blogging… gagging in room 109

Posted in Uncategorized by batteryboxop on March 31, 2009

I have been reluctant to blog or start a blog or to describe any activity as ‘blogging’… purely because of the redundant stigma attached to it.  Such a silly stigma.  The decision to start blogging as a pseudo daily activity came to me as a light in the dark… and as I begin to pull this beaded little chain, it becomes apparent of how foreign writing has become for me.   I fill volumes of notebooks with jots and notes of things to pursue, but leave most to the mnemonic devices and reverent dreams saved up for that rainy day when internet pornography finally loses it’s charm…

As I whipped my umbrella dry and sat down to write,  my thoughts instantly begin to stutter…  ‘reluctant. I have been reluctant, yes! or have I been remiss?’… this viral paranoia that surfaces the instant that my thoughts get wind of their structure, is a insatiable burden on both my para-socialization, and my ability to work. To produce.  This archaic and stratafied delineation of the power of one’s mind, or the realization of this, doesn’t leave you (      )palegic… It renders you accountable.  Responsible for the raging, violent choreographic synapses of the cognitive infrastructures that nebulize into the gaseous visions of such an altitude that it must solidify and fall into grid…  a process better understood by a theremin accompaniment than by it’s own binary optics of language… but here goes.

As my sleep schedule had nearly eclipsed daylight, the night before last, I laid awake, reading as the orange hum of city darkness sets into red. I heard fighting across the hall.  this is nothing unusual.  but I then heard the sound of an amoebic like body being thrust into a door, then a wail, then silence…  It was 6 AM.

gagging in room 109

At a normal hour I would have ignored this, as I quite often hear such things, but it was 6 am, and it was coming one door down from the quarreling drunkards usually at arms with each other.   I returned to my reading but heard it again, so i picked up my recorder and slowly opened the door. There was mumbling and movement.  I stepped down the stairs and ascended the second set, as they were closer to the door, from which I could hear words being pushed through a pillow, or caught in a gag. Then a voice.

through the peephole of room 107

“Are you going to calm the FUCK down?!”

As I realized I had stepped into the line of an obviously serious series of events… I simply stood there, adjusting the levels on my recorder.   It was at this point, that I was reminded of myself saying how fear is the most transparent means to see one’s true character, and  I then could clearly see myself, standing there fiddling with my recorder,  wishing that they’d just speak up.

Now, one might assume certain characterizations based on this self-imposition and conceited indifference… but at any point within the last three years, I would probably have been crouched aside their door with a recorder wedged between the threshold with a fish-tailed crowbar shaking in my hands, martyring for art… cell phone on vibrate with 9-1-1 punched into the dialer…

But no, I stood recording the muffled weeps until they turned into a heavy breathing that turned into a painful apology followed by the dissipating “Well I fucking told you! Didn’t I?! You have to listen, okay!”… without intervention, and without pry…

It was in this pause, in this poise, this posture, that a familiar vacancy was finally filled.  An alien guest- Serre’s parasite- finally hosted.  One could call it self-reflection, but it’s not.  Some lean on meta-cognition, or ostrenenmie, but it’s not.  It’s witnessing the destruction of an attractor and seeing it singularize into a form.    It’s channeling the cosmopolitan colored energy of the post-it notes on the wall, into a more conscious transformation of life through time.  And in this case of mine, it’s blogging… and it’s annoying as hell.

Lo-Latency… life at one volume.


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