Sta.sh
Isolated
In denying the importance of every day life, we deprive ourselves as part of our lives, or we use one piece of the past or present to screen out another to make what is unlived bearable. Only a liar could suffer my kind of amnesia, for amnesia is the silence of the unconscious. In lying habitually, one loses contact with a 'soul' or rather self-truths spoken from the unconscious. This is why I can look in the mirror every morning and still feel as if I haven't seen myself in years. It is in no way different from living off of dramamine to induce sleep, with the promise of no dreams. The farther away I am, the less truth there is to tell, and the better I can live a life without consistently feeling I am harboring unspoken words. Consequently, the closer we look at everything, the more truth there is to tell.
I can not stand to look deeper so that I must explain myself, or make attempts to articulate what I have seen from the inside out. It would be frightening to see my own perception, that I know to be so wrong and inconceivable superimposed over a world I anticipate contradicts my own. Living this way is terribly easy, although it brings about a guilt that does not cease.
I have been writing, thinking...I suppose everything but talking about love lately. Maybe this is because the unconscious begs for truth like nothing else and it often comes in a package defined as 'love'. It is a delicate, but violent process that requires a fight against fear of vulnerability for someone who has a propensity for control that manifests itself in self-deception. Love is a process of refining the truths two humans can tell one another, which is important in that is can break down the self-delusion that occurs from isolation. Also, we can do justice to our complexities, while feeling acceptance near.
As a liar, I am afraid, but we are all afraid. Fear assists us in survival, but the particular fear that possesses a liar is that they may find their own truths do not measure up to the rest of the world -- are not good enough. I am not afraid of what exists, what I can see, touch, or is honest in it's sensory cues. I am afraid of something else, unnamed within me.
Kolak said a world is an outside with an inside. Unlike a story, description, or theory, a world consists in space and time conjoined by two essential aspects: object and subject, such that without either there can be neither, and no world is such. The stones of building do not make it 'real' on it's own, but that who perceives into existence which can solidify it's place.
I am flesh, I am bone, I am body, face and little mind. I am existing to someone, in their perception with the assistance of an image, but on my own, I am not as real as even a dream. I am subjectless. I am a property of time and space, but nothing more.
It would be a waste for me to say to anyone that I am a deception. But if you could believe me -- if you only knew like I knew -- how strange it would be to look into eyes and believe they were not eyes at all, that there is no one there behind them.
Would you finally see yourself, a deer in the headlights, or would you tell me I was confused on account of your own perception? Could you wonder in fear what eyes you were seeing me with? And would you stop for a moment to ask yourself whether it was truly I who was confused, or in actuality, yourself?
If there is one thing I am not confused about it is where I am at any given moment: far, vacant, or asleep. To experience apparitions with the clearness and distinctness of a waking life may disturb your own, should you fear your sanity to suddenly turn tenuous, disjointed, and discontinuous.
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Me on Facebook - [link]
I once broke a fork on a salad.
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I'm OK with being unimpressive; I sleep better.
:trout:
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If you don't question your beliefs, how can you know that you really believe them?
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I'm OK with being unimpressive; I sleep better.
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You don't take a photograph. You ask, quietly. - Author Unknown.
I'll be posting some pictures from china, and there's more to come once I leave for China next week. Glad you miss me!
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I'm OK with being unimpressive; I sleep better.
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"Bring me a Shrubbery!"
You have an amazing gallery by the way.
:]