Rest of February, 2024 - verboten door; qualia

February 6, 2024

Every step I take needs to be connected in some way. I find the mind of Disquiet_Dreaming, a figure whom I will never know or see but as a mind – I don't want to, I don't want to embody him. I return to a time and way in the recent past, where we naturally had separate real selves and online selves and we knew these were different worlds. Now the virtual world is too close a mimicry of our real world and real selves. The internet is only for anonymity; anything else is a perversion of the truth of that world. … Maybe, maybe some can slip their real face in and blend it, or it still becomes something not them.

Disquiet_Dreaming I thought was N who is also this shadow lover who has become the liberated star-god... and Disquiet_Dreaming, whom I'd have no interest in if I didn't connect him to N... even as an opposite. Even “no reason” can be a connection, if “usually the norm is to have a reason, because I'm fighting limitations I want to try no reason now.”

February 7, 2024

When I woke up it was all gone, all of it, from November – February. I have this written record. I will have to parse and write it, but it is all sustained upon my feelings for N, and of course, they are mostly in my head, and this cannot be sustained

February 10, 2024

In a situation, when it begins to become undone, undo itself, layer by layer the context that built it rips apart, starting from the innermost – the last key interaction, memorable, treasured, stored interaction which further built the context, reinforced, to the feeling, the vision – back through all the mannerisms and offshoots – I have no connection to O really, he is just someone whom I was able to rope in by being in a long psychosis (even though I had a dream last night that I went to his city with a bunch of dream friends and imagined texting him that I was there, wandering around the streets looking for the ocean that I could see in my mind's eye that same violent,wave-front crashing on a narrow beach with a sand or stone wall behind it, until that was replaced in my dream mind's eye with a map and I saw that there was only a river, like a European city) – I suddenly remember some of my times in my old town, feel again what it was like to go to the shopping center and -- Brewing Co, re-process these memories and instead of pushing them down and blocking them out like they – I – never happened, accepting that that was part of my life, that I lived that really, that I was not in a nowhere, having stated before that N has found me living in a nowhere place, with nothing, and having (it's my own fault) incorporated this key belief or aspect into the mythos that I built (harrowing, negativity-pervaded mythos of negation) – back through the very first interaction, when he messaged me and I felt like I had been waiting for him, was happy to finally hear from him, and that we were in a quiet room. That is the last thing to rip, other than my infatuation with some of his output.

He has rejected my love. Or at least he remains in ambivalence towards me, while I have been in psychosis. It's just like me and W but reversed, it seems, except that I tried to be clear with W about my feelings. 

I have new eyes and I'm attached to these new eyes, too. I had the opposite of a Beatific vision – a Lovecraftian vision (he is from New England, go figure) (it's like a knife to me to imagine N thinking about other girls, not pining for me; why, then, ask to call? Why keep up contact, only to pull away and remain lonely and dissatisfied? I'm simply not it. I must get out of here without leaving here physically. This is where the ripping context comes in. Like a cocoon it transforms you, then must itself, that which you grew to love and treasure, be destroyed. Most things are a cocoon. Most times in your life are some sort of cocoon. At least, mine.).

Some changes it seems are irreversible. I have lost faith in the world. It is like the vague but pervasive apathy toward the world I had as a teenager, from 16-19 but specific this time. And also real, I think. There isn't a dreamy, mystical, otherworldly faraway quality to it, as if it's some sort of fog or interminable night on the other side of which lies the love I seek (that was the case, then); it's here and now, all around, before my eyes. One night on this trip I stepped out on deck and watched them do their tasks. The machine keys, hex key, used to open the hatch to get below looks more real than the birds flying around, or more pure; it's pure principle. A bird is many principles, or many lines. One consequence is that the feeling of anything in the world having freedom is totally gone. Birds do not fly freely; they are built; their environment is built; only people can have any freedom, and all freedom lies not in this world but in what's invisible to us. The whole world seems mechanized. There's nothing in it for me. I have lost faith in this world but more than ever before I think (or cling to?) that we must have a true home with God, which we of course cannot conceptualize at all. It also no longer makes sense to pray for individual people; it only makes sense to pray for all people, at once. I see and agree with the New Age assertion of unity of consciousness, the “human family”, but not in any earthly sense or with any feelings of “energy” or “mysticism”; applying “energy work” to this idea I think just leads to made-up feelings. It's just that in a real and practical sense we are all the psyche; there's nothing but the psyche, at least for us.

~

I think Osho was working with the first principle, with ego, with I am – getting people to remember it. Egoism, or rather putting yourself at the center of your world, isn't bad. He talks about this with “selfishness”. LowRes is an egotist; Letov was an egotist. It is not the same as vanity. It is self-assertion. Vanity would be embarrassed of self-assertion, or would ascribe some other value judgment to it. I would be an egoist if I went through all my diaries and typed them up. But I'd also probably remember a lot and come away with something to leave behind in this world.

