I am trying to find the source of my anxiety with my fingers. I look for my anxiety with my fingers deep up inside my cunt and hold my breathe for longer than is probably good for me. I swallow everything in a grey public bathroom and try not to cry out. Can I collect the buzzing, secret, trembling coldness in my heart into a hard knot and work it out of my body with my fingers?

The Teemz system of establishing reality includes two steps. First absorb, then connect to something else. Things cannot be ratified unless they are referenced in at least two sources. When the cold sinking feeling first appeared, I had no references. I thought this was internal. What if there's a deep vein of anxiety in my culture?

Caroline:
and also

why is everyone so sloppy (possibly a generational problem)

etc.

1:14 PM for example

http://fuckiminmy20s.tumblr.com/

ew

Caroline: thoughtcatalog.com

is realy really bad for you

me: do not read anymore

cannot

too sad

1:15 PM Caroline: yeah i mean as long as you can maintai the mindset like

this is bad for me

doesn't reflect my life

isn't relavent to me

it's ok

but like at 3 am when i am sad

and it is making me cry

it's not ok

1:17 PM me: ya

1:18 PM i've been trying to put my finger on what i think could be called the "thought catalog lifestyle/frame of mind/attitude"

because i think it might be endemic

to our youth

and

it's

really

really

bad

1:20 PM Caroline: yeah

a fetish for loneliness and moroseness

me: and also being a hot mess

Caroline: yeah

1:21 PM kinda like this mindset taht we were all dealt a horrible terrible hand

and are doing w/e we can do deal with it

including binge drinking and wearing bird sweaters

me: right

coupled with the belief that we deserve a whole lot better

like the best

because we're all so brilliant

1:22 PM Caroline: haha yeah

me: and so it's all tumblr/embarassingly vague blog posts/passive agressive status updates

1:23 PM and poor choices

Caroline: yeah there is no greater ideal

or goal

just like

ennui

fetishized ennui

me: erotic boredom as presented by american apparel

1:24 PM it's some late roman empire bullshit

1:26 PM Caroline: haha

our great decline

me: i believe it

Marc Auge: He says time has changed. So much is happening, constantly, persistently, significantly. "What is new is not that the world lacks meaning, or has little meaning, or less than it used to have; it is that we seem to feel an explicit and intense daily need to give it meaning; to give meaning to the world, not just some village or lineage." We suffer from a problem of scale. Time itself is stretching out and more interminable perhaps then we ever thought possible. The system we created is quickly becoming more than the sum of its parts. Does this create a strange, unnameable suffering in the minds of the people I know? Why is everyone "fucked up" and do they really all have "issues"? Is someone lying about this? And why would they? And even if they are lying, what is making them lie and why do they wear their injuries like badges of honor? What part of our lives makes that a desirable quality in a friend/lover/associate?

What if everyone is just terrified?

When my heart goes sick and my whole self gets freezing freezing cold, I always think, "There is isn't enough time" and what I mean is "I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm going to die" and what I mean is "I want to take off my skin and leap into everyone else" and what I mean is "Fuck me fuck me fuck me." I think I must be standing before time, shaking, on my knees and hoping to be smashed to pieces. Salivating and girlish, hoping for debasement. I think. Maybe I'm wrong.

I want a solution that seems like going forward, not a reactionary one. A solution that doesn't include the phrase, "turn off your computer." We have made everything we have of our own accord and I will not refuse our inventions. I do not want a solution that attempts to return us to some sort of Eden-like, pastoral paradise, a time when we were clean, because we were never like that. I'm just dizzy on this shifting plane that it's hard to see what's right. And it's hard not to return to my conviction that the mundane will sustain life and keep it same same until some virus swallows us up and really nothing is wrong except that life is in fact boring and therefore a little sad.

In short, don't move to suburbia. Ever.

EDIT: Christmas vacation, Sara and Eliot and I read a New York Times article about how pop songs reflect fears about the world ending. They site "We Found Love in a Hopeless Place" and "Dancing Til the World Ends." If that's not proof, then I don't know what is.