I told you you’d end up here. Let’s talk, shall we?
Everything I wanted to talk about felt like sand slipping off my hands every time I tried to write. The feeling of not being here took me to places I didn’t think existed; I was scared, and I cried, I never dissociated like that before. I even thought I might be schizophrenic because I couldn’t distinguish between what’s here and what’s in my head.
So, I’ve chosen what’s in my head, just for my own sanity, just for a while, and my imaginary stories softly brought me back. Sometimes you’ve got to let go in order to get a grip; I don’t fucking know how it works, but it’s like a time loop in space and when I embrace its power I am in control.
I can bend it to my desire now, the time, you know? And it’s nothing like they tell you, the clock doesn’t stop, you can only shift in between that fraction of a second, and you can travel back in time by simply knowing that you are already there, in the future. It happens all at once, and it’s terrifying.
Sometimes I sit at the desk and my whole body freezes; I can feel bits of reality lift, not as if to oppose gravity, more like if gravity never existed. This coated lie leaves my visual field and I am free. I become everything.
Isn’t it beautiful how an artist can transform mental illness into the most natural thing in the world? A story. And sometimes I feel like I am not writing the story, it’s already there, I just need to wait for the reality to evaporate and for the characters to show me where they reside; it’s not me projecting myself onto them but it’s them teaching me how to become a better and more interesting person.
Am I delusional? I think so.
I struggle to talk to humans, and sometimes I don’t know if what I’m saying makes any sense or if half of my sentence is only formed in my brain, so I stop talking to only find my interlocutor staring at me in wonder. Oh my friend, I am scared, I am so, so scared that I’ve finally lost my mind. I know the mind resides in my brain but where am... I?
I observe my body in its day to day life, and when I think about the breath I do not take control over it, I just let it happen, I let the lungs accept it and do their job. When my legs walk, I see them go places but it’s almost as if I’ve decided to be a passenger in my own body. I am beyond mindful, I don’t know if I’ve completely lost the connection with my physical being or if it’s just a natural process when a human starts to understand what consciousness is. Is it perhaps time to go home?
I don’t know why I’m here, if I am ever really here, but I don’t have a choice and I am desperately trying to keep these three elements together: brain, body, soul. I thought Shibari helped to keep this shit together but my brain became really good at switching off parts of my body, the consciousness (I) sort of sits back, way back behind my eyes and observes everything with a layer of irony: “look where we are now, just to see a little bit more, and understand how little we know.”
I got my nipples pierced the other day and the lacerating pain locked everything together, no wandering for the consciousness, no dissociating for the brain, we were all there, connected to the pain, right under the skin. And the piercings look really pretty on this flesh prison, in case you were wondering. But I can’t call on pain every time I don’t know what’s real anymore. And perhaps the whole point is to acknowledge that me is made of all the three things and we need to make sure they work together, at least in this dimension.
So far, I’ve noticed that the best solution for my schizophrenic tendencies (to mention King Crimson), is to fuck. I have to fuck as much as possible, and the best I can. I eradicated all the bad sex from my life and I haven’t dissociated even once since then. I only fuck people I am in love with, or someone who can take in all the crazy thought process that led me to a first date with them. Love is just a bunch of chemicals but it’s about how we measure them and channel them and mix them carefully with one another.
And then there is work, I can fuck for work, and I can vibe on it, but it doesn’t mean my soul is going to be there every time, and that’s okay.
Sex is the best way to feel your body, nourish your soul and let the brain do its thing without being a fucking control freak. When sex is good, it erases time, or to better explain this, it lets the time go in circles, so that the consciousness is in its whole and always feedbacks from the same body: a feedback loop.
There is a reason I don’t come back here often but I wanted to talk to you and tell you that I’ll be alright. I know because I’ve seen the future by travelling back in time.
