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Nov. 14th, 2017 09:00 amIt all becomes impenetrable - a fortress. Here's how it breaks out - you go to work & then work & then you go home and raise your kid & feed yourself & sleep & then you go to work. You season these things with large doses of friendship, companionship, outings - all the things that add some savor - but the heart of it all is this cycle of tasks that is the same and is both walls & engine, it's the thing that keeps the whole matter in motion & it's the thing that the whole matter is built around.
"Can't be out too late - work in the morning." And "Not today, my kiddo needs me" and "Let's get something to eat I'm starving" and "I hate waking up, I want to sleep all day" I'm past a place about puting any kind of moral identity on these things - just noticing now because of the impenetrability. Maybe it's made of fragility? With fewer obligations you know- you'd be a different person. "Meh, I'll call in sick this week, or quit - I want to go on this trip" That type of thing. The machine is itself & it supports itself & it's built around its own ongoing function - so you have this enclosed fortress with few inputs and few outputs & you are still.
The stillness becomes the question & the answer - that's where I'm going, that's the thesis here - that the mechanism creates a closed world that's, in seasons, made more & more comfortable but also seems, in seasons, more & more like a jail. So you consider this escape & what could be & is beyond. But the fragility of the edifice - you've built it, so you know just how few shakes it can stand. So you're on the one hand wanting a change & on the other trying to moderate how much change you can bear. The answer always seems to be - A Girl.
So you'll want a lady & you'll have a feeling & it seems like there's a place in the fortress where she'll fit okay & maybe you won't wreck it all & have it come crashing - but if it seems that it might- if, say she, wants to rattle the bars - well - then the whole affair is too precarious & the answer is that she must go. And you hum out again the words of the poets saying "nothing's gonna change my world." and "nothing's gonna change my world."
But good news, if that's what's called for - the 5 years of stasis have really worked out. Advances have been made on a few fronts, the fortress expands, becomes more stable - there's a permanence & it becomes pervasive. On sunday we're about the house practicing baking & kiddo gets it in her mind to do crafts of cardboard - "where's the tape poppa?" and there's a few types in many drawers - I mention. We banter a bit because of how we do - in and out of rooms and an ongoing talk over movies & games & she says with bare prompting that "This is my favorite place in the world, this house." Which it occurrs to me is true for me as well, the perfect hideout full of all the things you'd never need & didn't even know were things. Jars of coins from made up lands, all the tiny bottles for tinctures all the cowbone beads carved into skulls, all the uzbek jackets & stacks of old laptops. I like it just fine, just fine. To the point where the change you end up seeking, I end up seeking, is the one that helps me be there more & more & forever.
Maybe it's just winter setting in, maybe it's my love of the couch. The thing you want is this - the missing piece that fits the puzzle is the lady who's married or attached - has the one at home and so only clandestinely meets, and only ever at your house - did you know this was a way you could go? Weird irons in strange fires that's part of things.
Probably I should mention bits by name & people but I'm in a more fluid place of only keeping a record here of passing emotions, impressions - the things I do, I do & don't take much time to consider. It's a diffeent kind of being alive.
"Can't be out too late - work in the morning." And "Not today, my kiddo needs me" and "Let's get something to eat I'm starving" and "I hate waking up, I want to sleep all day" I'm past a place about puting any kind of moral identity on these things - just noticing now because of the impenetrability. Maybe it's made of fragility? With fewer obligations you know- you'd be a different person. "Meh, I'll call in sick this week, or quit - I want to go on this trip" That type of thing. The machine is itself & it supports itself & it's built around its own ongoing function - so you have this enclosed fortress with few inputs and few outputs & you are still.
The stillness becomes the question & the answer - that's where I'm going, that's the thesis here - that the mechanism creates a closed world that's, in seasons, made more & more comfortable but also seems, in seasons, more & more like a jail. So you consider this escape & what could be & is beyond. But the fragility of the edifice - you've built it, so you know just how few shakes it can stand. So you're on the one hand wanting a change & on the other trying to moderate how much change you can bear. The answer always seems to be - A Girl.
So you'll want a lady & you'll have a feeling & it seems like there's a place in the fortress where she'll fit okay & maybe you won't wreck it all & have it come crashing - but if it seems that it might- if, say she, wants to rattle the bars - well - then the whole affair is too precarious & the answer is that she must go. And you hum out again the words of the poets saying "nothing's gonna change my world." and "nothing's gonna change my world."
But good news, if that's what's called for - the 5 years of stasis have really worked out. Advances have been made on a few fronts, the fortress expands, becomes more stable - there's a permanence & it becomes pervasive. On sunday we're about the house practicing baking & kiddo gets it in her mind to do crafts of cardboard - "where's the tape poppa?" and there's a few types in many drawers - I mention. We banter a bit because of how we do - in and out of rooms and an ongoing talk over movies & games & she says with bare prompting that "This is my favorite place in the world, this house." Which it occurrs to me is true for me as well, the perfect hideout full of all the things you'd never need & didn't even know were things. Jars of coins from made up lands, all the tiny bottles for tinctures all the cowbone beads carved into skulls, all the uzbek jackets & stacks of old laptops. I like it just fine, just fine. To the point where the change you end up seeking, I end up seeking, is the one that helps me be there more & more & forever.
Maybe it's just winter setting in, maybe it's my love of the couch. The thing you want is this - the missing piece that fits the puzzle is the lady who's married or attached - has the one at home and so only clandestinely meets, and only ever at your house - did you know this was a way you could go? Weird irons in strange fires that's part of things.
Probably I should mention bits by name & people but I'm in a more fluid place of only keeping a record here of passing emotions, impressions - the things I do, I do & don't take much time to consider. It's a diffeent kind of being alive.
