Thinking back to 2010 – that Spring and early Summer, the coming of Fall…I have to say, I miss it. Parts of it anyway. I can’t say that I was having fun, exactly. There were times that my grievous howling cries were heard by passerby. My bones hurt. Everything hurt. I could barely walk. I thought I had shellshock, trench mouth.
Still there was the soaring and it swept me up. It did. When I began to get strange bruises (a side effect of taking too high a dose of prescribed venlafaxine?) and my spine felt like it was on fire and I saw the sacral form everywhere…it was scary.
No one person should bear so much strange witness in such a short and unanticipated period.
Of course, in the aftermath, I could see that – really – it had all been building for a very long time. It is rare indeed that something comes out of nowhere. I think that I – all the sudden – became everything I had ever been too afraid to be, without even a second thought I fell into all my lost lives. That probably doesn’t make sense.
I am straddling a lot of different lines lately and that is where I usually get tangled. Writing helps me to keep clear and though I haven’t posted here in a few days, I have been filling up pages…here and there, in messages sent by phone.
Tomorrow I am going to work again and that will be good. It will have to be good, it is what is happening.
Even if it is bad, it will be good.
Everything is, at the very least, interesting.
This is something that she wonders about.
As she drives to work and walks around the grocery store with her children, she thinks about spies. We are all, she has decided, spies in our own right. She pays attention, she wonders what the connections are. Sending out messages, bits of information, and hoping for the right recipient, she seeks information.
What would have seemed like abject paranoia 20 years ago, is now a definite possibility. Given the vast networks of exchange inherent in interweb technologies and the way that certain topics tend to operate, even the most hapless among us can become Spies, whether or not we even realize it.
Of course, we’re not actually hapless. We’re really quite clever. Many of us have diagnoses in regard to our processing styles and the peculiar things that catch our eyes and hold our hearts. A lot of us get bored by things that are supposed to be fun and we make up our own games.
We started having problems with the Real World when it stopped seeming real and when we figured out that they always pick on the rogue, ignore the underdog. It got boring and sad. We stopped paying attention to it. Still, it crept in…in videos and links and a growing understanding of how, precisely, it all operates.
Me? I still live in the real world. I drive to work and there I am me. I pick up my children from school and there I am me. I have been careful to not create falsehood, an avatar. I am always me, with my own name.
In thinking about Synesthesia and the psychotic spectrum, there are some interesting intersections. Principles of psychology and neuroplasticity inform us that the brain/mind develops in response to stimuli and experience.
If the way that a person experiences the world leads them to increased vulnerability to trauma, or if they experience trauma in things that most people do not find traumatic (such as flourescent lighting) and are then punished for their attempts to communicate distress, painful pathology arises within frameworks that may not be inherently distressing or destructive.”
|This is the opposite of gestalt. However, it invites gestalt in that it makes you wonder what is behind the paper and thus you begin to imagine a world.|