Monday, November 28, 2016


What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours... and so the song goes.  Or 48 hours.  Or 72.  It's not even so much a question of words.  The mind and the body do betray sometimes.

Meditating on fear and it's not a specific fear that you can confront and say, "This..."  It's this other thing that's just there, or not there as the case may be.  Like you can see a shadow but it's not really there.  You can even photograph a reflection but it's not really there.  You can't touch it, but that makes it no less real.

I would stay home and be alone today if being alone was an option.  Sounds penetrate the thin membrane.




Feelings.  Other peoples' feelings make noises.  Don't tell me it's not so.  You can't tell me you haven't heard them.

Meditating this morning on fear, and shadows, and voices, and reflections mostly.  Fear is a shadow but more often fear is a mirror.  Fear is a voice.  It's an echo and what's an echo but a kind of reflection?  So meditating on my fear is meditating on my reflection which I suppose is a form of narcissism but then things start to get complicated and it's easier to get up and go to work if it's going to be my own voices wrecking the cocoon.

Fuck this.

Fuck this.

Fuck this.

It's not rare for me to wake up in a foul mood.  It's not rare for me to wake up with fear.  It's rare for me to have so little interest in doing something about it.  I don't even want to run, really.  

No more words.  

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