Beirut au Métropolis le 11 juillet prochain. J'ai mon billet.
Beirut -- St. Apollonia
25 mars 2009
11 mars 2009
Stream-of-unconsciousness self-absorption
[All of this was just under the surface of things, this morning, and then was brought up by a single insignificant detail which probably has no meaning at all, but which acted as the catalyst for a whole de-pression of my Being. In English, for obvious reasons.]
Ah, here it comes, I've been avoiding it for a while but now it's here. A sinking feeling, with a slight tinge of panic. Yesterday it was a vague desire for travel, today it's a sharp need to escape. I'm alone because I've failed to establish any kind of connection; those I thought were friends turn out to be fellow inmates for whom I cease to exist the minute we stop sharing the same cell. My willingness to overcome my own ingrained introversion is irrelevant; my painful efforts are acknowledged but apparently not appreciated accordingly. I am listened to, as a courtesy, any time I speak, but I do not speak loud enough to be heard. Because I have no desire to proclaim or to convince, anything I say is brushed away, does not register, or simply goes unnoticed.
Consequently, what I really am is not important to anyone, only what I represent (son, brother, husband, father, colleague), and what I bring (self-reflection, comfort, support, companionship).
It's all my fault, of course. Or, rather, it would have been in my power to make it otherwise. I chose not to, and I choose to maintain that choice, resolutely. Because of shyness. Because of humility. Because I am easily made anxious. Because I've an instinctive comprehension of the agression implied anytime anybody tries to convince anybody of anything.
It's been so long since I've felt at peace, at home, at ease. My confusion has grown so pervasive, I can never completely put it to sleep anymore. Hence, my inability to express what I need, or why I need it, sometimes even to myself. Hence, a state of mind which has evolved from chronic day-dreaming to full-blown lunacy, from a general tendency to a generalized handicap.
If only I could tell everybody how little I believe in anything (and --- most importantly --- how little I need from anyone), then maybe they could realize how special my love for them is, and how unlikely it was that I would become the relatively stable and normally adapted individual that I am.
Nothing has meaning, except escape. Everything I have ever loved or felt drawn to, is now no more than an occasional and secondary diversion. Is it any wonder then that I'm always filled with Death- (not Life-) Energy? Is it any wonder that everything inside me crumbles, is blown away, or shatters? Is it any wonder that all the ropes from all the bridges which connect me to People and Things are frayed or already snapped?
On a good day, everything is easy, stimulating, and meaningful. On bad days, everything is a hollow struggle, and I have to trick or bribe myself into doing anything at all.
What a way to live.
Breathe out.
Ah, here it comes, I've been avoiding it for a while but now it's here. A sinking feeling, with a slight tinge of panic. Yesterday it was a vague desire for travel, today it's a sharp need to escape. I'm alone because I've failed to establish any kind of connection; those I thought were friends turn out to be fellow inmates for whom I cease to exist the minute we stop sharing the same cell. My willingness to overcome my own ingrained introversion is irrelevant; my painful efforts are acknowledged but apparently not appreciated accordingly. I am listened to, as a courtesy, any time I speak, but I do not speak loud enough to be heard. Because I have no desire to proclaim or to convince, anything I say is brushed away, does not register, or simply goes unnoticed.
Consequently, what I really am is not important to anyone, only what I represent (son, brother, husband, father, colleague), and what I bring (self-reflection, comfort, support, companionship).
It's all my fault, of course. Or, rather, it would have been in my power to make it otherwise. I chose not to, and I choose to maintain that choice, resolutely. Because of shyness. Because of humility. Because I am easily made anxious. Because I've an instinctive comprehension of the agression implied anytime anybody tries to convince anybody of anything.
It's been so long since I've felt at peace, at home, at ease. My confusion has grown so pervasive, I can never completely put it to sleep anymore. Hence, my inability to express what I need, or why I need it, sometimes even to myself. Hence, a state of mind which has evolved from chronic day-dreaming to full-blown lunacy, from a general tendency to a generalized handicap.
If only I could tell everybody how little I believe in anything (and --- most importantly --- how little I need from anyone), then maybe they could realize how special my love for them is, and how unlikely it was that I would become the relatively stable and normally adapted individual that I am.
Nothing has meaning, except escape. Everything I have ever loved or felt drawn to, is now no more than an occasional and secondary diversion. Is it any wonder then that I'm always filled with Death- (not Life-) Energy? Is it any wonder that everything inside me crumbles, is blown away, or shatters? Is it any wonder that all the ropes from all the bridges which connect me to People and Things are frayed or already snapped?
On a good day, everything is easy, stimulating, and meaningful. On bad days, everything is a hollow struggle, and I have to trick or bribe myself into doing anything at all.
What a way to live.
Breathe out.
10 mars 2009
[10 mars 2009, 9:55]
Une bulle qui monte, atteint la surface de ma Pensée. Je l'écris:
Le désir (la tentation est forte d'employer le mot "besoin") de partir, de s'engager dans un pélerinage dont la nature exacte est sans importance, en autant que le voyage qui en résulte soit complet, véritable.
Se plonger dans la Saison printanière, lui faire la cours, pour éventuellement courtiser et séduire la Saison estivale. Se forcer à parcourir soi-même chaque millimètre de la géographie que l'on parcourt; s'atteler et regarder passer chaque seconde à la loupe, aussi pénible que ça puisse parfois devenir, car si on ne goûte pas, si on ne savoure pas, il ne reste que la digestion, la survie, et ce n'est pas assez.
Je ferme les yeux, respire, et puis avale la bulle afin qu'elle ne me hante pas trop longtemps.
Le désir (la tentation est forte d'employer le mot "besoin") de partir, de s'engager dans un pélerinage dont la nature exacte est sans importance, en autant que le voyage qui en résulte soit complet, véritable.
Se plonger dans la Saison printanière, lui faire la cours, pour éventuellement courtiser et séduire la Saison estivale. Se forcer à parcourir soi-même chaque millimètre de la géographie que l'on parcourt; s'atteler et regarder passer chaque seconde à la loupe, aussi pénible que ça puisse parfois devenir, car si on ne goûte pas, si on ne savoure pas, il ne reste que la digestion, la survie, et ce n'est pas assez.
Je ferme les yeux, respire, et puis avale la bulle afin qu'elle ne me hante pas trop longtemps.
S'abonner à :
Messages (Atom)