Whoever might be reading this at whatever time—I do hope it’s when it’s the quietest and loneliest for you. Not cause I pettily like the image of you being lonely and reading my lonely words as if your mutual suffering is my only source of solace, it’s not that at all. What I’m getting at
What I’ve always wanted to get at and so continue to—
If you’re anyone who’s kind enough to oneself to willingly partition a place for their void to belong in, to find solace in, then you’re reading an empath’s words. Voids by definition are empty. But I can’t ever picture emptiness without something to shoulder that emptiness.
To me that’s what a vessel’s for—the vessel gives the wraith a place to stay, if it wants. It can’t ask it to. They’re not exactly the same.
This is where I’m probably just gonna contradict myself so much. I very admittedly don’t know what I’m talking about. Though I am by these live documentations trying to figure it out myself. Thank you for passing by. Truly.
The vessel [physiological body] as much as the wraith [ghost / soul / spirit] can be alive [existentially]
One would likely feel the other missing if one of them left. If the vessel dies [e.g. a plane lands on oneself] then the wraith has to drift and do whatever it does. Since I never died physiologically, that’s where I stop fan-fictioning.
1.5 weeks ago my wraith left—so I soul-died. I claimed to have been soul-stabbed back to life not long after so to salvage something I realized still mattered more than what I didn’t have. By technicality then my wraith should’ve been back, and I guess it was, just not cooperating. Leaning his arm on the vessel’s wall like a resentful piece of shit, though the vessel’s a piece of shit too. By the way, they’re also not separate People. This is not guy gal stupid romantic bullshit thing. Rather one guy partitioned in two. So I guess—reconciliation with oneself.
So yeah I was “alive” but only by reanimation so I might as well have been a walking corpse with a tour guide’s name tag, hence by case study I’m still dead inside.
Until the drive motherfuckeeerrr.
The thing is—to any unlikely kindred-spirited reader—if that alienates the part of you that feels more lonely when someone else they knew as lonely suddenly appears less lonely, then this is my whole point.
Nothing about that changed.
For now—and I stress that cause for all I know in a few days I’m back to “kill em all!!kill em all!!!—“ mode—for now my wraith and vessel are side by side. But whether I’m at 100% practicality, the other 100% partitioned to the soul will never change. I can be as adrenalized as Bryan Mills jumps a fence Taken 3 but I will always be feeling Everything.
When we’re shooting.
When you see me for some reason / somehow laughing.
When I’m yelling at Matias / Ian / Jessie-Jamz / Matias during shooting for only noticing the things I do that upset them as opposed to straight up every fricking thing I do to show I appreciate and care, which By The Way! includes the very things that may upset out of a pained coping mechanism against no one ever noticing how much I appreciate and care [life meta4]. As if it’s an officially recognized olympian tournament to see who can hold out the longest with refusing to have a swell time around me. I can be fun too! I’m usually the self-aware party poop-lacer, but I can make stuff fun! Look at the costume you’re wearing! Or what you’re not wearing, in Matias’ case.
When it looks like I’m doing fine—even well.
I will always be in aloneness agony inside. You get to know that. Pen it on your hand every second day if you have to. Hell I’d even remind you so if I reach financial stability or get to have the one person’s tongue I’d want in my mouth of which neither will ever happen but I Would remind you.
And you’d be the first who I tell if I betray that.
It’d be the same as telling Kid Terry “sorry bro I’m happy now. Look do you want me to set you up with someone” so as a parallel to self-kindness, I’d be the first to tell you if I am no longer who I claim I wanna be. Being a martyr of aloneness isn’t an act. Even if I tried—which mind you that’d be the most unreasonably uncertain career path to exploit—even if I tried I would fall and crack my skull and descend into a crevice of skulls. On purpose.
I don’t feel much at all about what I Am able to do—much less celebrate it—because nothing about my emotionality changes. Not even when I’m laughing. Proof, you don’t see me right after laughing suddenly violently exchanging tongues-in-mouth with someone with this expression –> D8<. And if you did, I’d explain myself and justify it if applicable. Fun trivia that’s how I picture most people of whom I don’t buy the “deep shit” they say and share.
I am the one with their arms crossed on the self-agencied sidelines going “you fools” while always with the self-accounting “I should talk.” I am the one where when finally it looks like everyone I brought together is having fun amongst each other Matias included I will then sleekly peace out and go remotely look at..fuckin..plants I’ll never know the names to. If I’m brooding enough I’ll try talking to some animals I pass by to which a confused rabbit will just go “lol skeetzoooh.” I don’t know. I mean, I do. I gotta wrap this 2-parter up.
OK do you feel like most content out there—regardless of how ad infinitum the mediums and services—is just about all pure shit? Cause I feel that way and the last thing I ever wanna create is just more shit like that, even if it means ending up planked and dissolving in the street cause everything I ever made was too inaccessible and my name wasn’t david lynch so I couldn’t get away with that shit. Regardless the narratives of our individual lives, they’ll be but largely narrated. Who we actually were will ultimately not matter—not compared to What We Did. So hitler might’ve been a vegetarian but what he did was write mynn kampf and also did some other stuff. bryan singer was a gay advocate but what he did were things relative as hollywood’s hitler of gay rape. I’m not making jokes these are amongst all the messed up truths I won’t take for granted.
I’m not gonna be remembered the way I want. I can’t focus on it either because I know deep down that what I want doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately selfish things like “why the Fudge would you end up with stupid turtleneck weasel so what I’m not well-adjusted posh well-spoken—” and I want What I Do to matter. Cause I cannot and may not ever trust who I wanna be remembered for. This is why “une filme de Thierry Chiu” or whatever medium-equivalent will never go on a poster / cover.
My time in this place will not matter.
I will not matter.
What I do will.
OPEN DOOM CRESCENDO – Virtual Slice / Episode 21 mic drops once Peter Kuplowsky’s schedule frees up enough which should be sometime this month.
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