I took the step through the door and I sat down, dank but homely my butt sank down into the fabric and I felt enclosed, almost trapped inside a place I had always been so avidly against. I watch the smoke whirl out of your mouth white deep smoke beautiful in a quaint or more disturbed way, because I knew that smoke was more than an innocent hit on tobacco more than as addition to tobacco that you couldn't shake. I knew and it alarmed me but mostly it thrilled me like my blood had been spiked with an electricity, your mouth became my complete tease and I wanted to feel it with my own to taste the raspberries you could. I wilted inside when you blew your smoke over me, it caressed me and made me dreamy and quizzical of you, how when we were younger I always had control over you, how you'd admire me and I'd keep you as my friend for sympathy, but I was completely under your charm, lucid light soaked into me.
When you brought it up to my mouth my mind battling with my senses and I inhaled deep my lungs tickled by the essence of joy. I did it for you to watch the smoke leave my mouth so you'd create and attraction alike mine, and that maybe just in that moment we'd be connected in a way that no one else could be. That we could taste the stars burst and catch their ashy glitter in our eyes and hold some back to treasure and keep forever that together we could create beauty with touch, and feel a true happiness that nothing other than this moment could ever bring again. I wanted you and I got you and now you'll stay forever, maybe not because I love you now but I loved you then and that's all that matters.
Ookay ein neues, tAg, new luck. mlycky my oh my this s off to a rocky start. is ninth. there is just no way i can publish this. is a though. and here is another one: yes i can! yes I can yes i motherfuckign can can can. oh my god i did not realise how weak i feel. feel to weak to do anything. so let us write abut being tired and really really explore that sensation / emotion. i feel like pushing the keyboard tabs is like pushing a heavy iron cast bicycle weighing 500 pounds up a steep hill in a paris neighbourhood full of tourists while its raining. it feels like orthography is a word that can only be spelled correctly by a n intellection of the league of leonardo da vince . it feels that every little effort is too big and impossible and bound to be futile in any case. and the weather? well it is really bad. and why does not anyone care in this wonderful city? are they so detached? are they so resilient from a life like this? are they so amazed by all the many little and big and crazy and smart and boring and enticing and uplifting and depressing projects they are working on? there is no way in hell i can bring myself to hit the publish button on this one. this is too much. so it should be done. how did they say the other day? when it's the scariest is exactly when you should jump cause otherwise you get stuck.
so let us go on then and see when we can let go of this utterly terrifyiing perfectionism. how soon and how long till it feels better. i am trying top change the emotion and that is smoothing the teachers of the art always discourage in mediation. and i see hat happens when we obsess and we critics and we go back, we disrupt the flow and we disegnage from the presence and flow is not possibly in the this state of mind because the mind is always one step behind when really we need the mind to be one step had, we need to listen to what it has to say, to what is its telling us write. what is it telling us to write? that it is a bit awkward that i always use the we form instead of the i and why is that now? i think it might be something spiritual or is it not. ? it is this connecction to the others, to the whole world via the god concept . it is also the longing for connection in a sense, that i don't want to feel alone in my shame and my fear and it is hiding from complete genuine vulnerable visibility. and god how brave it is to hit this publish butting with this journal bullshilft of very little artistic value. or so i think and i catch myself and i tell myself: thank you mind for crititzsiing one again but this is not helpful so i will let go of it and i will no longer engage in it casue it is not nearly as beautiful as the power of creation in whiche sway it gets now i am so free and insane i can even make my own grammar? and why is everyignn insane that is not totally coherent wand in line with official dogma of normal? are our minds really thinking that straight all the time i bet they are not, no it is just about shaming this idea that we all have to conform cause we don't. i read other peoples fables here and i am like: really? this is what you call free writing? free from any thoughts and corrections? i doubt it, even the words are capitalised, the punctuation is there. you see, they are trying to be artistic and i am not and that is the art.
Writing against my perfectionism is what I want to do here. Careful though! We ARE not perfectionism. We are someone else. We can think in a perfectionistic manner, we might have perfectionistic habits. But this stuff here is truly out of the depth of my mind, not for other people to read, it is a journal, not a fable. Aha! There we go, self-cesorship. Who cares what people on this website rate my fable? I do, of course. And that is why I should publish it anyways. It is not like it goes under in a flood of other fables, that is the problem, it is really exposed and lonley. To bad I think to myself, because it is an amazing idea this website and it is executed truly beautifully. And of course my bloody email address is linked to my Facebook account so I can be easily identified by just entering my email address into the Facebook search bar and up come will my name. Never go back, never censor, never correct, never hold back. that is true freedom can you feel it ? this is the dance. yes i was never good at dancing and yes i was really really really afraid of dancing alwysy i keep repeating words but now it is on , now it is truly on fire i am wiring it is flowing freedom, not coming back, not correcting just commanding the keyboard taps at the maximum speed possible and not giving a fuck this is liberation kcan you feel the geourges vulnerability.?
what has happened? we will never never know. according to my bank account i am a poor man. and by poverty i mean i cannot afford the peace of mind a man deserved. peace of what? it is more like a war of mind.
this is the existence of the entrepreneur? this is not larry lipman style now, is it. but of course focusing on the negativity like that has never helped anyone.
but who has ever helped anyone. mother theresa comes to mind and i am sure she has. helped herself to a better state of mind. peace of mind, perhaps, perhaps not.
the financial security is just also there for this absence of fear, the freedom from it? who knows.
a man getting paid £1080 and hour in this motherfucking city. it is highly problematic and has never been like that. the hope is fading my brother and i don't like it.
so what are you going to do about it? you pay the therapist and they take another £160 just to make you feel a bit less raped. raped in the ass. and unworthy. and resposible for this complete fucking mess that was nothing but a consequence of a a fucked up life full of good intentions and weak faith. what can you do. start the prayers, i suppose?