Power Cut

Well, I’ve been here for hours.  I’m not meditating, not doing EFT, not scribbling in my journal.  I’ve been watching YouTube videos, smoking, and eating chocolate.  I have a smoke and glance into the awareness of how I feel.  My head’s clearer than it was earlier.

Len’s asleep.  Anybody’d think we avoid each other.  We’re just on different vibes, at different times.  She’ll wake up when destiny decrees it.  Her being there will hold a purpose, just like her absence does.

I’m feeling somewhat emotionally loose and refreshed.  I become a robot through rituals and eventually I crack.  I say

“Fuck it all” and throw down the gauntlet.  It’s a relief to do nothing, because doing nothing turns into doing something, and an easier way of seeing becomes available.

I’m drinking coffee.  My brain’s still asleep.  You masturbate before you sleep, and it often wraps your brain in a haze as you awaken.  You’re trading one energy for another, one expression for a different expression.

I booted up a game from my GOG library.  Didn’t play it.  I like buying GOG games.  I have over a hundred.  I enjoy reading the reviews, seeing it in my library, looking at screenshots, and even, sometimes, booting the game up to play for ten minutes.

I remember when I was in my early teens.  I’d spend a long time choosing the game to take home.  I’d be oblivious to the world.  I was about to immerse myself in a world filled with excitement, and fascinating encounters.

I’ve got most of those old classics I’d pick out, in my GOG library.  I don’t care much for playing the games.  I value the wonder I’d feel at them, how the world fell into obscurity as I was absorbed into a plot, a puzzle I’d have to solve.

I don’t play games much.  The internet gives me anything I wish for, any emotion I can muster the energy up to yearn for.  I’m gratified quickly.  I can bounce from thing to thing.

Sometimes I jokingly wish for a power cut, an outage of it all, just so I could reset myself and go back to a simpler time.  Life is good, and living with complacency and convenience is worthy of much gratitude.  The road just keeps on going.

New Beginning, New Day

Thoughts of sexuality pass over me as I breathe easy.  I had a good five hours and awoke feeling fresh.  Sometimes you push your boundaries.  You end up finding the one thing that’s blocking you.  You pull the plug and you’re clear again.

I’m not worried.  I’m not concerned.  I’ll meditate shortly.  I look forward to it.  I love the feeling of meditating and doing EFT.  I lay there and I breathe.  I surrender to the moment.  All comes together, and I open my eyes feeling refreshed.

I was having dreams of losing my shit.  I was in a rage, furious, aggressive.  I was playing a game of football in a field.  I was in a rage with men that I knew, deep down, were much tougher than me.  They were being tolerant, I was continuing my rampage of aggression.

I left the football field, and realised I was on a TV show.  I felt awkward about being on television, losing my mind.  I felt embarrassed.  My cousin Dennis came to find me and he was reliably, as ever, tactile and diplomatic.

He enticed me back onto the pitch, but when I went back to carry on the game the pitch had turned into a living room.  All my old school friends were there, boys who were stronger than me and always had been.  I sat down and behaved.  I tried to relax.

Quiet

The night’s quiet.  No screaming or growling from two different angles.  No fighting or shouting from downstairs.  The cats aren’t fighting.  The foxes aren’t calling out.  It’s just silent.

It’s moments like these I wonder if the buildings aren’t just cardboard facades, and the birds aren’t just biding their time ’til it’s time to sing once more.  I like knowing that harmony can exist, but a nagging thought tugs at my sleeve.  Is this too quiet?

I hear whispers, remnants of an earlier conversation the voices were having.  My brain asks if it’s real.  I say it isn’t, but it’s harder to be sure under these (very right) conditions.  I’m being careful not to take the silence for granted.  I’ve longed for it for so long.  How long could it last?

Where did these growling, shrieking women go?  Did they get moved on?  I’m not sure if I can sit comfortably knowing that Len’s voice is the loudest, and I’m the dominant influence in this space.  How do I handle that responsibility?

It all started back in 2013 when I believed I was the reincarnation of Aleister Crowley, the bisexual ceremonial magician and self-proclaimed prophet that heavily influenced the last century’s counter-culture.  (I was delusional.)

Sharrow was quiet sometimes.  You could hear yourself breathe, then the area erupted with seemingly unrelated voices calling out into the empty space.

My Mum’s wasn’t quiet.  The hospital wasn’t quiet.  The recovery ward was a bit quieter, and then the room in rehabilitation accommodation was quiet, until the students came back.  Whatever.  It’ll be fine.

Len and I, at half four in the morning, are both typing away at our laptops.  We’ve both got earphones on.  We’re both blogging.  I don’t like that word.  Blog is a four letter word.  I like to think that what I do is proper writing, even though I know it isn’t.  I’ll make peace with it.  Welcome to my blog.

I eagerly await the birds to break the embargo on soundwaves.  I’ll open the curtains and let the natural light stream in.  I’ll open the window and be refreshed with cool air.  Mr. Suspicious.  That’s me.  How long could this harmony last?

I’m whispering my own internal monologue.  Listen gently.  (Love is the law, love under will.)

Think. Put the Work in. Think.

“He treats this like a full time job!  He doesn’t have to do this.  There are no adverts on this ‘site.  He does it for free!  This is transparency taken to a new level.”  They’re laughing.  I’m laughing.  On average, only two people visit this ‘site on a daily basis, and one of them’s Len.

Yes, I know you’re sick of me writing this, but it feels right, and so I continue.  I got my sexual energy all fucked up.  It’s two in the morning.  I went to bed, had my nightly cancer deterrent, sleep aid, and relaxation tool, otherwise known as masturbation, and I felt wide awake.  So I’m back up to drink coffee and be overly transparent in a published, probably documented format.

“Who cares if he likes men?”  They’re hinting towards the modern age being more tolerant, touching on the idea that in modern times being gay or bi-curious isn’t seen as a shocking thing.

You see, I decided to use my imagination to masturbate.  I thought I’d give my sinner’s eyes a rest, for once, and envision a scenario.  I thought of women.  It felt right.  That’s the conclusion to this merry tale.

Len’s awake.  She’s up to something.  What is she doing with her sleep pattern?  She started this five AM rise thing, for me.  Now she’s fucked me up with this sleep whenever bullshit.  I know, I know.  It’s all part of Destiny’s plan.  It serves a purpose.  Oh, I don’t know.  Something’s shifting.  I’ll make some progress somewhere, and something’ll stick.

See, it’s all about God.  It’s all about energy.  It’s about reading and knowing and thinking.  It’s about truth.  I want to develop myself.  I want to actualise my own spiritual nature.  Sure, it’s something new.  It’ll take me a bit to get the habit momentum.  It’ll all work out.  You’ll see!  It already is working out.  All is well.

 

First I suck and then I blow

On this cigarette, you know?

Friends, they come, and then they go

Girlfriends do the same thing, though

I move downstream with the flow

Leave behind the feeling low

First, I struggle, then I grow

I will reap what I will sow