September 2023 - skippable

September 1, 2023

It was a blessing not to be made a mother and wife – a blessing to be rejected by love so many times. I'd have never done anything, otherwise. I still haven't really done anything, in terms of a magnum opus or some ultimate fulfillment of a vision. I've only gone halfway.

I think N must look at me and be confused, as to why I'm so chaotic, disorderly, why my life is so nothing. He doesn't realize the extent of my feelings for him, that one little text from him of “How are things goin?” is like the world to me and everyone else sends streams of messages that are muted. But I can't think of that, of how I look to him, how messy, or confusing. I must only do my work. And what do I want to do? I just want to write.

~

I didn't ask him how things are goin' for him, only said I was in a period of limbo, applying to jobs and the like. He's successfully managed to establish a dynamic where he has all the emotional pull. It you have a girl stop texting me, stop acknowledging me... for God's sake.

 

September 2, 2023

It's hard to find permanence – the slightest attention or withdrawal or lack thereof from N is like a switch for my world. He simply does not like me that much.

There is a cloud around the human form of N for me that, at least this morning and afternoon, drew me to be near him. (He was only texting because he'd mailed me a drive last week and I hadn't said I'd received it), and funnels all my attention onto him. It's a constant practice to take that attention off and put it back onto my own life.

September 7, 2023

I love the Pennsylvanian very old school population. I could live in this area, too, but, again, for what reason? My reasons now are less spiritual – job, or man. I like PA because many places (here, in the mountains) are cash-only. It's better to take a drive through the country not looking for anything – for a place to be, to live. This is looking without looking for.

Иди туда​, не знаю куда, ещи то​, не знаю что.

~

The northeast feels like a different country compared to Pennsylvania and Appalachia. Even my hometown I'd place in the shadows of Appalachia, receiving the cold breeze of the mountains mixed with the warmer ocean breeze from the Chesapeake Bay. Maybe it's the easternmost place where you still feel the wind of the Appalachians.

I will not attract N back to me: I am old girl; lightning doesn't strike twice. So much in my imagination. His refusal fuels my desperation.

CT is where it would be good to live in the slums.

How is it? He solves my problem of emptiness by giving me a path, a place to be – and I don't have to feel the gnaw of emptiness. It's selfish. I will tolerate the emptiness inside me, between myself and the world. I will not simply take the path, the light. (What is my own salvation worth to me?).

I'm on a mission to see. I will go home with my impressions and mull them over.

CT feels like a place that's held onto its roots and traditions more so than any other I've been to in the U.S. It's the only place I found In Search of the Miraculous and many other interesting occult books at the roadside thrift store.

Yes, standing on the shore of New Haven, feeling the pull of the sea, the height of “yes, I am definitely going to do this and make a life here” felt good. Being in Providence feels good. It feels different. It's inexplicable [it's very explicable – money feels good]; I'm going to be a freefloater everywhere. I don't need to find a place. I don't need to fit in. But I do need money.

I look for a place. N looks for people, a very few people. He sits and lets his impressions simmer. I impetuously go, act.

What makes a region have its flavor? Trees, churches, the presence of breezes and which winds they are, and the lingering ghosts of the past that have accumulated over generations, or even the ghosts, weight of our thoughts, the immortal (?) thoughts of the living. Living bodies partake in the spirit of a region. I must not fall under the influence of every region or place, for they all seek human sacrifice to feed themselves – nature takes your life, your life force. This is what the Bible (what Jesus specifically) talks about, I believe. This is Satan the prince of this world. This is the pagan god, nature gods – this is who we sacrifice to: the egregores(?). Finding a place cannot be any good. Maybe I don't need to go anywhere.

Woke up to the sound both of crows and seabirds, then came upon a flock of wild turkeys crossing the road. From certainty to doubt. Drove from south to north. The south must be one of the most beautiful areas in the country, full of winding, lush, forest roads, carefully built rock walls, upkept colonial homes, and a few very quaint, untouchable towns. Intimidating. The north is wilder, more full of white trash, drier and poorer. The forest of the northeast is lush and gloomy but alive – not the forest of Appalachia, nor the forest of the Chesapeake, which is less colorful and with broader leaves. I have mentally put myself in a bind – I must do this or must not. I need to get home and then throw this out of my head.

