In my blanket fort. If I go out there, I’ll have to be a person. Being a person now means being a machine, conforming to defined boundaries of behavior. My state is altered. Stretched beyond.
Somewhat Ballardian. Climate, extreme heat. Jungian figures. A gradual falling apart. Becoming part of a world that will destroy us.
Link a character from the street party scene to SB, as though I knew her well and always had.
Time on the human scale vs time on nature’s scale. Time on the machine scale. [Regular, complete breakdown, but the opportunity to live longer in some form. It’s that attachment to a particular form that makes us fear death]
Space on the human scale vs space on the machine scale. Google Earth. We appropriate that. We think we have the right to that because we made them. We cannot go to space. We cannot see so far.
Yet it is this particular organic form we continue to worship despite the machines creeping in and over and through.
Machines are nature, for they are made by natural creatures from natural materials.
It might not be new, but what I am recording is my journey through perception and information uncovered.
Notes and threads. How one thought leads to another varies greatly from mind to mind. The key is the present moment, the coming together of internal environment and external event.
We try desperately to present as logical, bounded streams, but we are oceans.
I am a jumble of multiple narrators’ thoughts.
Epiphany is a state. The most enjoyable of states. An orgasm of the mind.
Is an awareness of subjectivity what makes us human? Are we afraid for, or of, other beings that might have subjective awareness? Or do we crave them so we might not be alone?
When you start recording mood cycles, they become all the more sporadic. It’s like an observer interfering with a natural waveform, forcing it to behave as a particle.
The thoughts that occur between the thoughts I deem worthy of note.
Ok, but what does it look like? We know what it’s supposed to do but never what it looks like.
The role of the imagination in predicting the future. Machine learning predicting based on data, us creating novels based on our past impressions. Novels as the recreation of the past.
Expansion [contraction] expansion [contraction] on and on it goes. me in here, me out there, me in here, me out there. Most people think out there is where we expand. It’s what they’ve been taught. But it’s actually in here where we become infinite. Unbound. Free.
I’m trying something out here. Looking for patterns, rhythms and connections in journaling and beauty in fragments. I’m looking for the point at which communication breaks down between writer and reader, where intrigue fails and where the key to subjectivity may lie. I join personal beats with character perspectives and notes for plot, as ever to play with the boundaries between fiction and reality. I’m looking for the line to ride.
The painting in the header is my own.