It's 1:30 AM. I've had about 5 pints of Guiness, some of which I paid for, many of which I haven't. I am drunk. I read recently about what alcohol does to the human biology and frankly wasn't impressed.
Much of it was about alcohol's effect on human internals. The brain, the liver, the stomach, and so on. In many ways, I've acquired a cavalier attitude about self-destruction. It seems to me that nearly everything I do in my life tends to shorten it.
It's almost impossible to describe just how voracious my desire for female company is. You know when you have the internet at your disposal to provide any and all visual stimulus, but your consensual opinion is that you crave human intimacy, that you're in a particular position unique to a primal awareness. It's not quite I-want-my-mommy, but it's the matured guardian of such.
A terrible rent in ones capacity to feel is created. To feel fully is to feel ones innate absence of company, while inhaling the fumes of holistic existance.
I want to touch you. I want to touch myself. I want us to touch. I want to disband I.
After long conversations, Ian and I have finally created the website we've both wanted to write for. Manifest Crucible is the site - please feel free to participate as its goal is dialog.
Every so often, I'll catch myself focusing my eyes to see something and wonder why it was I hadn't focused on it properly in the first place. Originally the discovery of this phenomenon came from a sudden awareness that I was not longer looking people in the eyes. I was looking at their mouth, or simply unfocusing my eyes so they were blurry. When I realized that it was deliberate, I instantly knew that I had secretly been retreating from the most intimate level of my life - my senses.
I didn't want to look in other people's eyes; when I forced myself to, I feared seeing too much of them or them seeing too much of me. I was afraid of seeing. Reflexively I began to assess my other senses. Do I not hear? What smells am I not aware of? Could there possibly be more flavor in my Doritos? Just how far have I retreated? Would I or could I ever know?
I recieved an email today from a business associate regarding a package he had been expecting and had not yet recieved. No mystery there, it had not been sent. I replied with assurances of it's delivery posthaste. I would have to focus my attention on getting that out. Immediately I began to take stock of other tasks I had lost focus on. Bills. Email responses. Writing jobs. Moving to New York. Maintaining social ties with local friends and acquaintances. Going outside. Each of these had been considered and rejected. Again realizing it was deliberate, I instantly knew that I had been retreating from the most intimate level of my being - my mind.