Belated birthday post publish (1/10/23 3:15 AM, while digitally high)

 Darth Vader comic on my birthday!

 It seems to be the linear a slow muddling back when recognizable individual units e.g. these are the characters, media bars, images i take ownership of, i see them referenced (reference is important relational concept of Child Life) and recombobulated and feel low primate thrill of: Me, recognition

Now nothing even as unit-able or found or separable as Proustian madeleine cookie dipping into the tea, almost something post-dip , the post- act of dissolution , cookie already mostly dissolved or else tea cold and set in the sink, to be washed, and all recognition lies in the sly,and slippery: Nuance

so that something that once felt as exciting as seeing a known: Darth Vader, reproduced and in differing form and with unfamiliar style overlaid, was just turning the AM wheel on new Retekness to several stations in <180 degree arc each with mounting and attenuating bed of thin classical music beneath, touchingly

What i mean to say is that I am 24 today, i am older, more mature, and that the simple frenzied joy or activation of the past which hinged on a passionate rabid and voluntary taking-on of node of "IDENTIFICATION" has now become or continues to become silvery, sensual, soft, and based on loose boundary-less centers of variable unknowns

And i transferred that feeling to this common one now or is it not directly equivalent. saw my parents, thomas, thomas's friend edison today, felt a great love towards him and everyone and felt some same Though all seems strange and absurd and i forgot i resolved to view it as such Some things feel safe and known or not known themselves but turning the knowing back on everything else which has been found strange and known-ing them like the known structure of how to do things.. In the specific family unit or culture, the way things are done, tradition, etc. like just a tradition of interacting in a certain way with "    's friend,     " pre-registered schoolboy innocence and slight distance of relief

Yes, honeydew cartridge, even word 'Chinese' becomes verb action of relating to and acting towards things

Series of 3 dreams recorded

Some kind of uncanny multi-platformed tilting sky=barge which required feeling of ID, loss of security, to enter, seat taken, woman leaving, but already detaching from dock, too late, me and mother, seat 24, hill that was giving the impression of being very almost play-doh Kelly green and spring-like, me running over it, sort of fast many-framed movement up and slanted, Brian Jones , the massacre being of many women across times where he has faded out of existence to continue somewhere else in a different time at the next one, me, some south Asian tropical older woman, etc., but feeling empathy, , forgiveness, an attenuated and sexless unphysical dream attraction, before that the moon shaped pool-colored silvery dream of personal birthday party, w/ all guests, B and E both present, and it all being OK, some kind of chimpanzee/ape writhing around forward and a walk down in the dream, at the mall, and it being offered to me as to pet, me refusing, saying something purposefulyl funny, couldn’t I give it (hand gesture) something ____ or a ____, cant remember the words, but did upon first glimpse of waking up after that first dream

Hey its ALL OK

Swann still in love

Trajectory changed with his entrance Him lapping at the possible shores of both Finite and Infinite, which are not opposite to each other but which lay continuous on one shifting particulate sandbar, massaging pattern of scales in the imac screensaver, which i look at for a long time being the entire time completely aware i have a face and measuring what the face is doing, then turn around to see he is looking at me, whether w/ aim or not

At the rave was falling asleep and wished to fall asleep in order to arrive faster at the point of re-entry-forbidden terminus, anticipating and probing at him detachedly, carefully,for him to see me and retrieve

Tired of writing this or feel this inadequate as response/action to daylong pressure/compulsion to catalogue. Japan is cooler than china and feels more significant as aesthetic texture to attach to because japan has been more successful at creating massive and silvery amounts of narrative (must think of more precise word than narrative) so there are small clean shreds of it everywhere to take on

The loci which i used to take on as narrative pressure points and effective many orbitable poles of obsession now seem... now seem? sun coming up now which is kicking up a light current of dread. sky lightening at the same speed it was darkening earlier today, which effected same dread. I started hurrying to leave to avoid the feeling of being unwelcome

On the steps after testing for tape stopper in currently key-inaccessible door he sat down for parliament and remained unreadable. i was very melancholy, present, mentally sidestepping thoughts of nuisance, unwelcome, guilty, ridiculous, stupid, awareness of externally in-projected "sad relationship narrative",  receptors set to symbol and care, he was nauseous and seemed very sad and his eyes were bulbous/red/wet, actually remembering now any possible unwanted thoughts were muffled: inert and buried in a thick cloud cover of 

The sky is very pretty right now, 7:12ish am

Just felt slightly better, had thought: it will all come as it comes

Today on the roof felt OK or at least was in mindset to reassure both me and him of resident and incoming OKness

Always feel very lucid and then look back at measurable described actions and don't even feel that i did them. I feel i am not me there is no me. there are my actions and a loose circulatory network, which materializes in the room for a second, contorts, and disappears

