You can buy god, it's Monday

My brain is grey metal clouds barely full of angry buzzing and sparks this morning. On an alternating day pattern this weekend it seemed like communication itself was poisoned; for those I didn't see or interact with, you should probably count yourselves lucky.


I was at work for several hours Saturday morning, and it made me realize that the place itself, as well as the surroundings, are pretty, welcoming, and not the problem. Chock full of metaphors, but it's like light: on Saturday, the overly bright, blaring flourescents could be turned off, letting in natural light that cast warm, blue-grey shadows, and made the space... comfortable. When others are present en masse, the blaring, quickly flickering light that doesn't seem to bother anyone else is everpresent. The feeling of the place itself could manifest without the ever expanding carrier wave that seems to follow most of the office folks around, that grows as each person plugs into it, feeding it at the same time that they (apparently) take some sort of comfort or sustenance from it. In damned near every story involving telepaths, there always comes a point where some character can't tune the surface thoughts of others out; it feels like that to me. I can't tune out the similar, reinforcing surface thoughts and assumptions. I don't know what's wrong (or right) with me, but it's a constant irritant, that wave of interference, both the light and the social construct. I can't address the light issue, and hope that doesn't mean I can't address the field issue, as well.


The sun is back, today. I'm fighting the feeling that I can't enjoy and celebrate it, that it's outside, but I'm stuck where I am and can't go say 'Hi', even. I need to fight this off, need to be able to enjoy this.

dumbass

I should know better than to drink coffee unless I'm sure I know from whence it comes, how it's prepared. One and one half cups, and my vision (which was off anyway, today; hard time making two perspectives act as one, anyway) began to twitch and flicker, my breathing changed (quicker, faster, deeper, both in and out), a twitchiness in my muscles, and some difficulty in connecting words from head to mouth (which, strangely, doesn't affect words to fingers). I vaccillate between hot and cold. It's hard to act normal.

And yet this state of feeling poisoned: how accurate is that metaphor? I close my eyes, and I get that sense of something opening, of some place coming for me, being available to me, and I like that, I want that. I need to look at the seeming causation between this all. Maybe it's a tipping point, a final straw. I know when I try to relax back into normal, I get jolted, as though it's not available to me right now. The tingling/uncurling feeling I get at the base of my neck, between my shouldder (a physical crossroads?) is profound, when I try to summon it, and it comes much faster, not easy and gentle like is often the case, but like a great rushing that goes to a certain point, then has to stop, like it's too much, or I can't take the more that's there.

(Edit: A bird asking me, "What do you need? What do you need?" from my back yard as I slipped into the sleep not asleep state)

Visions of a fork or spoon, long handled, horizontally oriented, with a strap with... a bead?, blue, on the end of it, the whole thing brownish, like wood, or maybe redbrown, but I know it's natural, not manufactured or metal. The sense of singing, or sing-song talking that fades as the fork becomes a spoon, then suddenly I'm more present and back in myself, from semi-asleep and somewhere else to back here. Still twitchy, very aware of my breathing, and knowing I need something in me, foodlike but more, and now. Prior to that, a new presence, not one of the known, trying to make itself available to me; maybe a weakness on my part that I asked instead for one of the known?

If it is a poison that brings me to here, is this the only way in? Does it make the whole thing suspect, mere delusion? I associate the coffee poison with industrial/manufactured chemicals that my body/brain rejects, recoils from, but the state it seems to send me is not at all unwelcome, if sometimes very inconvenient.

I report, lest I dismiss; even the possibility of someone else reading, noting, means it has a life outside of my mind, can't as easily be relegated to the imaginary.

(no subject)

Wow, I sound crazy sometimes. I'm not sure how much that worries me.