why i connected the grease burned slowly fading red and raw points of concentrated remnants of actualized pain with a thin black ink: i was so fascinated by their beauty, in their temporariness, in how they're changing all the time and how i can make them change, and i wonder why i am so fascinated by these sites of experience on my own body to the point of obsession, the burns the scars the little red lines the bruises the pimples (zits pussballs) the open sores on my cuticles the way my fingers turn blue and white when they're cold --------- the ways i change these changing marks and the way that feels and changes my perspective
why i feel something (an intensity! when i am affected, ok alright) by these beautiful wounds but more by what i do to them: i am obsessed with novelty: i am bored a lot: i am bored by myself: which is to say i don't feel emotionally attached to myself: which is to say i am not in love with myself: which i find to be the source of MUCH of my ambivalence toward and detachment from specificity and concreteness: these moments of connectedness with myself as a grounded object in the world, seeing myself through my own eyes which is different than looking in a mirror, attach me to the thrumming grooving vitality of the world and i am in love with myself and can look unmediated through my own eyes and be connected with things that are of my own experience, with my own history with my own relationships with my own creations and i can feel something about them
inspired by something of my own origination
it seems that there are people who don't experience the world in this way, what an interesting way in which they must experience the world, which is to say i wish we could share our neurons
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