I Want Time To Write

There are an overwhelming amount of sensations I would like to actualize with words. So rather than solely feeling them, I can confirm their existence by sight. Somehow, because of this, I suspect we could - together - recognize the reality of our interior and perhaps trust that we can achieve permanence for one another. Maybe all it takes for us to be, is this acknowledgment: what makes the feelings of two seperate selves significant is the chance they are the same. What would we become if we didn't have to be strong, which is to say, if we let our feelings take advantage of us? What would you do if you let yourself go and from doing so achieved/received your desire? An overabundance of time devoted to self-consciousness prohibits the profound. I respect this opinion but have to add, it may paralyze as well. Was it Woody Allen who said postmodernists perform mental masturbation? Still, Woody, this right here doesn't make me feel like I'm grazing any base. Especially after last week, when it seemed pleasure was pursuing me, instead of I to it. Which is to say, I was more natural and did not dwell, even though I laid in a bedroom that wasn't mine for longer than I have ever allowed and looked upon some other without the will to escape being seen. During this time, I looked outward more than the reverse and discovered my eye became newly fascinated by someone I wasn't thinking about. I found us lucky and successful without regard to the goal of attaining a sort of selfish state. My eye saw without thinking, and this I believe is how I found myself indulged in pleasure. I am facing the fact that without activity, my smile is lifeless and my character paralyzed. I am committed to thought and live for conversation, but I can't stand the retelling of stories. Why? Because one finds themselves in explanation, which postpones the real and truly severes us from our sensual social self. And I don't want to hear myself sounding seperate from how I feel. And I don't want to stop my process within the present to live in a past that has already happened. This detracts from the pleasure and the overarticulation is an awareness where I am portrayed unnaturally - where in order to expound I must exaggerate; ultimately a romanticization that is humorous (in that entitites become an ideal) or tragic (in that analysis is not in tune with the moment's true time). Perhaps because I was seeing sense, sensuality and sensation in such different terms last week I inevitably fell from not thinking about where I was going (consequences, reason, logic). But the fall didn't hurt (or it hasn't, not yet, and if it does it will be a seperate chapter all together). What did happen is I had to bring myself up and think how I had fallen. Instead, the only thing I could think was: why can I not say but one word, that feels so easy and natural from within. There was such tension - how my tongue was tracing over that single word and yet, I couldn't sync it with sound to make it mean something. Maybe even to confirm we matter.


Message 1: Chelsea you are quite elusive.
Message 2: You are interesting, as always, but unclear.

- Is clarity a result of knowing one's self and being fearless? If so, what does this say about me? If I were clear and therefore, also the symptoms that come with it, would I have opposed the logic in remaining speechless, and just said what I feared I felt?

Ep, now I have an hour to write about masochism and sadism...?