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Feb. 13th, 2019 10:27 pmAgatha sits in her wingback chair & I sit on the couch next to her & she's saying "do you wanna watch something?" I'm down to watch something & tell her so. So she goes through titles on Amazon. I'm writing on my laptop & only partly attentive. She reads the descriptions off to me as she mulls over what we should watch. "Follow the lives of image obsessed workaholics." I look up just a little and say "Hah, I remember when I used to be that way." And she laughs a little but nervously & says: "I'm glad I never met you then."
I go back to writing and listening. We end up on Howl's moving castle & I tell her about my ideas concerning the wizard-father in the story we've been telling together. Ideas. We're working on it together in an easy, pleasurable way. I really did used to be that way didn't I? It seems like a dream.
I get a text just about then that reminds me it was true.
I don't want to answer. Valentines. I've had better ones than that - though it was a good one. Once I got married on valenitne's day. I think on it. Agatha. You know maybe you're the reason I'm not image obsessed and workaholic. Maybe. Probably not.
Lately I think about it. About presentation & what it is to be an idea to another. Lately I'm distant. The other - others, I don't like them, or dislike them. I don't... care. I don't care more and more. I don't need others. That's a place - I mean - I do - obviously need other people. It'd be hilarious to see me flail uselessly without the vast global supply chain, sure. But that authentic need isn't the need I mean really. There's an idea that a thing isn't worth doing without having people to see it or know about it. That's lost on me, as time goes by. There's no more need for regard. This comes from a weird place in the self.
Somewhere I fell off of what amounts to the proper path & the correct deportment of the self. The self as mirror of the other & the interaction with the other. I fell off or into? I... Maybe this is pure & wicked narcissism. It occurs to me that it is just as I refuse to acknowledge it as such.
Somewhere I thought I'd shear off the need for connection & delve into the self as project & the work of forging an identity formed of substance & depth. Character. I'm persuaded that this isn't a destination but an ongoing work an endless labor that's it's own reward. The further down this path I've gone - of being my own hero, the less I've sought or desired approval & it's a weird place to be. I imagine I'm basically insufferable to be around but I might be delightful too? I don't know. I don't know. Connection isn't impossible or inaccessible, but it's undesirable - that's the question that's impossible to answer if you're in isolation & enjoying it. I mean, everyone likes me so, you know - it's fine.
I'm maybe thinking about what the next thing is. In the bathroom is understanding comics. Agatha left it. There's secret levels of development, growth as an artist. That's part of what he's got to say. I wonder about that. Novel things - I obsess over them & fear being derivative, too derivative - right? It demonstrates too deep a need for the other - for creators & also for an audience.
I go back to writing and listening. We end up on Howl's moving castle & I tell her about my ideas concerning the wizard-father in the story we've been telling together. Ideas. We're working on it together in an easy, pleasurable way. I really did used to be that way didn't I? It seems like a dream.
I get a text just about then that reminds me it was true.
I don't want to answer. Valentines. I've had better ones than that - though it was a good one. Once I got married on valenitne's day. I think on it. Agatha. You know maybe you're the reason I'm not image obsessed and workaholic. Maybe. Probably not.
Lately I think about it. About presentation & what it is to be an idea to another. Lately I'm distant. The other - others, I don't like them, or dislike them. I don't... care. I don't care more and more. I don't need others. That's a place - I mean - I do - obviously need other people. It'd be hilarious to see me flail uselessly without the vast global supply chain, sure. But that authentic need isn't the need I mean really. There's an idea that a thing isn't worth doing without having people to see it or know about it. That's lost on me, as time goes by. There's no more need for regard. This comes from a weird place in the self.
Somewhere I fell off of what amounts to the proper path & the correct deportment of the self. The self as mirror of the other & the interaction with the other. I fell off or into? I... Maybe this is pure & wicked narcissism. It occurs to me that it is just as I refuse to acknowledge it as such.
Somewhere I thought I'd shear off the need for connection & delve into the self as project & the work of forging an identity formed of substance & depth. Character. I'm persuaded that this isn't a destination but an ongoing work an endless labor that's it's own reward. The further down this path I've gone - of being my own hero, the less I've sought or desired approval & it's a weird place to be. I imagine I'm basically insufferable to be around but I might be delightful too? I don't know. I don't know. Connection isn't impossible or inaccessible, but it's undesirable - that's the question that's impossible to answer if you're in isolation & enjoying it. I mean, everyone likes me so, you know - it's fine.
I'm maybe thinking about what the next thing is. In the bathroom is understanding comics. Agatha left it. There's secret levels of development, growth as an artist. That's part of what he's got to say. I wonder about that. Novel things - I obsess over them & fear being derivative, too derivative - right? It demonstrates too deep a need for the other - for creators & also for an audience.
