Today is dreaming in my stockings, too hungover to do much more brain work than absorbing so fuck thinking and producing, cold cold cold, quiet up in the bell tower, clanging ringing of my shoes on the floor, feeling like the Hologram Museum lady opening doors with my oversized key, and food tasting like it's maybe a joke that's being played on me by the world.
It's been a weird fucking week. Two weeks ago, I thought I had scrabbled together the foundations of some personal aphorisms, but the past five days or so have proved me wrong. I can feel how unsettled everyone and everything feels. Like right now, my nerves are dampened by the dull sheen of an affected brain but still I can feel the the blood drawing away from my fingertips and my toes, receding ever backwards to my heart. It makes me want to set up a nest of blankets and tossed aside scarves wherever I go, so I can keep warm and retreat whenever I need to. Almost as if, I have in some instinctive way decided to be a nomad now that the times have sprung upon me.
That sounds maudlin. I don't mean it to be. Things are changing, which is fine, just a little sooner than I had hoped or expected. Maybe I have to work on not worrying about permanence. For so many years of my life, everything was always the same. I think sometimes I want to hang on to that, as repulsive as it often was to me. It might be time to let go of that need. I wonder what that would do.
Do you have a sense of permanence in your life? Or an attitude towards transience and temporariness?
P.S. The Renaissance Society kitchen is a wonder to behold. There are so many bottles of Pellegrino water.
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