Increasingly digitally high now 

Which is a relief

Sky even prettier than the last time i looked, all pink and blended

7:19 Am now

Got into bed first when he got in he held me and i felt totally good, temporarily immediate, fearless - or not 'fearless' which seems to connote an actual distinguishable state or feeling, but more "a total lack of fear"

OK i fell asleep and just woke up again i am typing at this laying in bed after 3rd night of little sleep in a row and feeling the edge of the somewhat diagnosable frenzy

I remember sitting between the wall and the floor with head tilted up, looking at a little machinery square sachet cutting across or plucking a series of strings of light

Off S Ave and walking back he spoke out of our shared nonverbal states and said in a genuine and slightly compressed way that he had found what i said upon seeing him earlier resonant, and reciprocated. I laughed a little (barely conscious and still probablyworking a sizable core effort at avoiding guilt, embarrassment) and said i was glad it was resonant. This response seemed incorrect so I described my highly inactive brain function due to  and added"but I hear you. Youre a good one,       " and patted him on the back which was returned

We sat on the stoop for a long time and he looked at a fixed point when he got up he reached out and i took his hand and some old part of my brain thought: "proof" at the rave i thought "proof" the times i stood apart and he came over and was suddenly with me and I felt With

at one point he came and sat with me (both lateral movement and significant lowering, ultimate state-change) and I thought, it starts now, this is time-marker, anything before this on this night I will not take as definitive locus, as source of fear

the trajectory remains changed forever, I still love him too much, he picked the lock w/ a series of movements invisible to me standing lower on the stairs and removed the alarm box and used it as a battering implement to ram the door open for me. Proximity, heat, and weight, cortisol, touch, I kept starting to cry, all the photos were changed, before christmas he handed it to me, pointed satisfiedly at where had put my photos back up, the first time he did he had said, They remind me of what we made together, I remember that but they were all replaced by photos of her, there were more of her up, the strings are all touching each other and knotting up together, i am going to go take a shower now, i am already 1 hour late and will be later still, i wonder how this would have been different if i had felt able to type it in the privacy of a word document and keep it for myself, his figure at the edge of the roof at the truncation of gentle slope downward, toward s the southwest the building is almost finished now, for a long time it stood wallless and lit up in a very blue, very white series of naked lights, i looked at the sun sliding between low (cirrus?) pilled cloud cover and building-furred horizon for a long time and then blinked and kept blinking and in order to continue looking at sun afterimage had to keep shifting eyes slightly rightward which would move the imprint itself so that it seems to be moving horizontally in rapid succession, towards some faraway true north, on some faraway beach

The clouds just opened and the sun is low enough now to come in on a direct fuzzy slant straight onto the eyes area of my face. i can barely see the screen. i'm going to stop here

Pushing past the droll..

 ..Tobe true

Seems like I write all of my posts at around this exact time... I am going to sleep with pecan pie in my teeth, and also with jeans on. Just opened up a worrisome email, text, etc. in different but highly proximate tabs and then felt a brief experience of stress that seemed inescapable and as if trapped in a loop from tab to tab. Tab, fear, tab, fear, tab, fear, Back the other way, loop. Wanted to give this a droll or ironic-ish title, like, "Pretty depressed", and also planned on making my next post a discussion on the self-feeding narrative of anorexia, can't remember much about what I wanted to type for that now except a vague and basic image of some silvery mist, sheen, scarf-like and floating above the head of a clutching woman

A clutch of a woman, a clutch of woman, interesting alternatives. I am always looking for alternatives. I finished Swann's Way yesterday morning. The whole day after that seems moot, or else I forget it. For the minute I was looking up the recorded date of completion I was convinced that it was this morning, that I finished the book this morning before moving forward to Watchmen and then getting on the Metro-North. So a whole day could have stayed lost in that easy, momentary little cranial blip, before informational access...

Feel a slightly removed bleakness. Like not one that is native to me but which sits in the room in a heavy layer under the atmosphere, should I wish to reach out and kind of touch it a little. Feel like "Swann in Love". Have been and am that lover. Feel a hair of anesthetization, from others and from "myself". Body is uncontrollable. Seems hopeless. Wish to gain total control over it, myself, my thoughts, my urges, usage-impulses, fears, reactions, will power. Worried I convince myself the happy narrative which is just complacency and dissociation and that the real pattern is dark, venomous, and somewhat vicious, and long.

