I've been finding that, occasionally and unexpectedly, a sense of gratification, harmony or rightness surrounds me. This feeling of being happily embodied is new, and it tells me that I'm doing the right thing - whether that's "the right thing" is whatever I'm doing in the moment, or transition in general (probably both). This occurs most frequently at moments of genuine and often kinesthetic expression, unchecked by second-guessing; through movement, exertion, crying, creating art. It never occurs when looking in the mirror, nor has it come while pacing at a bus stop.

In tandem with this state, I usually perceive a semi-conscious image of me-now; a visual flicker in my mind as if I'm seeing myself viewed from elsewhere. It is a harmonious image; squaring with how my body feels, but seeing myself from outside carries a measure of disassociation with it, and I wonder what that means.

I would like to make these moments more frequent, as they seem to point to "yes, what you're doing is right for you." I am not sure how to do this.

Exercise seems to set it off. It can be climbing a steep hill, or using all limbs to scale a pile of concrete road-markers, or even carrying heavy groceries. In all cases, it's oddly gratifying, drawing me into present awareness.

I need to do some kind of a sport, I guess. The rec centre strike is over. Maybe I should see what's available? Something that doesn't involve a lot of running (i.e. no Soccer) on account of my knee, but which still require exertion. Suggestions? Locations?

Oh, right, I was thinking of taking up paintball.
...and Gilgamesh lost his

The urge towards self-______ is here again.

Self what? Not self-destruction; but perhaps a shade of self-annihilation and some self-escape with aspects of self-transformation.

This happens from time to time: the urge to slip away like ice cream under a brick. The urge to shift, change (from least to most) my dress, routine, hair, skin, sex, mode of speech, name, home, work, hobbies, values, sense of humour; it all has to go, or rather change, or rather stay with the something (i.e. "me") that's left behind. At least it feels that way.
                                                                I'm such a conservative dresser.

That which no longer is cannot be wounded. An old skin, left behind, is no more than a place-marking curio, like an historical plaque. It will not bleed when cut. The new will have slithered off and is somewhere else being... different, getting injured and forming new scars, but the new snake shed those too.

The catch is that snakes have to crawl everywhere.

Why this urge now? I feel death creeping up on me. It's custom to disguise yourself by inverting your clothes. Maybe death just hates exposed seams. Does anyone think it's strange that we wear the seams next to our skin?  I digress. It's good to digress.

Anyway. Change in the face of death.
Everyone here looks old, sick, worn out, worn down, worn away. Going. Eroding.
I don't want to be caught up in this, but I can feel it in me.

That's one explanation

Alternative or Conjuncitve explanation

Grandmother: dead. Job interview: done.  Current academic haits: unsustainable.

And so I think I'm going to dye my hair funny colours - baldness be damned.

Whether or not I take up street luge remains to be seen.

Bits of I

Dec. 14th, 2005 01:47 am
I'm fiddsing with a Cyberpunk larp, wuch to my satisfaction. All creative, fast with the social analysis, a brain that slips into cracks, shortly followed by a tongue.

It's been a while. I missed my old self, or parts of it, but bits of I seem to be back again, more or less, which is good.

Going out with Erin may have something to do with this. I suppose not desperately looking for work may also be an influence, as may a feeling of community and a certain degree of associated optimism or understanding or something. Or maybe I should stop trying and blame it all on sunspot cycles.

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August 2017

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