I think the loss of weight of my hair on my brain has somehow helped free the flow. I've been walking along the mildly infamous University Avenue strip, since I had my hair semi-sheered after a two-month presence of the Jewfro, and I've had some clearly interesting thoughts (most of which will take some considerable hammering before I can record them here lucidly.) Now logic from this field experiment would dictate that I should get my head fully shaved for full pressure release. But considering how klutzy a child was, the top of my skull probably looks like the topography of Mars under the hair. For some reason the Post-Auto Accident Kojak look doesn't so appealing. Plus, I'd have to give up wearing my fedora, and I can't do that. If God sees my clearly uncovered head, He will finally notice me as the heretic I am, and I'll get a well-deserved smiting. I know He's been saving up since I had the double bacon-cheeseburger on Yom Kippur when I was 17.
I've been really thinking about solitude. I'm not sure if I am mixing up quietude and solitude, or looking for the former while actually needing the latter, and vice versa. I really need to reexamine my current definitions, as it's apparent that these are two concepts I've defined badly through the years. I believed that social withdrawal was solitude, so I could and justify spending the vast majority of my time alone in the couple comfort zones I've established by habit. My current reevaluation of cannabis use non-recreationally, outside the home comfort zone, has been telling, where I have confused voluntary vegetation with fruitful silence. Quietude is really the most difficult of the two to confront, since I believed for most of my life, I don't know what quiet really is. It's really hard, verbal or written, to describe what it feels like when your head doesn't ever "turn off." There is this hyperawareness of the undifferientated thoughts, perceptions, and intuitions that roil just below the surface of the human mind. I have a compulsion to examine and analyze everything around me in intricate and philosophical way, so that mental morass feels to me heavier than it should be. The surreal disjointed montage dreaming that keeps me from restful sleep, I've taken to be what happens when the body shuts down for the night, and the insomniac mind filters all that unspent energy through itself alone. Notice must be made here for my inability to understand how others think, process-wise.
For solitude, I will have to find some way to maximize seperation to compensate for solitude. I really wish I could rent a cabin in the woods, and such, but my economic and temporal means instruct me otherwise. I just don't want to define any of this absolutely. After I finished my last entry, and went on that walk; I wandered up toward Volunteer Park, and found my way up to the top of the bricked-in water tank, to the observation deck. No one else was up there, and I sat down on a bench facing the central view of the Space Needle, and the bay behind, and I really think I was alone and quiet for those few moments. There I was, surrounded really on all signs of human density, with the noise thereof. Below the tower was a road into the park, so cars roared by, windows down in the Summer heat, and music blasting, and yet I felt a mild serenity, for which any level of peace is rare for me.
In the end, I guess I suffer from the common ailment for fellow Travellers, who after sweating and crying their way from one developmental phase to another, confront the amount of work still ahead, at square one of the newest cycle. I know how pretenscious that always sounds, but hard to describe it otherwise. Then, it is ego that makes this the bitch, since I can't easily face that after everything I've done and learned, it was to get to some place where I had to disown alot of what I did and learned. And I fucking hate feeling wrong. No wonder, this way isn't for everyone, since I've come to believe that most humans fucking hate being wrong.
Just a week in review note here: I did place an ad on the much vaunted craigslist site under "activities," inviting Seattle's freethinkers and apostates for some coffee and consciousness. My one (and only) response so far came from an atheist and Situationalist. Don't that beat all?
I've been really thinking about solitude. I'm not sure if I am mixing up quietude and solitude, or looking for the former while actually needing the latter, and vice versa. I really need to reexamine my current definitions, as it's apparent that these are two concepts I've defined badly through the years. I believed that social withdrawal was solitude, so I could and justify spending the vast majority of my time alone in the couple comfort zones I've established by habit. My current reevaluation of cannabis use non-recreationally, outside the home comfort zone, has been telling, where I have confused voluntary vegetation with fruitful silence. Quietude is really the most difficult of the two to confront, since I believed for most of my life, I don't know what quiet really is. It's really hard, verbal or written, to describe what it feels like when your head doesn't ever "turn off." There is this hyperawareness of the undifferientated thoughts, perceptions, and intuitions that roil just below the surface of the human mind. I have a compulsion to examine and analyze everything around me in intricate and philosophical way, so that mental morass feels to me heavier than it should be. The surreal disjointed montage dreaming that keeps me from restful sleep, I've taken to be what happens when the body shuts down for the night, and the insomniac mind filters all that unspent energy through itself alone. Notice must be made here for my inability to understand how others think, process-wise.
For solitude, I will have to find some way to maximize seperation to compensate for solitude. I really wish I could rent a cabin in the woods, and such, but my economic and temporal means instruct me otherwise. I just don't want to define any of this absolutely. After I finished my last entry, and went on that walk; I wandered up toward Volunteer Park, and found my way up to the top of the bricked-in water tank, to the observation deck. No one else was up there, and I sat down on a bench facing the central view of the Space Needle, and the bay behind, and I really think I was alone and quiet for those few moments. There I was, surrounded really on all signs of human density, with the noise thereof. Below the tower was a road into the park, so cars roared by, windows down in the Summer heat, and music blasting, and yet I felt a mild serenity, for which any level of peace is rare for me.
In the end, I guess I suffer from the common ailment for fellow Travellers, who after sweating and crying their way from one developmental phase to another, confront the amount of work still ahead, at square one of the newest cycle. I know how pretenscious that always sounds, but hard to describe it otherwise. Then, it is ego that makes this the bitch, since I can't easily face that after everything I've done and learned, it was to get to some place where I had to disown alot of what I did and learned. And I fucking hate feeling wrong. No wonder, this way isn't for everyone, since I've come to believe that most humans fucking hate being wrong.
Just a week in review note here: I did place an ad on the much vaunted craigslist site under "activities," inviting Seattle's freethinkers and apostates for some coffee and consciousness. My one (and only) response so far came from an atheist and Situationalist. Don't that beat all?
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