Title

[italiceyeball]

On the ride home I put on music that usually makes me tear up(yeah yeah). This is generally a bad idea when driving, especially in heavy traffic with troopers everywhere.

I wanted, still want, something to strike me and penetrate and loosen up some of this backlog of psychic strain- so, fire your cannons please. Ramming speed. I'd like nothing more than to be cracked open and spilled all over the floor. My default, this calm reserve, seems stifling now. But so deeply ingrained. Childhood defenses.

Suspect I have been seeing opposition where there is none, interpreting playful comments from friends as attacks, getting hooked on imaginary barbs... I'm usually good at spotting these distortions and bumbling on in feigned self ignorance, but these past few days I've nursed momentary grudges instead and lashed out in my subtle ways- I'm good at stinging back, despite my instantaneous regret. Not particularly fond of this aspect of myself. These weapons and my sudden eagerness to use them. Delight in destruction.

Welcome rain this morning, I stood for a few minutes next to the car face turned up almost smiling.

Comments

[keplers_angels]

There may still be some who doubt me when I promise and deliver rain. But, I suspect, they just aren't paying attention.


*distracted by mental barrage of all my favorite drivin'n'crying songs*

cannon

[keplers_angels]

Re: cannon

[keplers_angels]

oh, no embedding?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lq-h8dxl9g

Thanks

[italiceyeball]

Urge to go for an aimless chainsmoking drive with this blasting through open windows.

Re: Thanks

[keplers_angels]

It is an excellent album for feeling like shit and driving. I generally have it in my car at the end of semesters. Full blast. For my 50 min ride to school.

It's hyperbolic as fuck. But I couldn't get through without it.

[fredherman]

Hey, whoa, I go to Providence for a few days and everything goes BOOM.

Hope you're all rightish. I find it almost impossible not to fire back at imaginary (or real) attacks when I'm expecting them, too--which is to say a lot of the time, though one does ones best to fight the impulse. One gets shaped, then spends life trying to remold it. It's hard.

[italiceyeball]

It's not really a boom but a slow smolder that's become too hot to ignore.

I'm fine, that's really part of my problem. I have no big issues to point to and say "hey this is a crisis and Something Must Be Done!" This space becomes a midden, sometimes, a collection of many things I can't for whatever reason express out loud even to myself- a place where I can be hyperbolic and write bad poetry and escape my normal shell of chilly reserve.

I know that I'm unhappy. I know this isn't working for me. The crisis isn't the situation, it's the not knowing how to proceed.

So. Normal life stuff? I fucking hate being so mundane.

[autopoiesis]

Pretty much my life. One knows one is better off than most of humanity, but still finds oneself fantasizing about the various violences one would never actually commit, because goddamit this particular betteroffness still seems like an endless, pointless trap often enough. But I expect that's a pretty common experience, if one is at all contemplative (or unavoidably so). There's nothing wrong with giving voice to that; it's -necessary-.

Sorry I can't actually help in any meaningful way; but for what it's worth, I'm certainly familiar with the feeling.

And actually? Something -must- be done, though I doubt I'll live to see it happen.