I'm almost done, but I always say this, that I am almost fucking done, it truly feels like it. The great cognitive shift I talk about in most of my ramblings through all these years is an expanssion of consciousness, redownloading a saturated perspectival form contained in the abstract that comes down to an objective, world-encompassing form that exists both individually and intersubectively. It affects my mind, body and spirit. It has been a biological evolutionary and lengthy process that gradually wakes me up to become aware of what I used to be before all of this, except I am not the same anymore. I don't exactly know what comes afterwards as I am not 100% yet there, I am still buffering through this massive ungrateful radioactive grotesque clusterfuck. Still there is a more critical edge to the acceptance of the decay of the inevitable ruin that places my spiritual arquitecture in a unique position to inform my understanding of my conditionings and humanity as a whole and enhance my experience. This is to include in design a degree of complexity, even of contradiction embodied in the simultaneous process of both growth and decay, that heightens and intesifies my humanity. I think I was really masterful on the struggle with organizing chaos and make form when things are just to fall apart, trying to preserve something having no firm ground to stand on and make a sense of order knowing that I was flawed, hidding addiction and self destructive tendencies to the public, besides what I would consciously choose in particular to share with or when I would fuck up at home and family finding out but that's obvious. Smoking synthetic cannabinoids was the top notch, it acceletared the process regardless of how destructive they are, not caring for adverse effects nor collateral damage. This goes for other dissociative agents as well. Other coping without any direct incentive like heavy drinking and slitting my wrist (got an arthery once) to sooth my presence. Hoarding techno and future garage music, going deep down rabbit holes and making entire subjects my personality and identity, spreading awarness on genocide in order to feel righteous and useful, helping homeless or addicts online in order to fix a people pleasing complex to distract myself from shame and guilt, watching gore to desensitize and suppress the intensity of my existence, excerssising excessively by spending too much time at the gym to release endorphins under a healthy impression and not having to deal with myself alone in my room, preventing oxygen flow for as much as I could at the lap swimming pool then grasping for air in order to feel alive, or constantly masturbating and dodging orgasm not cumming at all in order to feel strong, writing poetry to filter and give some sense to it all. I think what it's truly remarkable when it comes to self destructive patterns, coping mechanisms and models of survival is that they are so intimate and can vary up to a very personal level, you become so close to your addictions and illnesses that getting rid of them is like destroying the part of you that taught you how to survive, and at the end it all wraps up to that, because I lived in survival mode for years on end and up until date, I am still in auto-pilot. I have to elaborate upon a space where I have to really examine myself and fully grasp why I feel the way I do about certain things and have the courage to look into that mirror and see "it", for I have been masking for years on end and now in retrospect I look back into that time and realize the last thing I wanted to do was that, face myself fully naked and crash with the inevitable. The last person I wanted to be with was myself at that time so I did anything I could to not do that. I would orquestrate anything that makes me think I was bussy but wasn't really addressing the situation. Took me a place where I could say I was privileged and fortunate and yet I felt entirely miserable. Disorderliness reduces with time through this diffraction protocol. Something within the abstract or the above that governs the complexity of what happens, that talks about multiple layers of the structures and how they interact with each other. Embarrasingly enough, I don't even know how to define this problem yet despite all my words and texts as a whole. I don't know the right quantitative description for complexity. Extracting hidden resources that trigger my inner wounds under perpetual blur while trying not to please everyone with what they expect me to be and trying not to be different just to be different, which isn't being honest either. The biological individuality of my organism seems to lie in a certain continuity of process, and in the memory of the effects of its past development. In terms of a computing machine, everything lies in the retention of its earlier tapings and memories, and in its continued development along lines already laid out. Unfortunately (or perhaps thankfuly), there is no stagy, contrived method to accomplish this architecture I am refering to, for it must find its own unique way, and the only thing that is truly the key, is time, resilience and constant naked and raw expression of whats real. Just another attempt to reach the unreachable, to touch the untouchable and to give form to whats amorpheous. You couldn't begin to understand the nature and density of what is truly about, nor I wish for someone to do so, because that automatically implies having someone to go through the same outcome, it can't be detected otherwise like most ordenary things that are extrinsic, and it is something I do not wish upon any living being, it was something that was just bound to happen, and I will suffer through all reprecussions that are left to attend from here on out, all the hate, all the shame, all the victim and all the guilt of watching life through my eyes passing by me and not being able to grasp it, I cannot shut this vessel off for I do not know the interconnection dynamics with the beyond, I can only wait for death to happen naturaly not having any sort of forced intereference for I might sabotage it, although I'm still hoping against hope that there might be something left within the aftermath even though it feels like I am gonna make it till the end no matter how much more it keeps on staggering my life. This here, the cognitive dissonance of wanting to be understood knowing it is not convenient nor tangible, and writing a text in itself, pretending I can encorporate and land this into words is just another coping mechanism. Ungraspable, my skin speaks soft but my lips couldn't say it. Abstractions upon abstractions. I'm almost done.
(03-13-2024)
