Sunday, July 19, 2015
and i always thought those shouts outside the wind in the trees. what a relief. at last i have a reason for these sudden drops in mood, (assuming the crowds go home at night), especially in the morning. i'd thought, well, maybe it's just the drugs wearing off. finding the right dosages has been a task, all the way from too much and being a sociopath to too little and mere nervousness.
actually, it's good i didn't discover these at twenty, my life would have been much less restless and interesting (to me). one can be too calm. on the other hand, i can't help but wonder: what would my life have been like: a family, a career, a house in the suburbs, boring to remember? hard to tell. i do delight in walking on a bali beach, or attending the 100th theater performance in Berlin.
even yesterday, low in the morning, ecstatic and delighted by the new moon at night. sometimes nothing interests me. i have to lay back and let it pass. for someone plagued by impatience all his life, this a difficult duty. i've always thought i suffered from too much feeling, letting aeon's of stimuli passing through my eyes. yet, the problem may be from feeling nothing.
desire a natural drug, and i never would have had erotic and literary adventures without it. of course, i can't get buddha's dictum out of my mind: this the root of all evil. rather the roller-coaster than being becalmed at sea, i say. what a mess this causes. i'm suddenly an ancient without the attendant wisdom. all i can say is: boy, does it pass fast.
this morning i've taken one pill, eaten two chocolate cookies, and am drinking english breakfast tea, changing the beginning to see if i can avoid the doldrums which descend on me at ten o'clock. at that time all i want to do is go to bed, hardly able to keep my eyes on the forest. i repeat this manta: no, this is not depression, simply natural. most people in the world would like to lie down and dream.
speaking of dreams, i had a terrific one last night. i keep going back to adventures in a mythical city which i call 'new york', only it's much more active: muggings, dark streets, vivid theater and music events, a constant display of activities in crowded restaurants, lots of color mixed with shadow. i never know what's going to happen, and as usual, i can never, ever find my way back to the starting point or the apartments of friends.
this latter perhaps the story of my life, why despite long residences in particular places (chico, the lookout), i've never felt i had a home. i'd like to go back, especially to certain events in childhood: listening to the radio in an old montana farm-house as truman wins the presidency in an upset, playing fox and geese in the snow, skating on frozen creeks through the woods.
and all this goes against the painful invasions of my psyche during this time, my defenses against human intervention undeveloped. oddly, at twelve i remember telling myself: i will never forget how painful childhood was. yes, i contradict myself, confused by the shouting crowds outside waving their terrible signs: Wayne, You Nerd.