Rêves etc.: Alien Like You

Its true. The way in which the human mind manipulates its environment to produce emotion is absurd. It comes from nowhere, and we are the only creatures that seem to possess the ability to attach meanings to otherwise mundane objects and then allow ourselves to be controlled by them. Often there is no real substance that bothers us, rather just the emotion alone. Alone. This is a good example of a complex human feeling that comes from nowhere. You could be living in a crowded city, sharing a house with a loud bunch of roommates, spending day in day out with colleagues and classmates, and yet all the while be feeling like the only person on the planet. David Wojnarowicz illustrates this emotion in his book 'Memories That Smell Like Gasoline':

Sometimes I come to hate people because they can’t see where I am. I’ve gone empty, completely empty and all they see is the visual form: my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds

that come from my throat. But I’m fucking empty. The person I was just one year ago no longer exists, drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there. I’m a Xerox of my former self. I can’t abstract my own dying any longer. I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels. I am glass, clear empty glass. I see the world spinning behind and through me. I see casualness and mundane effects of gesture made by constant populations. I look familiar but I am a complete stranger being mistaken for my former selves. I am a stranger and I am moving. I am moving on two legs soon to be on all fours. I am no longer animal vegetable or mineral. I am no longer made of circuits or disks. I am no longer coded and deciphered. I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form. I can no longer find what I’m looking for outside of myself. It doesn’t exist out there. Maybe it’s only in here, i

nside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody’s words can touch me. No gesture can touch me. I’ve been dropped into all this from another world and I can’t speak your language any longer. See the signs I try to make with my hands and fingers. See the vague movements of my lips among the sheets. I’m a blank spot in a hectic civilization. I’m a dark smudge in the air that dissipates without notice. I feel like a window, maybe a broken window. I am a glass human. I am a glass human disappearing in rain. I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands. I am shouting my invisible words. I am getting so weary. I am growing tired. I am waving to you here. I am crawling around looking for the aperture of complete and final emptiness. I am vibrating in isolation among you. I am screaming but it comes out like pieces of clear ice. I am signaling that the volume of all this is too high. I am waving. I am waving my hands. I am disappearing. I am disappearing but not fast enough.

I just thought I would write a blog about it, because lately I've realised how ridiculous we really are in creating our own demons. Its very silly. But its also very real. And although we all may feel alone, if we're all alone, then we're all together in that