Impotence Breeds Acumen. [Journal 4-17-17]

Incubus – Aqueous Transmission.

I apologize for the extreme dependency on personal jargon. Again: I’ll expand the metacog section of the blog in the future, so this shit makes sense, when not preparing myself for wading through the masses after a year of crippling depression.

Metacog’s working. I’m influencing the core mental functions which I’ve been locked out of for over a decade. It’s slow going, as permanently undoing damage, and establishing awareness and control, is a process. But, it seems that I’ve finally made a permanent connection between those functions, my conscious mind, and my longterm memory – even if a faint one. If all goes well, I should be stronger than ever in short time.

An unexpected response from the tinkering has occurred: I want to go home. As I overhaul major processes of my mind, the new thought patterns need to be forcibly associated with the current “whole” of my mind. In forcing them in place, in trying to find a comfortable fit for these new changes, I have a strong impulse for comforting and familiar surroundings and people.

Why that impulse occurs is questionable, and not the point. The point is: no such place or people exist for me; this blog, and some mildy engaging art, is the closest. I finally find my way out of the labyrinth, to find nothing waiting for me. Honestly, what the fuck do normal people do with all their time? Finger their assholes while arguing about which season is the best?

Anyway, I haven’t been doing shit the last two or so weeks. Haven’t touched the garden, but for maybe 8 hours of work. Maybe spent 16 hours at the shelter. Mostly, I’ve just been meditating at increasing rates. I’m gaining more access to my mind, and seeing that progress, I’m more motivated to continue meditating, rather than wasting time – which I usually do.

Now that I think of it, I don’t know that I’ve clearly stated how much time I’ve wasted relaxing [avoiding the horror that is my life] this last year. It’s a fucking lot. Like, a super lot. The reason is simple and obvious: I haven’t been able to emotionally handle my situation. But, maybe that will change now. Or maybe I’m a megalomaniac; let’s take a poll.

Check the applicable choice.

        __I’m not a megalomaniac.       __Go fuck yourself, peasant.

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~ by Louis Naughtic on April 17, 2017.

7 Responses to “Impotence Breeds Acumen. [Journal 4-17-17]”

  1. Hiraeth: (n.) a nostalgia for a home to which you cannot return; a longing for a home that is no longer or never was.

    There’s nothing waiting for you. You have to carve your own space.

  2. Maybe so. When I was a boy, with no where else to go, I made a comfortable home within myself. I’m making my way back there, though I hope to find somewhere less lonely.

    In exchange: “War is the context inwhich peace exists.” – John C. Wright, The Golden Transcendence

  3. Or perhaps create it. Like that dream farm of yours.

  4. This post reminds me so much of this song from FFIX:

  5. Jesus pig-fucking christ that song has a paralyzing depth of heartache to it. I swear to fuck, the japanese enter pseudo-“trances”, due to their absurd work-hours, to produce the shit they do.

  6. Yeah, FFIX was one of my favorites, both game and music. Video game soundtracks by Japanese composers are definitely underappreciated.
    The song is very cathartic in the way you described.

  7. Very true. I’m nearly certain my taste for high-quality music started from Japanese games.

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