“To a dull mind all of nature is leaden. To the illumined mind the whole world burns and sparkles with light.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson
I think there’s a strong, too strong, a chemical element to love. These sort of chemical receptors that bond like glue to form an unbreakable material. Sometimes it leaves a lasting signature, like a pheromone trail you can’t disentangle from.
Something about love is purely scientific and absolutely measurable. Ironically it’s the emotional input that’s the catalyst that drives one way or another.
Some things I need to improve on:
The transition from being a bad person and having a bad life to being a good person and having a good life can be hard. Terrifying and hard. Difficult, to put all of it very lightly.
It seems similar to exercising to get in shape after a long period of being sedentary. It hurts, those first few days or weeks after running, lifting weights, your heart beating faster that any other activity ever called into action, your muscles being stretched and tormented to carry your frame faster and stronger and for longer. The way they say pain is weakness leaving the body, the ache is supposed to signify progress. A symptom of strength and tone and even confidence developing. Your new you.
We think of physical pain this way, rarely ever emotional pain. The stark isolation of being left behind, rethinking it as leaving others behind. Tending to your social garden and identifying previously acceptable plants as hindering weeds. You cut out enough and for a while the whole thing is mostly barren. The little you have left seems undergrown, or far away. What do you do with nearly nothing to work with but yourself? How do you start fresh with almost nothing?
Pain is weakness leaving the body. But we’re meant to be weak. That’s what friends are for, to carry you through your weaknesses, and demonstrate your strengths when you return the favor to them. If your times of weakness are glossed over, not addressed at all, what do you become? Can you become stronger on your own? Or only colder. Less human.
This transition, or whatever it should be called, is difficult, to say the very least. But it’s necessary. The way things were was simply not right. So even if this is worse, I have to acknowledge what I had before wasn’t acceptable. At least I can say I chose worse for myself.
Sometimes you just need to listen to really old music. Put your playlist on shuffle and suffer through the crap songs until you really, truly stumble on that song from so long ago that used to mean so much to you.
The emotive powers of music are bewilderingly powerful. It’s a sort of painful happiness I feel recalling this stuff.
Today I looked at myself in the mirror and asked myself a question. Trivial in the grand scheme of things, in my perspective of wrong and right and importance and impertenance, a question that nonetheless warranted a second glance. And all talk of former selves came into blinding, unforgiving light. I looked myself in the eye for the first time. A soon to be former me. Answer.
For a second I was ready to explode with thought.
Then the silence and the to-do list got to me. It keeps floating in my mind. Don’t forget about…. With my music program ready and waiting, how can I not have the radio going. The still silence of this long room, the radiators creaking, the wind pushing against and over the roof in a frustrated arch. My mind can’t sit still in that.
This is only letting out words. But that’s what this is for.
I’m done with the dramatic rhetoric and feeling sad. One thing at a time. That’s what I keep telling myself. Plow through one thing with every fibre of your being, one thing at a time. It all comes together the way it’s meant to or not at the end.
All the thing swirling in my mind, the worries, the tasks, the hopes. It’s candy to sample on while I’m in the One Thing waiting room. One thing at a time.
Back to my one thing. Writing can be another thing to handle at once. Later.
Reblogged from theanimalblog
I’ve heard about relocating hawks to major cities to help combat rats, pigeons and other ‘vermin.’ I see them all over the city and major highways. I don’t know how they hunt with all the noise and people and cars and other distractions, with the intense electric light at all hours of the day, but it seems they do well. My inclination is always to feel ‘sorry’ for how drastically we change whole chunks of our world and force everything in the way to adapt or die. But maybe adaptation isn’t so hard. Maybe having the extra handrails to cling onto, the garbage cans on every corner as ‘bait,’ maybe that actually makes life just as easier for our fellow predators as we intend to make it for ourselves.
urban raptor (by mugley)
Instead of embracing sadness or anger or confusion as an avenue for creativity, for those bursts in cathartic writing I crave more than any other pleasure I’ve ever known, I lately draw the conclusion that I’m just tired. I’m just cranky. I just need a nap.
And I’m often right. I feel great after sleeping it off. I leave blogs unupdated for weeks or sketch pages blank collecting dust. I leave books unread, movies unwatched. But I feel great.
Well. Clearly not. I need to learn to love the sleep deprivation again. Stay awake, angry and seething, heart breaking and sorrowful, and force it out somewhere other than my dreams and nightmares.
This darker side of being human, we all need a better place to put it than our own brain cases.
Health and science be damned. Let this need for REM sleep be the ink for my quill.
Blue line stalled just after the Damen stop last Wednesday due to “police activity” downtown, likely from Obama’s visit. Good chance to snag a photo of it inaction…lol get it, “inaction”?
I’ve always marvelled at the construction of the CTA El, however outdated it may be. We have all these steel beams and wires and electricity moving machinery and people and data and life back and forth all over the city. Luckily this was the stop before mine on a warm day, no problem walking home, but for everyone else grumbling their way down the stairs it became an issue of frantically checking smart phones for bus routes or calling friends or counting cash for cab fare to get out of there. Amazing how one wrench in the machine causes so many other parts to fail.
Wicker Park, Chicago, under the blue line. Can the rest of my world be this colorful?
And can we get the damn cars out of the way?
You wouldn’t know it, but this pic was taken on a miserably overcast day. A little paint and creativity can fix anything.