Thursday, April 16, 2009

I'm stuck on the Rotor, that carnival ride where you stand against the walls and it spins you around until the floor drops out from underneath you. The pressure forces you against the wall, but you still slowly slip down even so. And if you look up, everything is a blur and will make you either dizzy, or sick (or both).
So I just keep looking at what's directly in front of me, because I don't know how long this ride is going to last, or how far I'm going to slip down.

I would say that I'm jaded, but for one to be jaded, one must first have some hope to be jaded from. I'm a little past that.

The comfort is either missing or imperceptible to me half the time. At the moment, since hope is conspicuously absent, I've abandoned that search. Not that finding comfort is much better. Comfort is fickle, and fleeting, and often transparent if found at all.

I can't seem to rewire the instrument panel so that it functions the way it should. As soon as one connection is made, another shorts out. I'm tired of tinkering with tools to try and fix something that apparently wants to stay broken. Can't see well enough to fix it anyhow.

So, comfort is the goal. A shallow goal, but at least a goal.
If safety is absent outside the shell, then the best place to go is in where the sticks aren't poking the sensitive parts.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

My current and enduring funk can be described in several literary and movie related metaphors.

It's apparent that my life direction compass is Jack Sparrow's, and the needle just keeps rotating.

As described in Season of Mists (Sandman), Destiny's garden is being described, and how the paths flow and diverge, and there is mention of seeing only darkness ahead in front of you.
Again, that is where I'm at.

In the Matrix trilogy, there is discussion between Neo and the Oracle about choices, and the understanding of those choices. One cannot see past a choice they cannot understand.

I'm also here.

More than anything, I'm stuck in purgatory, inertia, limbo. Winter is still here and I'm trapped in ice. Driving on an inescapable winter highway which is so iced over in spots that the car does nothing but donuts when moved forward.

This isn't even so much about the current situation, but the situation is a part of it.

It's about having too many choices, but none worth choosing. No goals, no dreams that are enough to lure passion to follow them.

Some things that I thought might have been goals or things that were "supposed" to happen(according to pre-programmed societal patterns) are not viable, not even things that I had necessarily chosen for myself, and at present are not on the radar as I thought they might have been.

It seems that life is merely a pattern of keeping myself occupied in a waiting room, when I don't even know why I'm there or what I'm waiting for (besides waiting for something worth waiting for)

It is not to say that there is not fear involved, certainly there is. But ferreting it out has proved difficult.
Hopeless and sometimes despair are far more frequent company than I'd like to admit.

The question of what I "want" always comes into play. I haven't been able to successfully answer that for well over a decade. The question was asked of me when I first got out of college. I got tearful and was unable to answer it then.

The answer is still, I don't know.
And I fear that if I did, it would lead me to another dead end.
So there's my fear of choices.

Perhaps I fear what I want as well. Not that I really know what that is.
Sometimes I think I know, and several times I've said "i'm going to do this, or that" and then start doing it only for the speed to fizzle out quickly when I realize it's not really what I wanted.

I've had dreams about getting in vehicles and driving them, only for them to start slowing down and then disappearing entirely, leaving me on foot again.

My dream self is often this "damsel in distress" personality, pining for some unrequited love that never notices her, and she is unable to approach because she fears rejection and ridicule.
I've grown to hate this personality.

Why can't she just get off her ass and say "Fuck this stupid asshole, I don't need him" and go running off somewhere interesting instead of waiting for him to notice her?

When dreams turn crappy, and I'm lucid, I can change them, or wake up. In waking "reality", I'm playing a game of mahjong solitare with no more moves.

I realize I need to choose a new game, but the idea of playing at all seems boring. I'm tired of playing by myself. And why the hell am I playing anyway when I could be exploring?

Objects at rest tend to stay at rest.

While I am typically a motivated person, it is not so in this case. I'm in a desert with nothing for miles around, and chasing after mirages isn't going to get me any closer to water. So, here I am, wilting in the sun, staring at the same cow skull. waiting for the vultures to show up.

I should be following the stars, I guess, but I don't know how to read them. and they keep changing position anyway.