September 10, 2023

In this dream until I die. In these continuously changing sets of circumstances, and that's all life is, and our power (not even our power, but the grace of God) is in changing them. Rather to say, power lies in changing circumstances.

Each set of circumstances, a world.

I cannot talk about we; I can only talk about me.

The road trip was good for me, but you should never trust what you think on the road. You should just let it pass through you. Rather, the road trip is its own world, the circumstances you return to are another world, and I have to come up with, or find, more accurately, laws in the space between these worlds to stitch them together into sense (narrative, but not really; what is behind narrative. The reason for narrative, the laws of narrative [9/9/24 there's nothing behind narrative. Rather I should say, life itself is the veil] – that beautiful, sublime, in-between space: that's where I love and pain to be. The true liminal space of living. Perhaps one day if I am strong enough, let go of my dreams enough, of my attachments and glass-bound visions of gardens, castles, love, a fulfilling earthly life, I will be able to wander those liminal halls and caverns, meet other souls who are there in pure freedom (for, everything that's of the world will devour you if given the chance).

Man can overcome nature, but not aesthetic. Aesthetic is the first level – what blends everything into a whole. It is the whole that results, the gestalt. (All this certainty is of course only my observation). Man can push so hard a create a concrete (or whatever else) jungle, a physical reality, that becomes nature. But the way this influences man – his surroundings that is – cannot be overcome (maybe it can, actually, with brutality, extremes – actually it certainly can, via horror, via porn, via drugs, frying the brain this way... but temporarily.

Even after the most horrific trauma and abuse often man is still capable of returning to his former way of perception, of loving (the beauty of man is in expressing these true laws, the natural laws of how man interacts with nature/the environment, via the way (the modes of expression) God made man, and not in the skewed ways that man creates for man.

To sin is to allow the supremacy of a lesser mind than God's; therefore we are all sinners (that's one current definition). Jesus (initiate of the essenes?) achieved perfect reason, God-perfection; therefore he was sinless (?). And then had a mission – to die for our sins. What does being saved even mean, then?).

But, how is it that some people cannot? I believe the answer is integrity: early childhood must build, establish, a basic integrity within a person, a склад, normal functioning. Not as easy for all children, not achievable by all parents, but also, maybe, if one is left alone it can happen on its own and we (parents, guardians) must often stay out of the way. I think many of us today achieve out partial integrity (I include myself here, because of my mom).

There are many ways to lose integrity, or to fracture is, one of which is a loss of confidence. Soul/true/therapeutic diagnosis is isolating, finding, the ways in which our integrity has been fractured, and working very very hard to fix them.

Underneath, because man is a template, it (the shadow/bones of integrity. Its latticework) can be found still. Maybe not in every case.

Following serial killers of history and coming up with explanations of men's inherent brokenness to explain them leads us astray; only understanding govt. involvement, tracing the movements of the invisible hand throughout history (even as if wrote the Bible in the 1500s to try and neuter the force and impact of Jesus – I believe the church was in place long before him and is simply a continuation of paganism that later added the cross to its temples, that assimilated Jesus, and remained in power – all “ritual” is paganism, in my eyes.

Because it is the love of, acceptance of, being under the influence of symbology (love of idolatry), which I think is precisely what Jesus was trying to free men from. And then numbers were added into the Bible.... Math is the language of the Universe, therefore mathematicians can alter actuality.

I think Jesus was talking about processes (someday “prophecies” will have been mistranslated as “processes” despite English being not the original language, just as Jews will go from being from the Levant to being from Crimea (even though they, according to Yuriy Abranin, were from Spain/France, hence the similarity of the original, Biblical Jews, to Celts, and the distant relation of present-day Jews, who are either Levantines indistinguishable from Palestinians or, as -- said, a made-up ethnicity of people with certain common characteristics, i.e. to manipulate, use a situation to their advantage (thus the British Empire/Jewish cabal is more “Jew” than Jew and is basically just horrible people who use the state of Israel as a power tool/bargaining chip but who are also absolutely insane and going insane right now from the existential threat to them by China mostly (multipolarity therefore being real, perhaps) and general loss of legitimacy by the passage of time) [9/9/24 a) all this can be ignored b) not the general passage of time but the work of individuals], to Biblical Jews.).

