Experiential Oddity

I don’t know if this post is going to go up. Do you know how many drafts I have sitting in my folder right now? I’ll start a post and if it doesn’t carry forward, hold any weight, I have to let it go, let it quietly sit in a hidden section of my blog. It’s weird to think about that section because there are flashes of ideas that I liked, ideas that I would like to revisit or expand upon, but most of the time they fade into the background.

It’s close to 1am on a Saturday. It’s a weird time to be doing an entry but I’ve been wanting to experiment with late night writing. This past spring I would drink coffee at 8 or 9pm on a Friday and try to be creative. Usually this would fall flat and I would wind up staying up until 3am with nothing produced. I like that I’ve been doing MDMA though, it’s helping with my focus and calm in the grand scheme of things. I wish I could give my parents drugs to make them see, but sometimes people feel safer being blind.

I hate the way I live sometimes because I’m such a feeler, I feel everything. When guys are initially attracted to me I think they’re expecting a good time. Then they get close and realize I’m deeply tethered to reality, and in the same way they are, in a way that they are hoping to escape. Sometimes I wonder if the pursuit of instagram girlies isn’t so much the pursuit of sex or beauty inasmuch as it’s the pursuit of an illusion, the absence of feeling. A safety from reality.

I was at a party having a conversation about bitches, how some men love bitches, women that could stomp on their balls. He told me he thought it was sexy, but then would invariably try to tame her. I argued that his pursuit of the bitch wasn’t about wanting to experience a specific feeling but rather to escape. Her emptiness became his excuse to remain unconnected. The more of a shell she was, the less he would ever have to feel. Her hardness represented his power. Feeling reminds us of our insignificance, the way the passage of time can break us, our mortality.

I get it though. Emotions can fucking suck. I’ve felt some really fucking awful ones, the ones that make you wonder if your life has any meaning, if the things that happened to you will be all that you will ever be. Those are the ones we tend to run from and they’re my favorite. There’s never an answer to those questions, just a change in direction, an acceptance. Regardless of what has come to pass, it will not continue anymore.

What can a man say about woman, his own opposite? I mean of course something sensible, that is outside the sexual program, free of resentment, illusion, and theory. Where is the man to be found capable of such superiority? Woman always stands just where the man’s shadow falls, so that he is only too liable to confuse the two. – Carl Jung