26-03-18 14:19

Write the post A place to be with my thoughts. A place to be. A place.

Escape from the madness. Into my own madness. Much preferable. And yet now I can engage with the world and its madness.

But habits are habits and I like to exist in the meta. To speak of it, about it, around it, within it.

To establish forms. To keep them coherent. To show how incoherent they can be. To bend, to stretch, to rip.

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Space is meant to be a place where I don’t have to write my stream so intensely. I don’t have to write and include mistakes. I’m allowed to edit. I’m allowed to ponder. I’m encouraged to write. And if worrying about mistakes prevents me from a free write I’ll do it my own way. This is my space. I can be free. I can hide what I want, I can show what I want. I can organize things the way I’d like. And if I change the rules, I change the rules.

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Why does it feel so strange to make eye contact with strangers? Why do I feel like now my eyes have to dance around the person and never look their way. Now I feel the rebellious urge to look their way further. And yet the desire to not bother people exists to keep me from it. They supposedly cancel each other out, yet I am left with mental noise. Performative behavior reverberates and tries to hijack my natural self. Where did this come from?

I’ve found escape from looking, by writing.

2:32pm

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