The Kingdom of Heaven is not that liminal space, for Jesus also said that to enter the Kingdom of Heaven ye must be as little children. That is more a purgatory.

The Kingdom of Heaven is not something that will come as we imagine it in earthly affectations and décor (like the dream in Intra Muros) – I think it is through the eventual detachment from earthly concerns of all humanity [9/9/24 now I have no idea what it is or if the idea will last as is. Man always needs infinity, to survive].

But there is no shortcut to this: transhumanists attempt to shortcut. You cannot bypass living a full life: this is the humor of the Lord. You cannot bypass living a full life to reach the Kingdom of God. You must accept being in the middle – and salvation therefore is to see the “end” from the middle, to be plucked from the middle by Grace [9/9/24 these days I think Grace is acceptance] because after all our individual lifetimes are too short to witness the glory of humanity, or any glory: all greats of history, all our heroes, died before key events in the unfolding that we got to see, and so shall we die. My faith is that there is something beyond me (?) (I hesitate giving a definition for faith).

It (the Kingdom of Heaven) is through the mind/склад of man, through these background, supra-narrative processes, hence why social engineering is inherently satanic (a lesser mind playing God). I think Blavatskaya outlined this process, but I haven't read her yet.

The transhumanist ends up, by trying, satanically, to shortcut into the Kingdom of Heaven, looking deformed, deranged, disfigured, objectively ugly. Man can overcome nature, and easily (the concrete and neon cityscape of Tokyo, for example, being so powerful, so overwhelming, that it becomes nature, functionally), but he cannot overcome aesthetic, which always overpowers, reflects, subsumes, his actions – it is the ultimate law of nature, I think: the continuous creation of the aesthetic, from which the reality of a situation, a place and time, can be understood. “Love art not with your feelings” as Gurdjieff said.

the man who overcomes the influence of aesthetic is the Man of Love. There is something above aesthetic – pure reason. (This is as far as I can see). 

.~

If I had my free pick of places to live barring none, it would be Connecticut, I think. It's incredibly beautiful, peaceful, a well kept secret, a good balance of rare breed of esoteric, old-school roughnecks from old families – true America, perhaps, or rather, a library of American history. There's a carefully guarded old spirit there.

It was on the New Jersey/Delaware border last night that I had dark thoughts. (My imagination traverses a lot but ultimately I must recognize I am blessed with a freedom few get to enjoy: freedom from obligation, freedom of time, freedom from addiction....)

It is such a desolate place, the highway on that border, and I felt such aloneness.

I am so lucky to have anyone who truly loves me.

What if I didn't have them? I would have no one.... What if I had no one in this world who truly loved me? Out on the road at night you know that home is merely where somebody truly loves you.

(There really can't be anymore clarity around the fact that N just doesn't like me and I must let him go, but I love my dreams so much, I love the visions, I love the invisible, I love the pull. I have no certainty, and it all doesn't matter, really, one way or another.

Of course the only reason I'd take the job is to be near him. But he doesn't care. It will be a while before I realize he wasn't good for me, before I stop seeing vast riches in what he closed off to me).

And then I realized, with finality, that I should drive to LA. There is no finality in any of this, in anything, in any emotion. Now I'm not certain of it anymore. I must not ask why someone has closed himself off to me.

When I got to even Falls Rd at the N Brown coffee shop it was clear to me that that's where the haunted area of my town began. It is like being in a spiritual fog-land, and I am trapped.

Yet as soon as I got near there I started thinking again about the songs I'm working on. Home is where your patterns are ingrained, where your stuff is. It seemed to me the songs were written as a fight against those circumstances. But now I have slipped into my circumstances again, here. I must break my own narrative tendencies, they are all cope.

~

Said                                 Meant

I might take a                 I'm moving for you

job near you

What's the nature of the job?

Taking research             I'm ready to die for you

on fishing vessels

For a minute there was magic: a mystical act, that led to a change in circumstances, that led to me being there, in that locale, and not here. But this is my explanation, my cope.

It doesn't matter where I am.

