The vague shapes of humanity
Notes from a few months back- about spasms and shapes that we take
I sit in this haze. Not enough sleep. With dreams and nocturnal spasms. No night goes without dreams these days. But last night did. Mostly because of the restlessness and the unfamiliar bed. I was sleeping, but not asleep, last night. Dreams did possess me but sleep didn’t. The passivity of being asleep escaped. My mind ran miles and miles. Do dreams burn calories? Do dreams cause exhaustion? I was up, at 5, hoping for a sleep of void, of nothingness that pulls me down with all my weight impressed upon my mattress. But I saw another dream, and another. This is how it is.
Why are hotel beds so soft? Is it just that softness is linked to nobility, money, high tastes, the opposite of sleeping on a hardened floor.
Woke up. Head was too heavy, body acidic. So I induced some vomiting. The pre-vomiting phase is just annoying as hell, if hell was all annoying, and not the eternal damnation we know. Of course there are worse pains and troubles. But this just stops me. I can’t think straight. One of the few times I feel the atmosphere attacking me, my head, my body. So I induced vomiting. It immediately felt better. As if the pressure valve on my head was released. Like a mini bloodletting. A personal pseudo scientific procedure. It works till it doesn’t. But how different is that from actual science, which works till it doesn’t. Well, I don’t mean to spread mis-awareness.
I do what I do, and find the accompanying studies, situations, what-not to make my claim on what’s right. Convincing the gullible. Mostly myself.
I read on some Tumblr blog, some horoscopy shit. It mentioned my sign and said something I found relevant to myself. I am the gullible. But this gullibility arises from somewhere, this gullibility about ourselves. Yes, we do implant meaning onto things and concepts without logic. But why do we fall for certain things which are so general? We generalise a lot, every where, I am an artist, illustrator, I am doing good, I live here, work there. How really more specific are these things than those horoscopes. ‘I live here’, but how well does that statement describe me? ‘I made that’, how well does that define me?
We see ourselves in the most vaguest sense, we struggle to answer the basic questions. We specify in the vagueness. We make a vague shape and point at ourselves in it. We are the momentary specific in the vague human shape. Hence we believe what is assigned to us. When a gender is assigned to me, I believe it. When a post or stature is assigned to me, I believe it. Of course we live with the repercussions of all these, and I, by no means, want to deny the reality of our everyday lives.
But we believe what is assigned to us so readily, why skip horoscopes?
Or we must question these assumptions that are placed on ourselves, these specific generalities. These paradoxes that are true for one and so many others.
So called empirical evidence crumbles, it works till it doesn’t. This writing too, my self, work till they don’t.
Work till it doesn’t, is an unfair statement, I must admit. Everything works till doesn’t. But what ‘it’ that we speak of, is the limit which is placed. And with these limits we can again examine.. somewhat. Everything must be examined. Till where does ‘it’ work? I am an artist, that defines a very specific part of me. And that’s all. It can never define me fully, it will always be more and less. The Astrological stuff, too defines me, not just in my gullibility, but also of the truths that were there, universal but also very much mine. And it’s nothing more. Nothing more.
We cannot be defined for sure, but with limits we can mostly think of ourselves, imagine ourselves in humanoid shapes.
My head is still heavy, though these thoughts help subside it. Is that why I think? To escape my conditions?
For now I think, about my head. It’s mildly throbbing still, I update my notes every few moments. Maybe I am back here, because it got a bit worse, led back from my digressions. A change in pain or pressure is bothersome but throbbing itself is trance-like, in low doses. Like a mental beat with surround sound. I make it sound pleasant. It’s just easier to observe, and what else do I do? I can rest. Of course. But I must be awake, this is the only day off this week.
My head, it’s a bit better. I might medicate, scientifically, nothing induced.
