In my friend Tony’s dream I am driving him and his wife to a party in a small automobile. By the time they get where they’re going, he may be possessed. Not in the way we’re all already possessed by the ideology permeating the superstructure containing us, but in a more sinister way; things less obvious always seem more sinister.
Ten years ago today I was staring at a photograph of children playing soccer in GCPR era China. Under the photo there was a caption explaining that no one kept score because the game was about fun, not competition.
Tell me all the ways you’re better than your neighbor.
Do you love what you are?
So many dreams I have are about all the reasons I have to hate myself. I’m learning to break into the dream through a door in the sky and shout It’s all right!
My favorite sport has always been lying in the grass and forgetting I exist. To feel the ants of summer crawling through the hair on my legs and not twitch, because I am nothing. To not feel the breath leaving my body, because there is no body. To not feel my eyes as I stared into the sun. Everything going dark, all senses leaving, trying to latch onto the point at which only the real self exists. There is no sense without the sensate, without shit. It’s alright.
How can you win at this game without hurting someone?
My mother told me when I was three I would dance naked in the rain and say that I was hunting buffalo. My friend Phil told me his earliest memory is thinking Oh no, not again! My son says there can only be one love.
When I’m sad that I’m not where I used to be, I look those places up in maps and visualize my body as a long tube snaking from the place where I was born to those places and to where I am now.
A friend of mine aligned my chakras once. He told me to try to remember every person I had ever come into contact with, as who I am is the result of them.
The problem with self-care is it seems like a selfish waste of time to the people who need it the most. When I was a boy my father used to splash cold water on my face to help me wake up. When I was a boy I wanted to be Paul Atreides. I want so much less self than what I have. I want less want. Less cloud. A longer night. A taller fire. A higher sky. An endless door to endless dreams. Write me a letter about all the things you have been to all the people you have met. I’ll repay you in kind.
All of us should be shining right now.