Watched Nenette et Boni w/ a new friend

Watched this at the shimmery near-close of a weekend of historical friendly symposiums, friendly as in "relating to friends", relating to friends as in the happiest and most beautiful action, felt a curious and generous re-turn of old earth and old curvature of planet but this time with new knowledge, felt verbal and lush, sentimentary and sedimental, walked back across the bridge, this time totally sober minus kava and imminent earl grey, twin pots at Martha's country bakery (MARTHA: WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT NAME: IT'S HIS MOTHER'S NAME:: so i see the weaving and recurring of this weekend's semiology: which is funny and pleasant), new friends and old lovers which i once walked across the same bridge with, i typed up at the time: we were walking across the Williamsburg bridge together, it was so good, like this would never end, I was incredibly talkative and not embarrassed and interesting, he peed on an M train which was silly but funny and I also peed on one of the intersects between the long two forks of the bridge, he was looking at the wall of the bridge and trying to align the pattern of the net (?) with the bar and feeling good when it aligned, was drinking a 40oz of coors light which I had just had my own tall boy of coors light, discarded on the bridge, then we came back to my apartment and immediately went to my room, we went to bed and he held me tightly...bleak and sad about “what is this all for,” time continuing on, more now just the reminder or shape of the specific feeling and depression I have about time continuing on, not being able to stand it, feeling so dim and meaningless and impossibly trudging to live through and continuing...he wanted to hang out afterward and came to my apartment w/ me (inconvenience) then took his contacts out and next morning had to go home to put in new contacts before going to work again (more inconvenience, seems like proof he likes me/wants to continue seeing me/I mean something to him)...today I felt sure that that is all some dim flicker of illusion, I am again on the carousel of myself in my head, like, wheeling around these thoughts and thought patterns which are damaging and untrue and projected, but then I also have these moments of what seem gleaming and good or which seem to swing wildly or largely in the other direction

Now (Mon Apr 3 12:46 AM) I remember on friday cherishing more than the old lovers these new friends and old friends all continuing and washing across my wall in orange runs of light, i felt very happy, i feel happy today, there will be no kickback for this, no twist in the feeling no tensile weakness which will snap back and form sick emotional recoil, this is no poisonous "good" which requires proof, confirmation, and Going to Retrieve and Recollect. No swings, wildly. I am not drunk tonight. B went to see about a cat today, I am very happy for her, my brother sent me a photograph of some kind of dead bird, i came home happy to see J with her hair wrapped sweetly up and back so she could wash her face, I received heartening missives from G, I will see other friends this week, keep writing, read the books I just bought, I type this very sincere, nervous but ready, in my comfortable and warmly-lit room, seeing a way forward

Update as i un-ail

sickness which seems like a shocking un-ruching and loosening of time, always seeming like some kind of emergency that cannot be come back from, in time, a deadening that since 2020 now seems conjugal with some kind of debt or shame

Seems like a dumb decorative arch over the next few days which cannot be broken or recovered from, until the recovery happens - just took 30ml Nyquil, waiting now for the sensation of gentle wombing out dark sweet/solitary/dead succinate sleepspace, saw Domino with good people who i will call friends, called my brother walking home who with soft open voice told me about his ceramics, felt that i loved him in a very clear and true patch of feeling and told him so, noted that i need to stop feeling so hunted, i am not hunted, no one has been hunting me, need to let go of old canine hunted/ugly The quarter that domino takes and the quarter given back to her by tom Charon waits in the circling desert spiral to top of stratosphere tower Highest point on the strip "we are at 420 feet now and still getting higher" Heads is you live tails is you die Heads is you eat sleep wake up smoke cook walk go to work drink go home from work tap to pay Tails is you flip the quarter and place it over your left eye to fix your astigmatism right eye open to see the sideways horizon line rising left now half-sunk into the afterlife Heads is you

Tired of this pretty dumb little binary prose framework now

Same theses as always there is one unwinding and ongoing and complete thesis

Day by day i must keep the film and the novel pinned anterior in my vision. They are what i care about. Here we go: the balance

Other people, the film, and the novel

And the slow subdermal rhythm (current) of reading the guermantes way

It was getting a little dire

 then i thought: here is the pattern

1. Invitational impetus , to invite possibility of unwanted and currently dormant heterosex in favor of the frenzy, which is calling for sustenance
2. Devoiding the self of own needed alimentary sustenance
3. Feeling paranoid and hating and fearful and resentful and, outstretched and recoiled inward both, w/ itch at the center 
4. Having had calm, nourishment, space, activation, then rest from the activation, time to sit with the self and know what needs to be done, to be made, written, and cut - And all of this frenzy and thought loop a kind of avoidance tactic

Proust is right

Every day is a series of successive sensations and feelings and patch by patch i am differing at 10 pm from 8 pm and now at 1:04 am again different simply about to rest and then wake up and go to flushing to see my father and brother

