Basically an image of a driving car all of sudden floating in midair. Wheels spinning to a stop strangely from lack of friction and road. Or maybe just the driver realizes there’s no reason to. The driver surveys slowly. Slow breathing.

“Please, tell me what should I do now that I know myself.” “you know I don’t give a damn now that I can do anything I want.”

I try for virtuous actions, I try to do altruistic group-oriented things, at work at least, in order, just, to keep myself busy. “Every man must have an occupation.” Something about justifying smoking.

Although, it’s unfortunate also to see the parallel with my lawn mowing days. I didn’t want to touch a mower when I got home. I made my sisters and mom do it. that’s some cold shit.

and I had forgotten that I believed in magic. In the magic within the crayon and the person. Something about college. Having to assess the situation. And somehow I was able to endure what I hated about college in the end, by posing as one of them. And then forgetting I was posing.

And I miss the way I used to understand music. It was completely something that was given. Like mana from heaven. Like very much so. I was not the one to search for it. It was given and I was grateful. So genuinely and humbly grateful.

So why do you believe in magic?

Why? No reason. For a lark, I believe.

So I, So maybe I have gotten as deep as I have because, relatively because, I was more interested, in its most neutral sense and/or in both a good and bad way, in my personality. Had I abandoned it sooner, out of disgust, out of guilt, out of insecurity, out of simple disinterest, I can imagine I would have been picking up and discarding the ones I saw laying around to be handled often.. and never quite delved into one long enough to find what’s beneath the personality. Which leads me to wonder what all is beneath...

(Though, really, this is just an interesting possibility. In reality, I think I simply wasn’t interested in my own personality, unimpressive in every way, and it was because of this and my inner certainty that I would be doomed to it for the rest of my life, that caused me to pursue it in the way I did. I guess I tried to “live my whole life in six and half years or so.” I wanted to hasten its and my life cycle by pursuing its judgment day. Which lead me to what is beneath. (Somewhat malleable moving parts. The all seeing inner eye of judgment which foresaw its own judgment.)

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doing my job makes my job easier.

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I think my burning will become more of an extreme spring cleaning. Even though I was afraid of this, it seems to be a natural step in some better progression. Most of the stuff I’ve written is convoluted thought that sort of lends itself to become kindling for the few moments in which I write something that seems like it wants to sail on, intertwine, mingle and become lost and anonymous within the endless age of past and present thought. That, I will not burn. Not yet. Not until the thoughts themselves have etched themselves into my bones. Then I will break the molds. And one day the slate will dissolve, letting out one last mute breath.

This is the way I run my course, leaving no spirits or specters behind, saying nothing of the endless age and its freedom to.

==

and like think hard sir about your strange relationship with acting. How in high school I always matter of factly believed that everyone was acting. Like acting cool, smart, nerdy, B.A., funny. And acting for me served as... well, I guess a lot of things. Part of me thinks it was an opportunity to try real hard and have an excuse. Like try hard to be real, even. And maybe there was an added relish in that in acting I sought to not just be a better actor than real people ‘ ‘being themselves’ ’(that’s quotes within quotes because they were at the same time not being themselves and being themselves in so far as they weren’t being themselves. as in they were the sort of person who wouldn’t be themselves. Not objectively, just given the situation and surrounding pressures and inner temperament.) but was actually being a person ‘in the act’ where many others couldn’t even be good actors in the day to day.

But back to the chance to try real hard to be real. Funny how there didn’t really seem to be an opportunity during day to day normalcy. Well maybe not. Just like at a job I guess, people in general are only willing to put forth a certain amount of effort into anything/everything and it becomes glaring, awkward, and embarrassing when someone else is trying to go way above that level with those people or around those people. 

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read the first chapter of Notes from the Underground. Pretty interesting. I think, so far, I’ve come to that at base he feels ashamed of being small. the sort of overlooked person, and rightly so. Or the justly overlooked. And so he distracts himself with a strange narrowness that, because it is so forced, is unable to truly be anything. instead he sort of ends up spinning out into a series of narrow passionate outbursts. There also seems to be a strange two part quality to his mental state due to his refusal to face/accept his smallness and existential unimpressiveness. One part is the simple side that is characterized by him being touched by tea and sugar, the other part is the over discerning and over active mind that is characterized by his inability to admit any relation or intimacy with the simple side without feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Really, he isn’t so simple, or so discerning when he’s being himself simply and wholly, but he is certainly less interesting(or less impressive in a merely distracting way) than either when either are pushed to a certain extreme or are over refined. And I think he’s sort of distracted himself, in a way by becoming so observant of and sensitive to himself that he’s either in a fever dream like state or baby sponge state where he either can’t get the images and sensations to slow down, settle down, and get his bearings/ find the picture’s bearings or maybe simply can’t grasp all the picture’s details at once as a whole because he’s so infatuated with the one detail which fills the heavens.