It takes a resilient mind, a great mental fortitude, to be among the depressives, depressed regions. It is a weakness to seek out money, wealth. The Pharisees are those who like the markets and nice seats in the temple – I often think of this with regard to y love for cute cafes. But what shall I do for money?

I am forgetting men, marriage, love, relationships. I am forgetting all the men I've encountered. I am also forgetting the call to adventure. And the importance of any “creative work” of mine.

None of that matters. “Finding yourself” doesn't matter, egoic pursuits don't matter, your personal world of images, your “lore”, narrative – they don't matter. My personal time off doesn't matter. All that matters are those I love, which can be as many as can be. And the freedom of man. My comfort doesn't matter, my greatest dream doesn't matter.

As for what I shall “do”... I know what I won't do, and that is chase. Drive around the whole country, burn myself out in pursuit.

Yeah, I don't know if I could actually bear to be there if my being near is totally irrelevant to N making me a part of his life, and especially knowing he might one day just leave. I chased him the entire time. I must remember this. The ghost showed me the next steps (just above), so remove yourself from his for.

No – it's my fault – I must not contact him anymore. I must forget about him completely. I must not be a masochist. When I don't think of him, remember him, I am happier. Well now it's funny, I have a great opportunity but being near him would be painful and difficult. Maybe I can pretend he's not there.

Then I will stop seeing myself as ugly, stop seeing my “flaws”, stop seeing myself as strange.... It's needed to simply keep living. Even living in sleep, in soft ignorance, while knowing the underside of simple happiness too well. But it's not a fragile stability – you are never afraid to see the underside, afraid or off balance if it knocks.

Anyway, I am more than lucky for all that didn't happen to me; everywhere people are breaking up after long years together. 

 

September 20, 2023 

This morning I realized that this ghost of N I've been stuck with is nothing. He is not anything real, nothing I can reach or touch. He is not N.

I feel embarrassed for what I've been taken up by.

Severe depression, lack of a base, is a shortcut to being easily impressed, to loving easily.

 

September 23, 2023 

I think my passion in the world, my realm of expertise, my “mission” or personal purpose, is not in research, not in writing (really), not opening a place or starting a company – it's in being independently wealthy and just living. I already act like it when I can, as much as I can. All offered earthly paths, ultimately, have independent wealth as their end goal, their distant logical conclusion, but none of them can ever lead there. No earthly path given to us leads to freedom (except land ownership, and that is no guarantee in this world, either). We all have to pay for our freedom. Jesus paid for our sins; who has paid for our freedom from the prince, the labyrinth, of this world [6/1/24 I understand more now that they are related; paying for our sins is paying for our freedom; we are enslaved by the illusion of this freedom having not been given]. The labyrinth is the meat grinder. Purported paths to freedom, even relative freedom, are the long way. But I think there is a short way, or there begins to open a shortcut, when you see that the long paths cannot lead to the dangling carrot. I am not saying anything now, only figuring out my own self in the world. Self and world. An eternal mystery.

I want to shatter, unbind, all of it: man is nothing, man has no obligation [to these forces]. Man is neither masculine, nor feminine, nor not masculine or not feminine.

N seems to have hardened his heart, to have made himself almost a stranger, to be on a mission to keep up a mental ferocity and not give in to the softness and annihilation of love. The way we behold people can always change and this is the only true change – change in perspective. I think, there must be a reason I love N; he must need it. It must not ask for anything, it needs no return. It simply is, that I love him, that he's the object of my fixed and unwavering love.

It is below my mind, behind my mind. It is path-level.

 

September 27, 2023

 

“Mar” = self-love... or just love?

“a” or “an” = not? no... it was... maybe it was self

anamara = self-love

amara = self-love

I don't remember. In the morning as I slept and woke up I was in such a state, always heartbreak, heartbreak on the nadir; from the nadir is where you can change the root of words, or the meaning of root words.

Mar is love, not sea

Out of my head because I was so in it, in it because I had a dream last night/this morning: I dreamed of N – almost every morning I wake up low, my heart low – I have to think less about myself. Many have it much worse.

I dreamed we were on a trip again and had driven to some small town in America with a wholly different culture and stayed in another motor lodge.

