acreage. magick. cloggage.
my arteries have been and are clogged, forced up, blockaged, closed with fear, double consciousness, a self-image that I spend so much energy trying to fix into place, instead of letting it flap loose in the wind, anchored at a single point, like a pirate flag
self-image flapping like a pirate flag. at what point do I just let it go? and would that mean to let my real self blossom? or would that mean to lose a kind of myself?
is this a place to be completely, brutally honest with myself?
I need a self log. for a long time this place was a self log. but I think I need a self log that is absolutely and completely mine.
but. what if I was just completely brutally honest here? i have students and friends and old lovers and sisters and parents and family members occasionally reading. there are tactical and strategic decisions. will these moments distort the frame of reference that I am normally in? I usually write on provolot:words at particularly contemplative moments, when there's some mysterious energy in my body that can only leave every few days, or few weeks, or few months, and I feel the need to vent, vent, exhort, here. sometimes I look at the frequency of these sharings and wonder what they mean in my life. what was going on when I was just writing, nearly every month? how do life forms shape you into different kinds of beings you grow up? have I become a person that hardly reads for pure pleasure, who doesn't write here?
who my core self is, that's blocked: the read a lot, be romantic, walk a lot, take photos, feel a lot, tremble in the warm wind. the swept away by nostalgia for the present, wondering who I am, thinking about deep dark nights, feeling the tempo of the street. it's like emotion leaking from all of my pores creating a mist around me because a central way in which it could leave was blocked. romantic boy, thoughtful and intelligent, moving through the world with a calm fierceness, a soft but unyielding determination, curious and friendly, always wanting to help.
courage to feel the things I feel
confidence to really realize the things I do not want, and to put my full weight behind a conviction, nimbly and fully.
calm and solid disagreement with the things I feel should not be done by others in the world, that stealing, lying, being dishonest, hurtful, negligent, dismissive, are the ways my experience of racism has manifested in the united states of america by my white friends
so much to talk about. how to talk about race. how to deal with cardboard people. how to watch them crumple under the weight of their emotions. how much gender and race collide under the racial hierarchy and a power hierarchy, intertwined. it's like there's actually an axis and a logic of shittiness in a multidimensional space. race is one projection of this axis, one component, but it's a Primary Component, perhaps The Primary Component, right next to gender, The Other Primary Component
holding myself. what kind of self do I wish to be, to recuperate, to discover?
what would it mean to be competely myself, totally naked?
presence and groundedness in the ways that I wish to be.