I am jumping at the slightest desire, before letting myself achieve actual hunger.
A few things to remember when you feel sad and lost: you are part of everything; you can think of nothing; and be grateful always.
if you can detach from the pleasure, it’s easier to get through the pain, which is really just a lack of pleasure.
Don’t think like that, like you can’t go on, or it won’t be much longer, or it’s not true, or the end is near, or nothing matters, or anything else that might be true, but doesn’t help you by its truth.
Because you can be illogically happy or illogically sad – those are the only options, humans are not smart enough for anything else. So push out of your mind any thought that might be true but isn’t useful.
I used to fear dying insignificant, without having achieved anything. i used to feel the weight of this fear like it was important and i was bearing it alone. as i grow and find myself in others, i talk and even laugh about this fear, realizing that it is shared by everyone. while it is still real, it is lighter and less serious, realizing that everyone shares in it.
things lose their color as they tend to, all depending on your memory of what came before, specifics combining into unnoticed generalities.
the feeling of need for something new, the feeling of having been here too many times before, eyes narrowed and blocking out the periphery, focusing only on what is expected.
pushing over boxes to sit with my back against the couch in the morning light that comes in through the window something changed last night i feel better now noticing things i didn’t before appreciative for small things for no reason this is what i forget when i feel sad and lost
Like those times of my childhood when I lived with my grandparents in the summer and I had nothing to do but lay out in the sun on their back porch, dreaming easily and worrying only about what I was going to do with my friends that night—that’s the most excited I ever was.
When it’s good it’s good, but God, when it’s bad, oh God.
Sometimes I think I just can’t hardly wait. I’ve agreed to meet her and I just wish the car would drive faster. Unhealthy, these insatiable desires. These hopes for the future that only hurt if you let them hold onto you long enough. Shake them. Breathe them out. Breathe in the subtle present—this we trade too readily for a future that can’t possibly match our hopes; a future that is really just a present yet to pass. All we really have are presents.
There are plenty of things to worry about; if any one becomes too much, you can pick another, and another—you’ll never run out.
We’ll always worry. The key is to concentrate the inevitability on the right sort of things, and never to dwell too long on any one.
Loud music gets me high. I close my eyes and know nothing else. It covers me and gives the darkness a quality of warmth, like the dark is hugging me. Blinking when the cymbal claps. I worry about getting up with it and having to get down later, like climbing a tree that is easier to climb up than down. Why are you dualist about this? I ask myself. Music is good. Don’t worry about getting down. Maybe you’ll grow wings or find a rope. Go with it, I tell myself.
I closed my eyes last night and thought of how abstract art makes sense. I tried to “see” my toes and legs and hips with my eyes closed. I was trying to feel, only with the sense of touch—my toes against each other, my legs against the bedsheets, my hips against my own skin. I could only come up with a rough sketch that didn’t match the exact picture I’d seen before in the mirror. I think similar when in love—opening my eyes and seeing, closing my eyes and feeling.
There is a certain emotion still that goes with even the roughest sketch. Something that just barely looks like a face, only the curve of one side of the jaw, a shadow between the eye and eyebrow, a line where scalp meets hair—individually, these marks, shapes, colors are nothing; together, they represent all the faces that we’ve loved, hated, longed for, and feared.
There are dark times and there are light times, always. There is never only dark, and there is never only light. Even at the same time, the dark is light in some ways, and the light is dark.
I say this because sometimes it gets so dark that I think to myself I’ll never again see my shadow apart from all darkness. And other times it is so bright that I think it’ll be light forever. Always, things change. And things come up that I never expected—this keeps me moving forward, through good times and bad.
I carry a capturing device in my heart that catches what my mind can’t when words don’t really make sense; still, all that I have other than a kiss and a touch is to try and say something.
All joy that comes from your subjective place in space and time, dispense with it. This joy will come and go, beyond your control, and is not to be relied upon.