It is all ok, they are loving and good, she is loving and good, and she is loving and good, and i too

though i have begun, according to some sources, affecting a "brooklynite style vocal fry drawl"

My father is totally honest, he is what he is, says what he says, and has no ulterior or duplicitous self. I told him i would join him at the comedy cellar. and he said, That would be great. and meant it. To bounce this back and take the oppositional natural reaction to this and decide - take things as they are. As they are meant. They are probably meant. it is not up to you to guess what shadows are shifting behind the glass

Within a budding grove

 My own personal noosphere carried from new york to nevada to california and then back again finished in my own personal bed slats of which collapsing on the right side toward the wall, standing in the water in malibu, which i cannot remember what it looked like at all and cannot remember seeing anything clearly, visualizing only the sun continuing to set at the ends of my swinging arc of vision, crying, tearing up and kind of stomping around, affecting a dynamic and coiled little walk, waves coming in with great even force higher and higher up 85% of my jeans so that they were stiff and encrusted wetly at the bottom with flagella of gray sand, with Briana, talking about this book, talking about the Br(i/y)ans, talking about all the sensations of our childhood and recollections now being made ubiquitous as touchpoints for all, software and movies and variations on a franchised theme all shooting up and spreading out a vast miasma encircling us, proust's individual set of trees or locational placement of flowers diluted - not diluted, just spread, like a thinned layer of every-cream, nematodal - into memory made less and less specific, less niche, less personally accessible, all of this an 'endless stream', alex turner, sitting in the car to get ingredients for dinner, discussing with Gabriel the democratized mimicry of alex turners dotting the male landscape everywhere, everyone hair shellacked, everyone with affected swaggering posture, alex himself the own frontman recycled and formulated of the substances of other frontmen, the great Previous element, i learned associative thinking on tumblr, or else the internet came at the exact time i was very alone or i was very alone because of it or at least alongside it, both me and the internet developing, it used to be a little lowercase and shaded blue 'e' with yellow saturnine ring which i believed was the only hole to enter the universe, accessed by a fine and comfortable double-click, now it is everywhere, we are all living constant proustian binocular vision, with one side the actual (if it there is an actual) objective past event, and the other side the new formulation, worldview, perception of me, you, everyone now

or else in middle school i crystallized character, sarcasm, desirable but defensive attributes on my own, internalized and micro-terraformed, outspat in stream of reference, constant re-circulation, memetic language, _____, i learned the rhythm of how to be liked which was to cash in and coin all these constant points and interactive median points of reference, circling back, intertextuality 4ever

and amidst this stream washing over me sitting knees tucked in the rocks and silt of the riverbottom i thought and wrote in utter confounding anger and regret or something else, wrote in my journal: None of my friends would even like me if i wasnt funny, which in a couple of years opening journal back up i would write off as embarrassing pre-adolescent sentiment, and now which many years later i think: i remembered a time before the miasma, i remembered a time before i took it on and swallowed it and threw it back up in my hands, my beating and dying shooting star heart, before i took it in and on forever, i knew there was a "without funny" and a "with funny" and that they were sequentially locked, before and after one another, stacked beside one another on the bookshelf, and that putting the volumes back i was killing one self for another, shellacking over it, re-franchising, changing the own malleable featureless and personality-less face and mind of my own self, i knew that without that known and almost immediate and fast and pretty much alchemical change i was un-liked, dim and beneath to others and myself, i was laying on the carpet of my bedroom, carpet which has been torn up now. there was a fine and dense thin line of trees planted before my window, which grew and overgrew until high school when the light was totally choked out and kept from any sort of rest inside. at that time i think it wasn't high enough yet, there was still this golden sideways light at which oblique afternoon angle post-school was the only time i could get any sort of full communion with it, the light, and i would lay with my head right against the armed and pink hello kitty cushion that was on the squat section of wall right under the window, and whole body out, totally passive and breathing, and would think of a time when i would have a bosom friend like diana to anne sullivan, like helen burns to jane eyre, like the butler to artemis fowl, i would think of knowing love, i would have all these books around me on the shelves and lade into stacks on the leftover area of shelf outward jutting past the bookcase, burning outward into the room with whatever pressing powers they held, i would click the power button of the computer and then of the monitor and watch the familiar and friendly text appear as both booted up, i would open the internet, i would enter fine and diverting and all-encompassing little primitive online worlds, my own digital balbec, in my bedroom in virginia, light sliding down past the window now, trees still growing upwards in illegal but organic obfuscation, maybe all of this is untrue, it is a series of sensations which seem true, i am feeling a complicated and spidery emotion in my chest, spacially and thematically i have taken some liberties here, there is a sustained scraping sound as my mother comes in the room to close the curtains, clip them shut with a clothespin, and turn on the lamp.

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