keep swimming
dear friends,
I swim in my dreams and delusions, fearful of what's ahead and the uncertainty within the currents that carry.
The depths take me ever so under, flailing, drowning, panicking.
You must be intentional. You must be honest.
You can try. Try to flail out of the water, but that won't keep you afloat. There is no try, only do.
You must learn to swim. There are two choices:
a) continue flailing
b) learn how to swim
the preposterous path
I was alone.
I meandered too far down this preposterous path. I step out of myself. He has grown sick of his own rhymes and poetic ambiguity. The airy language of hopes and dreams no longer lifts you out of the water.
The repetitive dreams, the repetitive loop, the signals and symbols, they flood you. The seascape of emotions is not contained. Consciousness slides into the overwhelming unconscious. The oscillation between the jestful playfulness and the seriousness of being unable to escape, it resonates, this Great Flood of the Mind.
Fractured togetherness transfer through the generations, through the sequences of memory. The recurrence of symbols and sense of manic, it haunts him through the latency between reality, dreams, and delusions. He fears to be out of sync with himself in the lostness of signals. He fears being alone, in the darkness with no tether as to what is truly real.
You want to be alive, you tell yourself. You are playing a dangerous game poking at your dreams. You must know the danger, it's a serious endeavor meandering down this preposterous path.
breath for summer air 51825
As the summer air closes in, I cannot help but feel defeated.
I can feel myself becoming more cynical and pessimistic, the flow of joy being blocked at times. These thoughts are pointed and sharp while I give a hard look at myself in the reflection. I must be honest and truthful. What have I really accomplished?
Deluding into more delusions could lead to a death spiral if you are not honest with yourself. Do not hide in your own delusions in the valley of despair. You may worsen the wound by lying to yourself, pretending you know how to swim, pretending as if some magical miracle will occur. Don't sugarcoat. Take account of yourself.
Just breathe for a moment, you cynical man!
I sit here on the steps of the old college apartment following my sister's graduation. We've sold this place that holds many memories. This apartment duplex is symbolic for me. It symbolizes a triumph from the past, a crutch I hold too closely.
"Do not rest on your laurels."
You prideful fool. You must let it go. Take the experience and memories you have gained and leave the rest behind. Your pride holds you back.
This voice speaks to me.
I hate saying goodbye to places and people. I am way too sentimental, I know I am. Seeing the stars above grow older each day and night, I cannot help but fret and cry as moments become distant memories. I hate that time moves so quickly, the vendetta within creeps up. I hold this resentment towards the passing of time and it eats away at my heart and sentimentality. What is the rush?
I ask the Universe. Can these moments last a bit longer?
It pains me so to see things gradually grow only to be let go.
Let go, I tell you.
Observations of the Art & Artist
IV. Echoes of the Shadows: What do you do with it all?
While drawing I sometimes feel as if I were a spiritualist medium, controlled by the creatures which I am conjuring up. It is as if they themselves decide on the shape in which they choose to appear. They take little account of my critical opinion during their birth and I cannot exert much influence on the measure of development. They are usually very difficult and obstinate creatures.
The relation between artist and their art intrigues me greatly. As a writer, or rather, a spiritualist medium that happens to write, I often feel helpless and out of control of my own writing and story.
I want to be in control. I am aware of this burning desire of control and its a big source of my own frustrations and qualms. Writing a book has been an emotional rollercoaster and it feels as if I am feeding a hungry beast that is never satisfied.
I want to be in control of this beast because it has such a strong pull on my life that I live and the emotions that I experience. How can I be in control of my emotions if I am not in control of the story and narrative being told?
I do not know if I am the art or the artist. If I am the story or the storyteller. I cannot tell you if I am the creator or the creation. What am I?
These systems that have served you no longer contain you. You are simultaneously conjurer and conduit, author and avatar of the story itself.
Alas, we are left with a strange riddle that loops. We are both the creation and the creator but who knows who really is in control?
forethought from the past
Be weary, I warn you.
Be weary of the language you speak, at the words that slip out of your mouth. It all channels thru. These repetitions of dreams are never exactly the same. The genesis of the mind, this geistfulness you seek, it's surrounded by Death and Darkness.
