garbageface//real life in submersion [obduracy, 2014]
i don't know how i feel these days, which is why i haven't been writing much. there isn't much feeling other than the churning in my gut & the numb fog between my ears. i keep trying to make things but i quit because i don't have any confidence in myself, i suppose. unfinished paintings, worn down instruments with no musicality, half shot 8mm films in black and white, fragmented essays, scribbled remnants of dreams, empty walls, fata morgana. i can't even finish reading a book.
my anxiety is thru the roof and i'm revolving around half-baked schemes to pay my rent so i can die in a building surrounded by cats without having to get a 'real job.' my body is failing my ambitions and i'm only 24. i ferry back and forth between here and where i grew up - i don't like either place, but i don't like any place right now so i guess it's better to be where i have someone than nothing.
i float around, clinging to or ignoring people, pushing buttons faster than some gamer gating fucks with an xbox controller (is that what people play? i've never had a game console but i once beat a fedora wearing MRA at a UFC game - i could see the tiny gears in his brain exploding with fury after every hit). it doesn't matter how hard i work, there will always be a boys club. there will always be a drunk club. there will always be a sane club. there will always be a stranger on the street wailing "nice legs! i'd like to wrap them around my head" club.
but there will also always be strays to take in. people who accept the h o p e l e s s n e s s and keep moving in multiple directions anyway.
sometimes i worry that what i'm experiencing isn't ~real enough~ but then my IBS & acid reflux & fibromyalgia flare up and i wonder what living with crohn's was like in comparison. i remember that i've felt less and i've felt more so i must be here, however fleeting or grounded.
"in the future there will be a service that will notify you every time a fragile person is reduced to nothing."
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i wonder how mortified you were when you barged into the bathroom, demanding i exit the shower immediately so that you could take a shit. i wonder if you even cared at that point, because i didn't. i wonder if you knew i stopped caring the day i made you laugh so hard you puked a mcdonald's dollar drink all over both of us. i could see in your eyes the gleam of humiliation, but the mirth never left and i think we had an understanding that day. everything was easier because i was easy.
people say that, that i'm an easy friend. i'm a smooth person to get along with - i listen, i get it. if i don't get it, i "shut the fuck up & listen more" (step one: barrage of certainty). i listen until it's all i can hear when i try to fall asleep at night. it's the reason why i'm writing this at 5am. i find something to mull about and i listen until i can't.
i don't think i'm easier in the sense that i'm more -agreeable- but perhaps in the sense that i've seen some shit. i believe that purer things happen when you're closer to death, when you're grieving, when you're contemplating. i've seen magnificent orbs, energies, spirits, lights. street lamps have burst above me when i'm listening too closely. i've had conversations carry on spanning years, spanning levels of consciousness. i'm not scared, but the window opening up this weekend doesn't shut until november 4th, isn't sealed until the last of the snow melts and i can feel the sun again. that's a long time to be fragile.
or maybe i'm utterly full of shit.
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here's an album that i'm heavily inspired by lately from garbageface, an artist & friend who blows me away every time he performs. one bad sunday is sobering and reminds me of benjamin enough that i cry when i hear it. and i listen closer. and i embrace my fragility in hopes that someday, someone will recognize when i've been reduced to nothing before it's announced on a touch screen.
thx karol for brushing some graves off. xx