---

I don't know what else to say. I don't see a way back, to getting enthusiasm for this world and this life, the things that are in it. Jesus taught not to love the things of this world, but who could understand this without having had their eyes opened to this? I don't even know if “this” was truth or a high level implantation meant to demoralize one. I suspect, now, that many people have had the same vision and come away from it feeling, knowing, seeing, our cage, that we are trapped. Letov, for one:

вечность пахнит нефтю, and even titling his album “русское поле экспериментов”

Not a political message but an esoteric one.

“луна сдовно репа, а звёзды — фасоль.”

If you know you are in a cage the only relief is to build it, to create it, to change it. That is the means of any relief, until death. Only the world of my mind is real to me now, or matters, I should say.

The world changes so quickly now that it seems like, we met with perfectly shared vision for a moment, but now I go further along some skewed way. I don't know. I saw it for a moment. I don't want to be isolated, but I have no more peers now. Nor is there such a thing as normal. We are broken down into small groups (again), even by region. My group will have to be the intellectuals, people trying to be literate and maintain that tradition. For a time I had a soulmate, or soulmates but I feel at this point I no longer have a soulmate. It feels horrible.

But I decided to come here and do this. Once you walk through a door there is no going back. I walked through the closed door of my unrequited love, a place verboten.

~

Verboten

The world is changing very rapidly. We are like dancers. In the dark room we spin; only flashes of color from our flying costume are seen – by whom?

There are many kinds of dancers. Some don't even move and are only eyes unblinking in the darkness.

It was one such pair of eyes that was watching me, and only me. I watched the eyes and never saw them fixate on another dancer for more than a few seconds. They snapped back onto me, hungrily, patiently, and quietly, not wanting to be seen (for watchers' eyes are large and a dancer's eyes are closed).

We change our costumes often now. They are like ribbons in the long night of the world.

*

The world is full of noise. Everybody's chatter, everybody's life story: spewed out in a continuous, broken stream. An individual rarely makes a stream, being too disjointed; altogether one chaotic, bubbling brook, yet unbroken. A pair of eyes stands outside the noise in a quiet room that seems otherwise inaccessible, without others' eyes to indicate its window. I felt that I was behind the glass to the world; you were behind the glass to me.

*

The world used to contain many forms of love, but they have mysteriously vanished

Impossible to describe the colors of this world,

Verboten love – I walked through it

into a non-real world

I don't know what it means to be a woman anymore

Normal has departed – I don't know who I'm for

There used to be a bright world containing many forms of love

But now it's only casual or, in consequence, obsession

It's a miracle this other way

appears at all for me –

I knew the instant that I saw it,

I would be let in

It rang out like my train arrived –

a calling of my name –

I'd barely even looked –

and it took me through the archway

into a forbidden world –

the world of unrequited love,

where everything is inverse and what you

see there you'll never else be able to glimpse of

– But there's no going backward once you have

passed through the door verboten

and the price for every moment to survive is to be in psychosis

You had best bring a notebook and a pen to write down what you see –

The only way to exit is destruction of the nonreal world

by contact with reality exactly at the moment when you can no more withstand

the tension, when the story building that's its pillar and foundation myth

receives no longer input, no more sign –

the nonreal world begins to break.

And you begin to see the trade you made to be here –

No platform which to fall upon, no cushion for the blow.

But I had nothing to give to it – only my belief and time

In fact it's having nothing and being emptied of a life and self

that made me feel at first this was for me

until the moment he denied – and then our love became nonreal –

and nonreality – well, it really is a place.

The deeper in you go the closer to its myth

through being inside the castle of an unrequited love,

you finally come to the un-Beatific vision

and you understand the world

that your verboten lover knows

it's such a secret, it can only come through into being through the nonreal;

and only if you step through the verboten door will you see it,

the door where you're not welcome, yet where you had to go...

he speaks in double meaning; he's a shadow who comes through

to carry you into the dream that never ends.

Is this escape or is this gift and can you no more want what you once did?

I want embrace, and love, and touch, and sex – but no, not him, he says;

the wants become so strange and new – there is no going backwards to

the wants I wanted so before I had passed through. What now?

The nonreal world may pop (for me) (as nonreal worlds so do

until they're called again) but my eyes are brand new

And I'm back in the world? Oh no – while I was dreaming wide awake

the normal world has disappeared, pulled out from under our feet

while we fast sank into stupor. I was exempt from it by this connection.

But now where is there left to be? You have gone, and there's nobody

who is with me, who could see the same that I see, who walked through the door that opened to me.

I have left a record – that's all that I can do.

Tomorrow's only task is to parse through what I saw.