Learn to focus on the joys of the objective world—the sun rising, the grass growing, people talking. Anything that will remain the same for as long as you live. But even those examples are not truly objective. They are subjective insofar as they depend upon your sight to see and your ears to hear.
All that is truly objective is your Consciousness—that which remains, even when you rise up and out of your subjective ego. It is to your Consciousness, regardless of what fills it, that your joy should be attached.
Thank god for desires. There are always new ones to satisfy so I have another chance at happiness and something to look forward to.
There is a quote, I believe from Camus, that goes something like this: I have not yet tasted the fruits that will keep me alive.
Thank god for desires. There are always new ones to satisfy so I have another chance at happiness and something to look forward to. The high of work and creativity ends just in time to remember that I have relaxation next up.
I listen to my desires, and pay attention to the overwhelming ones, which are not always the first ones I hear. I have to sift through the base and biological and social, down to higher desires.
On a beautiful morning like this, I wonder how could I have been so depressed last night?
I do this to myself. I get so caught up with everyone and fall in love and make friends until I’m not myself anymore. So I go away to be alone until I’m sick and tired in cold sweats in bed on Saturday night and I say to myself, I need to love again. And so I go out and the whole song and dance starts over again.
I let music take me, I’m high. I know the higher I get, I risk being lower later, just by contrast. It’s fair, I believe. I’m thankful for the high. I must remember later to be thankful for the low.
It is difficult to truly love when still attached to the ego. Because the ego is motivated by itself. The highest love from the ego is what Rand describes: an acknowledgment of value in the beloved, based on the lover’s value system. But you see how this is necessarily self-motivated.
In other words, “I” have this need for love, and it is specific to my own philosophical values, so that the highest love of which “I,” in the sense of my own ego, am capable, is to seek out the “you” which most perfectly satisfies my philosophical value system.
This, is really only an intellectual graduation from its physical antecedent in that we are sexually attracted to the mate that is best suited for our evolutionary value system, i.e., most likely to produce offspring that survive and excel in the physical world.
However, when one comes unattached from the ego, and finds oneself rooted as part of the whole One, it becomes unnecessary to concentrate and channel love through this one particular, justified, and logical Randian framework—albeit, this framework seems to be the highest love on the mental plane, and therefore of the Western world, in the sense that it is at least not random, and the greatest thing one can achieve mentally is to be right, and insofar as we say that what is “right” in regards to human decisions is what is rational, i.e., what is “best” in the sense that it produces the max utility for said human, and utility is relative to the desires and the intellectual value system of said human, then we can call this the highest love in the same way that we would say economically that a perfect buyer and seller have met in the marketplace and found a sort of synergy to produce the most value and therefore are motivated and self-interested in a very logical way to “stay together” and not buy from or sell to anyone else in the market. Still, this is a lower love than one unattached from the ego.
When we detach from the ego, we gain access to a much higher and “bigger” love, whereby we are no longer the same “I” attached just to our one body, mind, and soul with a particular set of interests and values all within our one self. We have now graduated to what seems to be our truest self as part of the One—all of creation as one interconnected living organism—whereby we tap into a much larger need and ability when it comes to love in that we are part of the motivation system that rules everything, which is motivated to love everything, and therefore unlocks us from the pigeon-holed Randian mental love and gives us both the power and desire to express a much “larger” love unconditionally to everyone and everything.
Rand was on the right track when she wrote in The Fountainhead, “To say ‘I love you’ one must first know how to say the ‘I.'” She understood the necessity of knowing ourselves in order to love anyone else. But the Randian “self” is solipsistic, and unaccommodating of a metaphysical reality with connections between us all that make us all part of the same entity, and thus makes possible this “larger” love.
I, for maybe the first time, am experiencing what it is for a relationship to actually develop, as opposed to up and leaving the whole route at any sharp turn and picking up again on a new road with a new person.
I am seeing and feeling what it is for a relationship to have a life of its own and grow to become even a third separate entity from her and I, like a spirit or soul with its own personality and tastes and talents—we are more than ourselves when we are together, each of us growing to accommodate and nurture not only our selves, but also each other, as well as the third newborn relationship itself.