We talked about the town's weird sexual practices, I think; somehow we got onto the topic of sex, libido, abstinence vs sex – he said he would consider this in the life of marriage, and me, and I was surprised to hear he was still considering this. I tried to convince him to marry me, subtly.

All day this dream has weighed on me. I lay in bed til moon. I can't wait to leave here – I think being here still partially perpetuates this misery.

Today I received a flash drive from him, no letter but a read me file that listed what he'd included.

It is hard to describe on what level this action occurred. The true nature of this interaction. What I wanted... he gave.

He doesn't understand me. He thinks I want to build a teahouse... it's not about the teahouse. It was about the origin of that image and the people and places it was connected with.

I can't actually do the construction, decoration, logistics... I'm not the person.

He said he remembered I was interested in documentaries about music scenes so he included one. He doesn't understand, it's not about that. He doesn't understand why my life fell apart to nothing, why I have no friends, no scene – he doesn't understand that a woman is devotion, and what he is, is what I take on.

What “field” do I take on, become expert in?

He sent me: some music, a few movies that were repeats of what he'd sent on the first

But all this is nothing, registered as nice. But what went through me like a knife, like a world-rearranging, aligning action, a single blow, was that he sent me all his books, his whole library.

But, it's not a randomly compiled library. If it were, it wouldn't matter. If it were, I wouldn't be attached to him still. To go through all the books here was to be inside his mind palace. He gave me access to the contents of his mind and soul and time, most of all – his life's work, or the work he was “conscripted” to recently.

I was very humbled to understand and see that unlike 99.9999..% of people he had concentrated and spent his time on something real and urgent. He understood urgency. Only few do.

I am nowhere. He is the death of me. There must be someone, there must be one who understands, who understands the view, who lives for the view. What else do I have in this world? Am I up to this task, to be the guardian of what he has done?

I am the keeper of his work. Not even of him. I have stepped into this mind-palace, this point of view, that he built, that may go on if he walks out and goes and lives his life.

I am still there, conscripted as well.

And this is what I felt upon receiving this. I felt like he had given to me everything that he could give, like he lay it down with his final breath. And what could I give to him? I have no such mind palace, no years of painstaking research, no mental clarity.

But I have no other purpose in this world. I looked around and it mattered not where I was – no buildings, no cafes, no architecture, no place, no time, no Baltimore 2023, no people I run into at the bar, talking about their lives, about dating and men – I'm removed from it. And if I have not him, then I am simply a freefloater, or I will be among the last who find their solace and their peace in Jesus Christ, who can accommodate all.

My heart is about to explode.

These interactions are on another level. I'm not sure if N perceives. I'm not sure if he felt or knew he gave me all, with this.

N's mission may be done. I may never speak to him again.

I texted him thank you for sending me your library. I wish there was some way I could help you in like fashion. Please don't hesitate to ask me for anything.

Will he understand I sent this while in the understanding of what happened with this action from the being that spoke to me from the beginning through N? It was his final message to me. What other life can I have, I don't know. I doubt I will understand his work, but I will try. Other than this, which is the field, and a complex, unnamed space at that, there are things I can do such as write songs, fiction. My own work, made through my own processing of life.

I don't want to text him again, I don't want to hear from him again. I'm with him, for him; I have what I need in this world.

In giving me this I am freed from wanting from him.

It's very strange how all this has unfolded.

I walk in the street and see the inside of this private world.

 

 

There are things I miss about N's mind – namely, his being on the fringe of the boundaries of discourse. That is a powerful thing. A pointed, aimed action and position.

For me I feel I am just my own little bubble, unchained to the discourse.

 September 28, 2023

I place such astronomical expectations upon myself, and everything and everyone I love. N just doesn't think I'm smart enough.

“I hope you get some amusement out of them.” Re: the books.

“I think I am capable of more than amusement!” I replied. Crazy. I've fucked up with him so many times, might as well throw the whole thing away.

I thought I'd be someone great but I feel like all my talent is gone and I've reached my apex already.

I've just fucked up my life and wasted my potential by not really focusing on anything. I can't expect N or my dad or anyone else to fix that.

But what can I do? I have no confidence in my talent today. I'm 34. Single. Penniless almost. Nothing to show for myself but half-assed productions. Maybe I'll be able to make more time to work on things with this job.

Have to try have to try have to try.