 

February 12, 2024

I think things are going to go smoothly for me from now on. As long as the imagination is freed from small dreams, I can plan big things smoothly – no limit. Plans for radio, plans for curriculum for schoolkids. Plans, at least. Unwelcome Guest is – I own the lifelong feeling of being unwelcome here, near N, or anyone in the past I've felt unwelcome by, as both armor and a place to be in the world. I eat it. Victory must be first at that level, at the level of the root.

This morning the sunlight hitting the short teal blue waves while herring gulls chaotically criss-crossed each other chasing after us, and the slightly less hazy blue sky, looked so beautiful, I cried. It was also slightly warmer. And I got my period. A beautiful -- day. -- itself still feels unreal. It I start thinking about it, none of it feels real; at the same time I believe the Chiefs won the Superbowl in the most rigged-seeming score and psychodrama of recent times with Taylor Swift coming on to perform after her star WR fiancee claimed the prize – so I think we are being mass conditioned to believe that none of this where we live is real, to dissociate from our lives, from the Earth, to cease to believe that the meek shall inherit the Earth. Even a “fake” home is the only home we have; people, and specifically their attitude of care, labors of love, make anything real, imbue it with reality. I think we have to fight to be embodied now and to maintain a stake in the Earth itself – so obvious; all land is being bought by “them”. So it's imperative to maintain our connection to it.

Is a body not also technology? An ear, an eye? Wings, beaks? These are all technology, but Marshall McLuhan does not really mention God or man trying to be God anywhere, though all manmade tech is trying to be God, the son trying to imitate the father.

 

February 13, 2024

While on the water I had a dream that was just this pale gray – because it was not physical, just semi-see through and ghostly – structure of nested collapsing tubes that kept extending and collapsing back in, in and out, over and over, not too quickly, and it was very satisfying to watch and feel it as if it were happening to me, because that was my self, or a metaphysical representation of my self, or the real essence of the self – in doing so, in collapsing and extending, the self was affirming itself. It was as if it gained wholeness and integrity that way. That was the function of sleep, it became clear to me: sleep was the mechanism given to us (at the conceptual, metaphysical level) for restoring and maintaining the sense of self. I was watching sleep! That's why we've never been definitively able to answer what the function of sleep is. When I woke up there was one word ringing clear in my mind from the moment before, spoken clearly in the dream: qualia. A word I've heard perhaps only once before.

It's time to say goodbye to N. After talking on the phone he shut his feelings down again and stopped texting me.

 

February 14, 2024

If the revelations and truths we learn while in pain go away and are soothed the minute we discover love, they weren't very absolute, were they, vast, complex, and meaningful worlds though they be?

I feel so horrible in my heart today, and yesterday, and all on the trip, for I know that it's over, that he's decided against me, withdrawn, and that I cannot keep recreating this drama within me, that I am letting go, too, because it's the only appropriate response now as it's simply untenable for me to hold on – no more lies to sustain it.

It was careless; all of my “relationships” after -- have been careless on my end, or maybe all of them period, and now I pay, not through N but through what went through N (Who is the phantom? Who is my shadow lover? He is denial. He is attempted amputation of myself from myself, an unreal realm to hide in through self-imposed blindness to my actions or a refusal to understand them fully, to see the reality of my diminished life; only dimly has some self-awareness ever crept in: I recognized my own susceptibility to bright lights, excitement, it's true. But I stopped there.). I wish I had known back then, when I met E, when I felt like I had taken him home with me, that it wasn't necessary to heed that impression, that we have free will amid all our “fateful scenarios”, that explanations of black magic, charm, trance – none of those are real in the sense that they, too, are externalizations just like my phantom is (which image is a very effective relief from the pain of total awareness, or more total awareness. Wondrous how an image can relieve pain, by distracting, splitting, our attention. Just like how the level of noise can be raised so high we don't feel a dentists's drill. Understanding Media is a book on our psychology more so than on media, for we are the media, or at least its source, what it has split off from). (I suspect that if I deny the reality, the unglamorous reality, of my life less than I have been, I will encounter him less), they are just conceptual lies we use when we wish to avert our eyes, and to keep from knowing we are doing so. But the most famous, successful, smartest, most talented people have massive blind spots – they are the vehicles to success here, on this world founded upon lies.