You seek the source of it all, the source of your consciousness, of your awareness, of your soul. The veil holds these fragments of memories and manifests. You try to make sense of the latent, when you awake from your dream.
You try to uncover yourself, yet you unconsciously resist yourself. There are certain forms you do not want to uncover, the waves within.
Total manic. There's a part of you that avoids you. These voices do not intend to hurt you. They are trying to protect you, from the unknown, from your own unconscious.
Reframe your mind, this beast you speak of could serve as an ally.
Disorientation. This upside down place disorients your Soul. This world does not welcome you. It's indifferent and strange, a descentful spiral. You seek an ultimate reality, an answer to the unknown, but there is no answer that will satisfy you.
Orient yourself. You mesh these two languages together of your delusions and dreams. Speak in a language that can be understood, that is coherent. The story must-
feedback loop?
I cannot tell between these figments of my mind that are unnecessary exaggerations of what is being truly unfolded in the world around through my observations.
What really matters?
I look back at old work and writing with a new set of eyes. I look back and become my own harshest critic and when I reflect, it all feels flat. "True honesty is required for greatness" I panic to myself.
"This shit is not working, it's not flowing."
Do you listen?
The feedback loops you have noticed point towards change. The levers you pull don't seem to have any effect. Keep pulling the levers, you tell yourself. This fright of paranoia that none of these levers you pull aren't doing anything rises within. This scramble and flailing of doubt heightens. None of this is working.
I must challenge this loop. Course correction is needed or fall into the death spiral, drowning in your own wasted efforts.
death spiral of ants
An ant death spiral is a bizarre and tragic phenomenon that occurs when a group of army ants loses the pheromone trail they normally follow to navigate. Instead of dispersing or finding a new path, the ants begin to follow each other in a continuous circle, forming a large, swirling ring that can last for hours, or even until they die from exhaustion.
I fear this death spiral because it's a metaphor for:
Systems trapped in self-destructive feedback loops.
Blind conformity without awareness of the bigger picture.
Organizational or societal dysfunction, where no individual breaks from a failing pattern.
I fear that by falling into my own delusions, I have created my own self-spiraled echo chamber that blinds me from productive feedback loops that propel growth forwards.
Are my own delusions and dreams becoming a self-destructive feedback loop?
Online platforms often trap users in spirals:
Algorithms feed content similar to what you’ve seen before.
This reinforces beliefs, biases, or outrage.
The spiral tightens until it becomes hard to distinguish reality from the curated loop.
Am I caught in a loop?
cut the loop
Abide in that that is unchanging.
I find myself in a crisis. Yet, I am okay. Although not always pleasurable, any crisis we find is simply an intersection between danger and opportunity.
We all possess this addiction towards helplessness and negativity because its innate in our fearful instincts. Common sense may tell you to tuck your tail and give into it. You rush, rushed by the overwhelm of all the scary affairs of the world.
Slow down. Take a dump. Accept that life is filled with danger and opportunity at every corner. Take your conscious experience and accept that you cannot understand everything all at once. You were never meant to understand everything all at once. You are not a machine.
You are both creation and the creator. This is the sweet spot that allows us to derive meaning in our conscious experience. At times, the story calls us to lead it. Step up and lead when necessary but learn when to accept and follow its lead. Learn to observe. Embrace the paradox. Guide the beast; let it guide you.
Befriend and partner within the Inner Dialogue you hold within the thoughts that pass and form. Do not reject and repress yourself. Listen and let go.
Jest at yourself, but take your inner depths seriously. Get in. Grab what you need. Get out. Linger too long and it will consume you.
The Soul is whole, the Heart is a part. One must have Heart to have a Soul, therefore, have Heart. Take the time to truly listen to your Heart more often.
The volume of your self-love must expand for your self image to grow and move onward. The universe may not belong to you, but you are worthy of this form of love. And that's all you need to spiral yourself up out of this hole.
Abide in that that is unchanging.
…
fides proecedit intellectum
I love you Stars.
It pains my heart to see you grow older, but fills my Soul knowing we live on. Stay Stellar, my friends.
Everything is not lost, you must remember.
Faith precedes understanding.