At junctures and bumpy patches, I stay in it and watch it swell as emotion is added and carefully point all this energy in a loving and positive direction that is a circle that flows between us, from my soul, through the third, to her and back, through the third again, to me. This, as opposed to up and moving on at the sign of first swelling; rather than maturity and molding and feeding what we have, instead breaking off, myself alone, to chase after novelty and a new sensation. But this is different.
After a high Thursday night and early Friday morning, I am up and euphoric. Not worried about anything, lazy and just kind of floating. Not taking control of anything because what is coming to me is great.
Then after lunch in the early afternoon, I feel a dip lower—and here is where I realize the difference between what I used to do and what I want to do moving forward. I used to think that my emotions were necessarily sinusoidal. But I believe now that is a fixed mindset and not necessarily a fact of life.
Because the greatness comes from all different directions. I dip lower now sitting in my office chair after last night with Lily. But I needn’t live only in that linear. I am surrounded with friends and my body is healthy and ready for exercise and there are books and music for me to lean into and adventure as soon as I take the first step and beauty if I’ll only see it and all this is always around me.
There is also always meditation for me to return home to my Self and, what’s more, subtle, is that the dip is not necessarily a dip in any particular direction with an associated value judgment; in other words, the dip is not necessarily “bad,” if I just watch it and look at the dip on the bridge of its nose and in between its eyes and meet it with empathy.
The dip might be otherwise understood as an opportunity to take in more; whereas, when I am focused on something on the up and up, something “good,” whether it be love, beauty, art, pleasure, or anything else that occupies the whole of my conditioned dualistic attention, I am consumed by it fully. The dip is an opportunity to refocus, to have another “good” fill my attention. Yet this is still of the natural, conditioned, dualist world. On the spiritual level, the same question remains: How can I fill up with all of it always? How can I, figuratively, stay up in tree pose, focusing on my drishti, being One with all of it.
A subtle slip into nihilism in between sex: waking up with her still asleep next to you, her cheek bone pressed against the inside of your bicep, cutting off the blood flow to your hand so that it’s gone numb, but you don’t care; that limb is hers now as far as you’re concerned.
Waking up, usually quickly, to put laundry in the wash, start breakfast, and get dressed to go out and start the day; but this morning, just laying there on your back, content to stare at the ceiling and smile. It’s not so much a “nihilism,” you suppose, as it is just an indifferent gratitude.
You think sex is what you need until you’re having so much and then you think, what now?
Humanity, the real stuff—looking into someone’s eyes, feeling their skin—the important stuff, you have only one lifetime to learn; you cannot read it in the history books.
When I am here with you, especially one person, even more so my love, I am here with you fully. When I am not with you, even when I sit with you physically, I am in another world.
Sometimes when I am writing a message to a friend I can’t decide whether to say “I think” or “I feel.” Almost always I choose “I feel.” Just seems that my friends understand me better when I say it that way.
I drink coffee in the morning and write poetry and get so worked up and anxious and have a panic attack and think of so much at once that I’m thinking of nothing at all just feeling a great worry and so think to myself about my artist friend who after a day of creating has real men in her real bed and so think to myself: I just need to fisticuff tonight and I’ll feel better.
When I walk around the city, I like to catch their eyes and live everyone else’s life for the moment that I look at them.
When I write, I am not thinking of rules of grammar and definitions; I am thinking only of how certain sounds put together and spoke aloud or read silently, of how they make you feel. I think only of the former rules insofar as the latter reader feels about them.
We’re always trying to feel and think while our instincts are just trying to survive.
The reason the coffee affects me so is that I treat it so damn serious: I feel the surge and look inside and multiply the effect.
Sometimes I play a game where I try to live everyone else’s life at once; I try to simultaneously be all persons from all times and places and feel all their joys at the same time as all their sorrows, sometimes I cry and smile at the same time.