Suddenly it feels like this nonreal realm I've been living in is just like Bruce Willis' story from The Sixth Sense (in fact it explains what the “sixth sense”, which of course there isn't, really is – denial, and not the mystical ability to see ghosts or weave from such nonreal perceptions whole, beautiful nonreal worlds): the whole time I've been in denial, all of our interactions have been concertedly in denial, of the fact that the relationship had failed, was already gone and dead, and all that was built was upon no real foundation and so couldn't be built, couldn't last. Like a couple whose child died – who goes on as if their world hasn't imploded, into a nonreal world. This must be used by occult circles and our reality-engineers – for there is much we have to deny to ourselves in our present conditions – we cannot accept our reality, what we are subjected to – from this can be built massive, collective, nonreal worlds – at least for a little while. In the absence of a real new paradigm as stable as the post-WWII one, and in the presence of drugs, WR, painkillers, mass joblessness/listlessness/high costs/land ownership taken from people, what will people have left to look forward to be fulfilled by? Not to even mention the utter social decimation of the one thing we love most that gets the most trouble being in our world at all: love. Each Superbowl Parade mass shooting – such as today's – instigating a new wave of dissociation, of yet another sense of unreality, following the drama of the Superbowl. Where does a society go after post-modernism, after post-information, post-literacy? Into the nonreal. And all nonreal worlds, just like the nonreal worlds attempted by Kendall on Succession and Daenerys in GoT, which were rooted in their denial, and just like the worlds I've attempted and which failed, also rooted in denial (like in Sheni – not denial per se but false hope, blind hope, blind because, ultimately, yes, it was a denial – of careful measures, of sensibility and prudence).

Concentric circles of nonreal realms. The whole greater world is a nonreal realm.

This feeling I feel now echoes what I felt in Georgia when A left. And I have to move on from N as well. Did I not act girly enough, chipper or happy enough? I sit at the bar by the fire writing this on Valentine's Day eve like I do on any other day; I have no path back to the normal world; there isn't even really a normal world anymore. I feel like the harbinger of a horrible world, sent to forewarn.

I'm getting too carried away, too soothed by self-importance and validation. I have to remember how horrible it feels. 

~

There's no way out for me. There's no going back. It was a mistake to “date” - but that was also simply a created bubble for us, socially: the whole concept of “dating” and how we approach it.

~

I feel my time with E, which I did allow, and instigate, and really live through, and then throw away without regard to the fact that I was joining my life and time with this person in a way more real and permanent than ever before and since, becoming real to me now – and I don't want to accept the consequences. I don't want to be with him – so why did I stay with him? I was so messed up. It was so messed up. It was my one real mistake. I cannot forget it, I cannot look away from it. But I am not obligated to him – we do not have a child, or a unified life, and I disappointed him but I tried after to be honest with him. And am I honest with myself in why I want to write him an email? In why I want to write N a letter about my feelings? Wouldn't it be more mature to eat those feelings, to keep them in? Rather than to place them upon them? The only path for me through this world is through writing, through creativity. And now I'm here, for no reason. Why am I here? I have nothing, no one, here. I cannot explain to work how crushed I feel inwardly. I think N saw me completely, but didn't fall in love with me.

The whole relationship must be burned to the ground – mine and N's. At least in my heart. From these personal relations, these warped lines of relational progression, larger social movements spring. If we go into the nonreal, over and over, collectively, in a world, a physical world, whose structure has been taken away from us, denied us – our right denied us (we do, in fact, have inalienable rights and this must be upheld – I suspect it comes from the Northern Kingdom) – the virtual will come to be what we return to for validation: our virtual worlds, VR, twitter, whatever it is, maybe the regulated mandatory-participation internet. The virtual will seem like the tangible; the conceptual – the constructs in any nonreal world – will seem like the virtual. The invisible, but ruling, will seem like the virtual.

~

I have to not consider N at all. I have to forget him. The work, esoterically, was done, and now what? Now I write. I cannot break this psychological tie, because I don't want to. I will have to meditate every time he crosses my mind so as to carefully sever the bond in me.

It was the last thing I wanted – to fail with him specifically.

February 15, 2024

I can't help but feel N is looking for some calm, serene Christian girl with good values. That isn't me. Our one interaction today and I get excited about life, everything, move to create worlds, write – I want to create. I need to. And my mind moves to devour and pick apart everything. N and I are sort of the opposite in that his mind is very pliable, soft, wide, considering, evaluating, but his outward actions are very hard and restricted; my mind is very declarative, dominating, even harsh and curt – at least my expressions are, my speech – but my manner and presence very soft. I speak harshly and eloquently but I fold immediately.

All I really need is some clarity, even if it hurts. If he doesn't want to give clarity, well, then, he wants me to hang on. I could be your friend... but I don't want to be only your friend. I'm very torn about this. Even if I tried to break away I would still check up on him occasionally, unless he were with someone – then I would never speak to him again. Best thing to do is just to admit my feelings, of course, without the pressure of a response from him.

February 16, 2024

What is the evil of the mystico-religion? It is you with the nothing – but reality lies in the reality between realities. Some say, you cannot say “I love”; only “we love”. The ghost can sustain you in your isolation, couching himself in all manner of bluelit dark visuals to satiate your mind. He can take you deeper and deeper... into this. .