One fear… leads to another (another) (leads to)
Is it possible to choke on nothing. It’s not nothing tho. It is fear. Eerie fuckinn fear. And me. I am reading this Jim Morrison quote like somebody slap me. Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.
Okay. I thought I did that. I walked thru the fires of Hell, facing down my past. And yea that worked and it set me free from that which had been destroying me only…
One fear… leads to another. Cause now that I’m in my new incarnation I’ve reached a new place, a place that asks me to go deeper into the darkness, inside out. Not outside in. Not back into Hell but rather, how is it the process of purification is to dance with my demons again. Fox trot, muthafuckas.
I’m about to crawl into bed with Mailer. His bulky old ass comforts me even tho. Well damn. He knows, he knows this fear. Craft protects one from facing endless expanding realities—the terror, let us say, of losing your novel in the depths of philosophical insights you are not ready to live with.
Philosophical, yes, but even more terrifying than ideas is the intensity of the feeling that calls them into being. Ideas exist, in my mind any way, to mediate that which we understand as sentient beings. Were we numb to everything, ideas would mean nothing because who would need thought; who would need understanding for the confusion and horror and pain of existence.
I know The Cat has ideas but they are purely pragmatic; how to get what she needs in order to function (miao whut, she be sayinn). But me, I don’t need ideas to function; I need them to numb me to feeling. Ideas, ha ha, ideas are simply a balm to Being.
When does it end? Death. Yep. I mean, for me anyway. I feel like, other people have some capacity I do not; they can turn themselves off. They can dial it down. They can compartmentalize. They can cover up and disassemble and they can live with their lies.
I did this. For a long fuckinn time. But… nothing fails like success. So now, I’m here like… I have to write. But. But it’s agony. Last nite in my dreams, a thousand besos from Mr. Brown to soothe me as I slept. And, wow, that was nice. Only, I am awake and alone and on edge. When will I write about puppies and flowers and happy endings…