I have begun six different blog entries, but keep getting distracted by my own racing thoughts. My hope is that if I get some of it down then I can go about my day slightly more focused. This may not be the best read.
At night I have trouble sleeping, instead lying in bed pondering the secrets right beneath my feet and under my skin, those tiny universes that separate yet bind us all. When I do fall asleep it is a hard undreaming sleep and I’m pretty sure an earthquake or at least a party could happen right outside my door without stirring me. This morning I woke up thinking about oxytocin and the root of the cotton plant –it was actually my first thought before hunger, thirst or the need to take thyroid meds. It’s a state of extreme clarity, obsession and to a certain degree madness. I wonder if Vincent Van Gogh felt this way when he began to put paint to easel or Virginia Woolf after her first childish poem (and yes I am comparing myself to them because even the greats took dumps and made mistakes and even if their brilliance shines in contrast to my dullness I’m doing what I want to do and that in and of itself in pretty damn brave). They are those primary tentative steps with thoughts that feel so profound, but when looked back on will seem clumsy and insipid. It doesn’t matter, they come like a waterfall and I have to hold it in so as not to come off as a complete lunatic. As if I didn’t have enough weird quirks to contend with before. In addition to the clumsiness, geriatric sensibilities, occasional face twitch, and crazy eyes I will now talk your ear off about plants and magic. Soon it’ll be that you can’t take me anywhere…maybe I should get a cat or a parrot.
The possibilities seem endless; the ugliness that used to exist everywhere makes more sense. There is sickness, but we can heal. And while I’ve never felt more in love with life I can see how it could all lead to a great deal of despair. I suppose the secret is to not take it so seriously because even if I were to learn it all and compose an encyclopedia of this knowledge and this encyclopedia were to sell billions and billions of copies, when our species goes extinct it would have all been for naught and a cockroach would most like relieve itself on my brilliant revelations.