It’s been broken, it’s been wounded. And I lay it here on the table for us to inspect it for everything can become a teachable moment if you know how to spin it. By the way, may no mind the gaping hole in my chest. That is from a completely unrelated matter..
I don’t so much wear my heart on my sleeve like a badge or patch to denote my allegiance to the ideals of love.. It may be more like I wear my heart like I wear my skin: a mere extra fleshy layer to keep all the blood and guts compressed within.
I honestly don’t know what makes my heart so damned special. It is just a muscle that pumps blood around my body. I’ve also come to view it as a symbolic chamber for the soul as it directs and relays the messages between the body and the mind. My heart beats, pumps, jumps leaps and breaks in response to the unspoken (or totally spoken) ideas, words and sentiments expressed by those around me.
However this post is not so much about “the power of love” and or other such indeterminate… I am mundane and profane, so I gotta demonstrate my inner mess and fears… I express myself best through the informal communication style of conversation, such as through the Socratic method of learning through discourse. So pleas indulge my sudden change of tone in my writing…
My husband used to be this fucking insomniac and he would fall asleep with me. I would gripe that it was because I was boring. Yay lucky me. But he would say that is wrong, it’s just that he feels comfortable enough around me that he can just fall asleep.
This morning I was cuddling him and he told me to get off of him because I can’t keep cuddling him and making him fall asleep.
These past few months I’ve been basically restless, almost sleepless. Maybe 2 hours a night. I used to sleep like 14 hours. And yeah the sleeplessness was driving me closer to insanity. Thus what spurred my foray to online blogging here on WordPress. Fucking hell.
You complete me. Or part of me. You make me feel alive, seen, loved, heard, felt. My husband used to do that, he used to fulfil everything I needed. I honestly don’t need many friends at all because I have him. And right now? He sometimes fulfils all of those things, but most of the time he makes me feel like I’m just crazy. He wants me to talk about real things. Not god. Because I keep talking about killing god. And he’s like there is no god. And I fucking know that, but it is a concept. I am killing the concept of god. But he doesn’t understand the difference. He thinks the concept is the same as the … fucking… thingy..
I’m trying to figure out how best to explain or describe it. I have to go back to qualia…. the being or essence or quality of something…
Like a chair. What is a chair? A piece of furniture on which to sit. But does that mean anything that you can sit on becomes a chair? People sit on other things that are not chairs. Define a chair. Does that definition exclude or include other furniture items? What about anything that isn’t furniture but you can sit on it…? Like a toilet, a person, the floor, a tree branch?
Do you get It? Do you get what I mean by this?
I do not think there is any god or whatever – honestly I don’t care if there is a god or gods or whatever. I just want people to let go of their definition of God. God is anything You fucking want it to be! To me? Gods are the people who make stuff. Seriously. I consider artists (visual, musical, designers, etc) to be gods. Creating new shit. I’m surrounded by my own gods. People I fucking worship and admire and love.
I’m not god. I’m not fucking insane.
But I think my husband thinks I am.
I’m the philosophical atheist. I don’t argue the existence of God. I argue the definition of one.
Omg I’m full of my own fucking shit. That’s a fucking thing I would say all the time. I’m repeating my own quotes and shit. Ugh. I want to write my own bible and shit. That’s what I want money for.
Omg Omg Omg
That’s totally what I want to be using my patreon money for. I need to work on my patreon money building accumulating thingy. I guess I’ll work on that.. and launch it for the new year. January 1, 2019. Patreon fund raising to support my cult, like girl scouts selling cookies to support their whatever group. I can sell my shit to fund my shit machine. LOL
I just want to have fun. I’m so fucking moved by my passions. Music, art, creativity, pop culture, stories, narratives, myth, motivations, people…
I had like half of this post written yesterday (19th November). And it was about my heart. I didn’t know what to say about it because I wasn’t inspired. I was trying do figure out how to explain its mechanics, because I’ve called myself a mechanical heart. It fucking doesn’t fucking die! It is literally super strong. My blood pressure is fucking phenomenal apparently. I never fluctuated or anything during pregnancy. Except when in labour. The only time my blood pressure was “not in the healthy normal range” was when my body was undergoing stress trying to expel a baby from my tiny non-birthing-wide hips. I have narrow hips. If it wasn’t for cesarean sections, I would be dead. Shit, I wouldn’t have even been born. I would have killed my mum by not leaving her womb either. Lol
My mum has hyper tension. Her whole side of the family high fucking blood pressure through the roof. My dad died of a heart attack, weakened from chemo. And 2 of my uncles died that same year (1999) from heart attacks. Which lead to the discovery that there was some sort of weak congenital heart thingy in the genetics so everyone went to get their hearts checked out for whatever it was.
My mum’s super stressed heart and my dad’s super relaxed heart… And me. The one who somehow has a super strong as fuck biological beating heart that just fucking goes on and on. And as much as I want to die, I don’t. As much as my heart aches and breaks, that is mere metaphor and metaphysics because my physical heart is as healthy as a fucking horse – or more aptly, it is a machine.
I honestly have no fucking idea what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, or whatever… But I know WHEN it’s happening and can explain why it’s happening. Like.. right now. I’m doing that thing right now. Hahaha
I know some stuff about stuff. I don’t know everything. But I want to uncover it. I want to discover it. And I want to know if it’s true. Or correct. Because I feel it. And I’m not the only one who does. Feel stuff I mean.
Because I know you can feel it too.
I am taking this slow. I am doing this correctly. I am doing this for me. I am doing this my way. I can’t get too ahead of myself lest I allow myself to be taken for a ride on the pneuma of the zeitgeist. I have to be strong and stoic and stable. I will be doing this shit my way. And what that means right now for you, my readership. I will only write one post per day. I will write it on that day. There are no schedules. There are no “drafts” or “plans”.
I write from my heart. As my heart tells me to write. Whenever it fucking does. And I will post it when I am ready to post it, when I have finished writing it.
Today is the 20th. This will be my post for today. I won’t post another thingy here until tomorrow. If I feel moved to do so. (I probably will)
Categories: The Real Deal