[click image]...
I honestly love him.
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I used to have a newspaper snippet taped to my IBM Correcting Selectric. It read: "Believing Makes It So" and, being very young, I wanted to take this to mean that you could believe something into being. I'd cut it out to tape to my machine in the first place to remind me of how people's beliefs tend to shape their lives, tend to shape our dystopia, how we need to watch our default assumptions because of the unendurable torture they can bring to life. I wanted to find how this power of believing could turn beautiful.
It's as in the film, SPHERE, which you should watch even if you don't like the genre. The ending makes all the impatience you may feel watching it worth it. Their fears were turned into manifestation. They had to decide. Well, it doesn't take the discovery of some mysterious sphere to loose this hair raising capability on the world. It's already here. Always has been.
There's just some sadist on a moon base sticking pins in the ants crawling all over earth.
It manipulates our beliefs, our attitudes... the consensus. We don't have to get face time with our brothers and sisters to form it. The pin, the poison, the terrifying idea, gets poked into the media and spreads. Whatever ugly future the most of us fear the most comes to pass when the image is clear enough in enough minds. In fact, it could be that having so many different outrages to our sensibilities is a kind of way to forestall the end, but having everyone on the planet completely mowed down by survival imperatives and by the circuses of terrible things in the news is definitely, definitely, definitely the way to keep us from ever getting control.
What happens if the way to resolve all this is to believe we are getting control?
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I have been struggling to say that for weeks and so it keeps moving around, posted, until I feel it is said... bullying myself to communicate... when I seem to be losing patience for it.
I was having myself a veritable carnival of wild dreaming last night, and don't seem to be hanging on to any of it but the one bit I managed to force myself to remember. It was a kiss. I have taken to putting on long lectures or interviews to lull myself to sleep in recent months. This is creepy because I am a silence junky, but there is no silence here. There are prison guards and casino workers coming and going at all hours here. There are farm workers who must get to work at ridiculous hours. There is nowhere within spitting distance of the Pacific that is not plagued by highway noise here... and proximity to neighbors... THE sleep killer. So I put on some noise that is less stressful. Most of the time that's Tsarion.
He's a maniac. I feel alternate bursts of love and impatience when I listen to him. Still, even if he's flawed, I feel I could really speak with him, that I could just say everything going on in here to him and be understood, get actual communication with him. This makes his voice soothing to me. It helps me sleep.
I finally stopped resorting to a chill pill, except in the most dire need, when, a decade or so late, it occurred to me that chill pills interfere with one's sight, one's intuition, one's connection. And especially with one's ability to remember dreams.
I've always been an episodic sort in this department... going through phases where I remember everything and phases where I'm doing well to remember that I dreamed. I've been in the forgetful phase for entirely too long and I'm getting angry about it.
So, the guy started out to be Michael Tsarion, but turned into a few other men very quickly, so I can't say it was Tsarion who was doing the kissing. I rather think I know which of them it was, but I'm going to posit that it might've been all of them.
I'm thinking we were in the room together. There were others there. I might've just defended him against an accusation, or I might've finally been able to talk with him the way I talk, but there was an arm around me or mine around him, an expression of solidarity... and that was where I thought it would stay.
But he kissed me.
I mean, he really kissed me. Whoa, and I kissed back.
A lot more things happened, and it was all pretty negative, dystopian, Felliniesque, I think. I started to swim up into consciousness a few times and was ordering myself to remember the kiss each time.
I remember the kiss. I can't want more. I can't not want more.
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Seems the not being able to comment at all problem is cropping up here for some people, and maybe this explains why it's been so uncharacteristically quiet around here for the past few days. My email is linked on the comment form. You could pipe up about it instead of just pouting. I am beset by Google-hatred again because I've had to hassle to re-up my domain, which I didn't really want to do, and now they're making everyone go with their "modern" platform redesign and fucking with everyone's heads. I managed to make it known that the problem exists and note that it exists for some others. So maybe this problem will go away soon.
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