> Stuff is the bane of existence. It locks you and restrains
> you and limits you. Real things like end tables and
> couches. But also elemental things that transcend. Friends,
> lovers, haters. They all are stuff. They can hold you
> either willingly or you make feeble attempts to break
> free. Nothing works though. You are chained by your stuff
> Bill says.
The heaviest stuff of all – indeed, that to which the rest clings like psychological iron filings – is notion of self.
Lose that, and the rest falls away without a fight.
> I don't want to sit here and belabor the point, but;
> Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Snapchat, even
> Mastodon, Pixelfed, and Pleroma – you name it –
> they all have addictive, time-consuming, anti-creative
> properties built into their service(s), and you should
> abandon them immediately.
All “stuff” per the above....
> But I find when I say or do something a tad off, I see a
> micro-expression of disdain, confusion. Our relationship
> is in total jeopardy for that millisecond.
My coworkers have been chatting up a storm during my typing this into existence. But I get said micro-expressions right and left, too, leaving me thinking more about micro-expression avoidance than how to fit into their flow when they rev the chat engine to a glow.
> I think that's the big reason why I write. To be immersed
> in worlds and relationships of my own creation. Because in
> those worlds, I don't have to fit in. I'm not part of that
> world like I am in this one. I can set the standards, the
> conditions for what's normal and odd there. In this world,
> I can control what I find normal and odd, but that will
> never 100% match with what larger society finds normal
> and odd.
Yeah, I get that. But then one micro-moment of realization it's all my doing somehow drains its value – as though fitting into others' worlds is somehow “more real”, or some such.
So, like anything else, it's fine until doubt that is shows up uninvited.
I felt that way about this place, even, yesterday afternoon – as though having awoken from a strange, delusional dream.
And so now to I wait somewhat impatiently for a fresh shipment of delusion to make it all better, to chip away the rough edges of doubt, Vaseline the lens, a touch of reverb here, a tad of compression there.
Anything but confuckingsensual reality....