Brief, interesting christmas memory or dream

• Former Jof(ph?)er Joseph forest on right now some flat culled stream and flat eggy pebbles
•  potted plant, deep luminous but flat green like a sheet of resin w/ core light emanating but rough surface dullness, walls gray or also greenish - seemed suddenly like a core memory or deeply needed and affective memory carried for a long time
• fax machine, white paper piping out of one, accountancy? li Tong and Zhang Jing in a room - Whiff of child scandal, Gentle mental presence of what was mostly unknown and unseen imagined impropriety
• Whole space feeling imagined - could be a dream, rows of machines, unsure set on what, when imagined the fluorescent light dulls flattens and becomes a photon-less matter of cranium
• The entire space held in the head in the soft shaded grayscale of mind
• in some office which also feels imagined now - strange foreshortened landmarks of water cooler, same kind of plant, or maybe exact same plant, plant which is the hinge of these two memories, some building that driven past i would see the room stand out and isolate itself it felt like a scale model and when i think now it s yellowy 
• Business A sensed strain of needling insurance, loan or car, some canned or pleasurably new air, it was all new, being corralled into the room, so totally limited and immature and toddling... With death not even a thought not even on GP...

Babylon 2022

At the moment of death the entire juicy miasma --- of a hundred filmic narratives worn and taken on ----drops/snaps back inwards/dissipates/vanishes and you double back down on your own old ethnic narrative of american self-actualization... I am mexican I am immigrant i dont want to die i am clark gable dying shortly after several pained smiles i am montgomery clift getting back on the horse i am chinese black circus freak rateater i am loogie made human and physical I am gay Column of phlegm gal pal anna may wong i am gary cooper gene kelly don lockwood i am lina lamont i am Pre- and post- buccal fat removal margot robbie i am an occasional vomiter i am getting off the horse. I am leaving the great protoplasmic Angeleno carapace. I am a movie that is the length of time and pure clumsy narrative running liquid backwards in jerked skein forwards looping - movie which is literally shit out of itself which is birthed in great balls of animal waste and then proceeds to interpolate its own score, I go lay flat on my bare gessoed canvas life the canvas is naked at birth then gessoed with afterbirth (the first narrative, formed of genotype phenotype and context and occurrence, is being a baby) i texture it over with translucent globs of movie paint i walk and carry it with me like Music which is emotional sensory decoration of time. Even the sort of trumpet blasts of near-stupidity this movie sometimes blows out in forceful and effortful puffs are tucked in and ugly and texture and part of it and moving and necessary probably. Man having a breakdown scene bent down over a table with face hidden from viewer. Taking a beat before leaving the scene. Three or four scenes ago an actual scene being made inside of an already-made scene. damien chazelle who is present in nepotted wooden son max minghella format proceeds to take critical Cultural Conversations around la la land and take them and actually think about them and work them around in ways elegant and morally neutral into a tender response... Some actually tasteful racial stuffs here, which are somehow accessions and reproductions of a million extant sensory narrative triggers but also which are genuinely touching.. It occurs to me that this is modern scarface the only way scarface could be made 'Today' with all applicant textures and sheens of the Time. None of us last and none of our lives have anything happen have any spikes or any individual sparkle they are empty canvas gessoed then textured by narrative overlays and the miasma shooting up the collective iCloud and uCloud and allCloud up overhead arching the silvery sheen which we all take on and are allowed to take on and cannot stop from taking on, consumerism is taker-on-erism, drone or crane overhead shot of th ewhole complex and people become sheets of linked speckles with repetitive same patches of -core, aesthetics, visual indicators of imagined lives made visible, I texture my canvas over again with this pure optimistic morally neutral but un-empty apocalypse w/ all logistical and slapstick and semiotic symbolic scenic "cinematic" trappings. Phoebe tonkin peepee-ing on an uncurbed man. And concurrent then subsequent recognition, excitement, invocation of myth. The Devil Tobey Maguire. The crass and genuinely silent film sensibility of margot robbie Silly and always somehow true performing like a dense pygmalioned layer of fat skimmed from starlet broth surface. Like the nodal opposition to julia roberts's horrible sharky lacuna performance of a person in pretty woman. An empire transmuted which begins w/ a writhing sheet of people that are nakedly gay and colored and godless but jubilant and free from either the hallowing or smiting power of 'Morals' and then who are sublimated into a shifting Linq casino system of hidden and repressed and revealed and rotting moral transgressions. Many children of incest and capital here . Slapstick which ends in death before fade out to next scene but no one really dies, there will be another scene just like it, conversations will be had again 

