Moved to Europe, found a cute little coffee shop I’ve decided to frequent. Got followed by a kitty cat down the street too, it tried to be slick about it like they always do. It was a female. In my Paternoster lift, I pray I don’t get sliced in half every time I ride it ha ha. Where I am, it’s like Beacon Hill a bit, but the vibe is pretty London.
RVs are welcome to send me coords. If you get it right, come on by and lets have a spliff on my roof. You have around 1 month, give or take. [8592/4877]
I didn’t post much in Japan, I was using instagram, but I’ll be using this blog every once in a while. Rarely though. Don’t expect some radical insight. Writing online is such a drag too, nowadays I’m more into different means of expressing the same things.
As my senses develop, it becomes much harder to avoid. This time, the smell of last summer follows me around everywhere. It’s all cellar doors, origami cranes, semiotic chain-melodies, coy-like kitty cats. I want to say it’s just that all old European apartments smell the same, but the somatic feeling I receive is distinctly not that.
I think love is the same way. Real love isn’t something to be pooled from, spent, optimized, forced into hiding, into being through crude classifications systems (cough, Myers-Briggs/enneagram nerds. If you’re doing this now, whether consciously or unconsciously, you miss the point and will never mine the insight this way). Converted to hatred, projected onto multiple people. It just happens and does not fade with time or memory; I think I have no choice but to continue loving, despite my personal desire not to, and find peace with this. Otherwise, it becomes a slow poison.
The unconscious can’t differentiate between pretend and real (same thing but different topic). So repetitive paranoia only brings about the consequences it anticipates. Someone larping a schizo in time becomes no different than a schizo; plays have finite acts. Not every story is meant to be neverending. The jokes with the best delivery are the ones with the right phrasing, and they do not drone on forever. Isn’t it much better to just flow with life and accept things as they come, rather than cling to things that are long dead or not meant to be? Optimizing for what’s practical is such a sad, base way to live. A byproduct of a left hemispheric-leaning society, truly.
The best waste of one’s precious time on earth is to try and force pieces that don’t fit together to preserve control or stability. To prove a point. To live up to ideals. To be right. To be good. Where were they acquired, and what purpose is the rigidity serving? Are they really yours or just a thought form you have attached yourself to? Pride. I’ve seen this play out and have now played both roles, and for that, I’m forever grateful for being able to experience more of a full spectrum of being a human.
This is different though, they don’t get it. This inner monologue isn’t right-brainism, but a coping byproduct of a narcissism.
I never write until I’ve integrated whatever lesson it is I’m supposed to learn. To do otherwise is irresponsible, makes one no better than a Pharisee, a nagging lecturer. Men who could string together pretty words in just the right ways used to flatter me, until I realized how lacking in rarity they actually were. How many with supposedly the best understanding fail to live up to it. What images do you receive now? An insight to be found on your own. The salesman, educational podcaster, and political celebrity are the more base examples. The keyboard warrior and meme-maker are slyer because they’re interfacing closer to the subconscious and actively seek to hijack. The (real) actor and artist are exempt, because they create.
There are individuals among these groups that break from the generalizations, but they are truly rare. There is one I am supposed to meet for me eventually, but I haven’t found him yet and probably won’t for a very long time, if ever, but this is alright. Before last summer, I remember finding true peace with myself because I had set out to be left alone forever and could finally enjoy my freedom to be (finally!!). Learning how to extend sympathy but not one’s own time and energy is invaluable. Avoiding weak people who seek to take advantage of fluid boundaries. Discerning between genuine principled individuals and Adlerian coping. The same way some people scoff at guys who take psychedelics and discover empathy, making fun of things that should be common knowledge, when what’s really happening is insight deconstructed and rebuilt anew.
There are people who consume to armor, to fight, to cope, disguise it as wisdom. They take all the precautions, plan for the event. Proverbs 3:31-33. This needs to be inverted in order to move forward, to generate better outcomes. For me, it has been so for quite a long time now. The lesson must be integrated first, then whatever needs to find me can find me and pass through. The true artist is an occultist; one who can will himself to flow in and out of the stream, change course in his own time. An expression of will outwards onto the universe is a sin only to those whose expression is underdeveloped.
Triangles are just another configuration of spirals.
Sometimes it feels as if I return back to a certain point in time with more insight. Like water, the lady of the lake I was named after.
Where there’s no insight, the spiral appears. When it’s gained, the stream carries one to their next destination.
On a different note (On Women):
No one hates the creative, embodied, perennial mystic woman more than the ageing Madonna past her reproductive prime. Secondarily, the man who continuously rejects his anima. The prudish, religious tradwife is but a different variation of the same flawed modern woman archetype; she seeks control, in much the same way as the boss bitch. No one touches god more than the Whore xx
Every square is a rectangle, but not every rectangle is a square.
