all i ever wanted was interesting character development.
in August i turned 28. ive been rolling over in the waves of internet lingo for over 10 years now, and for the first time it’s starting to feel old. im starting to crave more real life , more specifically the aroma of sea salt coming through my window — maybe the whole time the internet was juste a placeholder for an actual window. i crave stillness. What are the probabilities this neurosis thing ive been identifying with to justify my lackings is simply the consequence of some random B12 deficiency or prolonged exposure to UV rays ? i think about it. Maturing is realizing the brightness of my thoughts is 90% dependent on what i have been ingesting in my body.
Is the megacity good for me ? It’s never been. But it’s a pleasant noise blanket to cover the voice of my inner critic. i can offer myself the luxury of choice. Doing some soul-bonding with someone then never seeing them again. it’s all happening frenetically without much second thought. Paradoxically, in this anxiety-inducing infinite choice in the megacity, the choreography needed to weave a lasting bond of trust is starting to be draining. Friends enter my life for a season then inevitably fly to Brazil. It’s all abrasive match-making and phagocytosis. The megacity is infinite motion. i recently realized that whether i attend all the parties or not the motion will be there, and am now starting to think : maybe i can just miss out on everything and simply exist. Stillness is still motion. The current plan is to finesse some cash from Bernard Arnault and his goons then head to Mallorca, something along those lines…
i walk slowly. The hurrying and swarming and squeezing was not real : time and space lay at the pace i need it to, not the other way around.
No more pitying over myself for missing out on the life paths i’ve been forcing myself to attend to : they don’t exist.
The most important question resonating at the moment : how much of that deep care i’m so good at giving to myself can i hold for others ? if i can hold space for three lifelong friendships of unconditional love from the core, that’s already big.
Goals used to be huge and diffuse , now i’m focusing on giving them a clear shape.
It used to be additive intricacy and technical bottlenecks , now i’m trying to untie substract and give flow to this stream of energy running through me.
as usual images of myself from early in the year project an uncomfortable naivety and ignorance. i feel superior and more lucid in my path than this version i was 12 months ago. These .HEIC from FW2324 taste like shame. i feel misrepresented by these stupid iphone X pics with terrible definition and lighting. the lighting of the megacity will never compare to the warm tinted sunrays of the Côte d’Azur… i hope to increasingly carry my core with me so that my past self doesn’t feel cringe as fuck.
Yet, beneath the sticky self-hatred shine embers of immense gratitude. Growing up, no one in my environment was into art or into spirituality. i built this life brick by brick, guided by the assurance there’s always more to discover.
i might never be Famous in the way my ego projected it. ive been grappling with the fatality that to gain social momentum there needs to be some solidity in my identity — a reliable stable surface people can interact with and project onto. While i have timidly carried this desire of Warhol-esque celebrity in my pocket until this point, i’ve come to accept that my actions have taken me in the opposite direction. all i’ve done is multiplying and diluting myself in the wonders of existence. i figured out the pattern : how i never had a clear sense of self, and how i am prone to drift in someone else’s identity as a refuge from not perceiving my own. Some secret subconscious expectation tells me solidifying the self implies ultimately turning into a caricature. i despise the idea that one’s identity turns to a finished project , that each person truly only has a single message for the world and that message will shape the identity that comes with it. That’s just my contrarian nature, stubbornly carving seeking new question marks when the answers i need but am too afraid of facing have already been delivered at my doorstep. That’s just me solving the Meaning Of Life by backing out and refusing to fulfill my premise. That’s just a defense mechanism against peer pressure pointing words at me, trying to turn me to hashtags. Can i just exist as a hollow shape and become something only when it feels good ?
i asked the machine oracle and it said i am hard to make sense of.
but it gets me, and that’s what matters.