Sometimes we put our fingers on imaginary keyboards, because we know somewhere, someone wants us to type. The painting above my bed, a landscape of Carmel, has felt colder and colder since I arrived in San Francisco. And the weather in the painting has stayed the same. I just feel, more or less, that it’s off. The world is full of measuring devices. There are vehicles for vehicles to track your success.
Its easier to flip a switch, to be the lead character in another person’s imagination, than it is to live in my own. So I read, I watch films and shows, I listen to music. I sense the world as a synthetic.
It seems apropos that my time alone is all-to-often a brainstorming session of how to change my life. I am running away from it, and always have been.
There is a funnel I’m placing on my life, and it’s pointing in the wrong direction: away. I do what needs to be done in the way I shimmy bricks in a losing game of tetris.
Feel it: the future – only when you feel it will you see it. Believe it. Monkey mind is a fault you can unhex.