pleasant contemplation......
i think that term nicely connotes some of what is happening in my life at the moment.....
if she were to ask me, right now, what she means to me, i couldn't answer with anything but a simple "pleasant contemplation".
if i were to answer were i was at the moment in that thing called a career, after 3 months in a new job, and an extended chat with my bosses yesterday, i could think of no answer but "pleasant contemplation"
it's a strange state of flux i'm in, one moment i think to myself, i realize, that all i've ever done in all the thinking, scrutiny and writing of my life is worry that i am wasting life. that this life is a life less lived than another path i could have chosen at a million junctions.
i consider myself immensely lucky. my options are great, my life, my parents, my friends, my family. so many things have fallen my way in life, that there seems to an unlimited supply of good things, of options, of choices.... and indeed of the support needed to pursue those choices.
why is it then, that i find it so difficult. am i so detached from my heart that i cannot hear it yell to me what to do? or is it because i make decisions every day based upon nothing more than the state of my mind, the weather, the latest football results, my love life or some snippet of news that passes by on a breeze.
i believe deeply in the coincidence of life. paul auster writes about it, i listen, i believe, i know for a fact that it's true. that life is driven by a long series of coincidences, wether meaningless or full of meaning, is besides the point, yet that same life, i try to control through conscious consideration of choices.
is that not the ultimate naivety, believing, knowing, hearing it screamed from every corner of my heart, that life is chance, and chance is life, and the way to make the best out of life is to accept, and let destiny carry you along..... but i know it for a fact, yet i'm afraid. afraid that it may not be so, that in fact i am to blame for not making the right decisions.
at times i believe myself so rational. i think to myself that because i write these deep things, and because i think so much about all the big things in my life, i am in a unique position to guide my life to where i want to go.
only sometimes, like today, i'm forced to stand back and expose the illusion.
i don't even know where i want to go! how the hell am i supposed to make the right decisions to get there?
intruth i build a complex onion. layers of irrationalities, rationalized into a figment of something real, to protect my sanity, wrapped around yet another layer of rationalized irrationalities, all in a vain attempt to guide my life to an unknown destination.....
but truthfully i'm happy at the moment........
oh, but while i'm here, not to forget:
my good friend Anders Ditzel commented on some of my stranger poetry, claiming it boring and completely without violence and porn, so i wrote this specially for him:
Pain, unable to respond, just receiving....
Feel her fingernail tear skin,
from just below the hairline,
forehead,
she rips apart my eyebrows.
Cold hard fingernail tries to tear my eyeball out of it's socket....
the pain is unbearable as the wetness spreads
across my cheek and drips in the corner of my mouth.
The taste of my own blood,
drawn from deep within the eyesocket,
only enhances the helplessness.....To which he answered, that was all very well but were was the ubiquitous porn? So i added a verse:
The stark contrast of the seeping warm blood,
and the chill of her jeweled ring,
wake me up from an almost zen state.
I realize the pain I thought was dominating my mind
is but one of several intense,
almost maddening feelings.
Complete surrender,
intense pain,
weakness from bloodloss,
have given way to an almost sexual arousal,
as she tears, and skin breaks,
as death envelops me,
I finally experience the feeling of rape, of near-death sex,
that intense feeling possible only,
in the moments before certain death,
in an intense passionate embrace with death itself......Oh, and if you think me a sick fuck after that, i'm sorry but when the fans request?
and anyway i guess it only goes to show the maddening contrast that lies deep within the words themselves, how, using the same words i use to describe my inner sanctuary to the world, i can write something intensely sick, meaningless and well, frankly weird :-)
quote of the[insert arbitrary period of time here]:
Robert Benchley:
"Anyone can do any amount of
work provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at the moment."
currently reading:
Neil
Gershenfeld:
"What Happens When Things Start
to Think?"