The ending being the four primary people-nodes of the movie finally being reduced to unfiltered Selves, free of all flapping trappings of SYMBOL, as the entire film -- film which is just monied and complex color and light -- drops and snaps back inwards and does something so random and then in the center of that sly loud mix dissipates and condenses to their bare pixels of unmixed hue. Like a live-action end of evangelion AMV hinged on the moment the guy throws deuces up at the camera. Audience w/ audience, audience lit red, green, blue, yellow, movie broken down to its lowest particle format then stretched out to screen-width. Narrowing and widening and re-narrowing and widening and winnowing and flooding over and over and over again. I will make my own movie. I will keep interpolating my own score. i will walk myself in a rich private silence to someone else’s apartment then come back to my own then go to sleep then wake up again. i will get groceries with my mother. i will go to the multiplex at the mall with my father and brother. i will have a conversation with a friend. there were and are and will be hundreds of conversations just like it. all of this has happened before and will happen again in hundreds and thousands of iterations ad infinitum i will die and really be dead i will not be dead for real though i will be sitting in the theater in the dark, with a always-carried and rising and blooming and growing silvery bubble above me, i will be accessing it at my leisure, i will be powerless to untether it, i would be naked or fucked or dying or nothing without it, i will be at the movies I am at the movies I am "making a movie" i will make a movie i will not make a movie i will never make a movie it is enough to walk around and carry "i am making a movie" with me i am i am i am one of 100s 1000s millions all movies are the same this is better and denser than most we dip our hands into the Lethe en masse then step back outside into the multiplex then into the body of the mall then into the vaguely digestive and nearly material scent still-standing in the food court then onto the sky bridge then we are falling over the railing-less side of it through the cold empty space between anus and toilet water then we make impact and open our collective ocular network to see we are on the back of some lush flying creature with our arms wrapped around the Na'vi waist of Jake Sully who is so smooth and beautiful it hurts to love him

 

 

 

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I maintained yesterday

 that it was scentless like a recent purchase but now after having had a hot shower in the pale green luminous cocoon of 'home' it seems completely he-ed, B-ed, spiced, wooded, like the white pine car freshener looped and swinging from one corner of the overhead light (i assume it's fluorescent bc its never been on) as

 

if now that all extant and previous smell in its sort of constant format that is: own personal wreath has been removed and there is a... Deodorish, soapy, but complex like under-ness of something incense-like

Not my own incense

The scent exists in patches and even where it does exist it's uneven in generated blurry overlay

Patches now become slivers fading from access as i put my face into the fabric repeatedly in service of Description always in service of DESCRIPTION! kind of like but not at all because i don't recognize that or her as the self or now in comparison of the current "self" with that one i just felt curiously suspended myself from the corner of some permanently un-lighted light OK kind of like, and this is analogue only in physical action and "memory" and him as unwieldy and lasting linch-pin... Me pinned to my bed, only able to kind of wriggle back and forth, catching patches of scent in pre-stained desaturated pink/coral ikea bedsheets which now i know was some heady mix of personal glands (glanded personal is a funny verbal re-sequencing, note) and old spice timber, i remember thinking     I’ll move thorugh the coastsliding Felt nearly nothing being held by B, multiple chemical hazes about the extent of what veils and wreathes thinly (?) finely (?) not wreathes, how to say when a fine transparent net(ting) lays movably over my warm terrific body…    What do I recognize as my self now?I had until i think "now" "presently" seen this entire stretch of 15 months as a level board balanced with no real upward growth or even forward movement just a recursive pattern of same and sad but now it teeters

Weeell i am different but i also dont understand how or who i am right now alone in my oldest room with 4+ walls paling green at me within them I am here and without a workable definition contoured by and in relation to other people

I am wearing it, the gift. last night dreamt in a series of slapstick situations that i would wake up from or less wake up from than dart out from under for what seemed to be lightless and faraway glimpses of my window, each time noting that the sky was still dark so i probably hadnt missed the bus home yet. then falling back in. B beside me totally asleep and shuddering. B on the other side of the ridge, across the slightly raised cleave in borough, probably also totally asleep, mouth turning outwards slightly, contained in body, in his own private and silent inner self, own dim  uneasy dreamworld, no red line under dreamworld but yes red line under dreamt, body not connected from anything or spreading out over anything as when i imagine or access the thought of it as if he was some kind of long, ambitious shellac of thought and texture more than person, well.... Personed..... All writing about him feels the same... Body hitching in its/his own personal sleep, the hot funk of that small column of scent coming out in puffs... Like some kind of piston extending itself up then down and back into again in oppositional action potential and kinetic energy both dangling from the same end of the previously level board now teetering towards not even one end but one corner in 3 dimensional sinkage

Waiting on upload which is happening in a flat sheet of retina display in midtown like a dimensionless puppet which i am tugging at from over here where i am

Will think more about the texture etc. of this long fatty body of "Year" tomorrow when i have had some sleep

I hear chatter in my head  and its in my mothers voice with full timbre but no sound Then one bar of electro swing