type of pain and hurt you will ever feel comes from an extreme form of discomfort.
it starts lightly enough – a sprinkle of stress here, someone annoying there, a couple of weird noises…
… you do not know your soul is scratching you inside, but it’s in you already. Too late.
you’re not aware on a conscious level yet your defenses, protections and all the fears are working overload.
luckily I haven’t been through this mind bending level of discomfort enough to understand its inner workings. It’s been spread out through time, getting a thin layer of it instead of the heavy burden of its bulk falling at once.
this is a bloody massacre. The discomfort of knowing you don’t belong, the distress of trying to maintain inner peace while the peace itself is screaming from within… the discomfort of not quite understanding where the pain comes from until suddenly it rolls out of your tongue – “it’s everything”
it’s not connecting, it’s pure fear of what is coming (real plans, real life, not the imaginary anxieties I’m used to), it’s taking a massive step back due to distrust and pain, it’s not really knowing where to turn because everything looks dangerous… On my own, in my studio, listening or making music, drawing or painting, writing or translating… it’s absolutely *perfect*. It truly is. The lights are in their *perfect* spot, all the tables are *perfectly* arranged, the place is *perfectly* clean every day (with any curse comes a positive?); the silence is *perfect* whenever I need it, the pure white against the colours of the frames are the *perfect* balance – it’s safe, you know? It’s how you need it to be. A reflection – it’s you on the outside matching the inside.
except… there is no perfect in this discomfort. There are no words, no sound, no colours or lights that can take it away. They help, undoubtedly… but it’s here. In me. Around me. I breathe it, I taste it, I see it – the vision gets more and more blurry, one of the first signs that nothing is quite fine indeed.
and the hurry… oh god the HURRY… I need to get out, I need to breathe, I need to cut and never paste again, I need new lights, new music, new comfort, other types of silence.
i am rarely desperate about anything but when the endogenous loneliness and loss of the present moment fall down in a bulk… I don’t know. I just don’t.
and I don’t want to learn about it – it would mean being heavy, carrying a burden.
i need to breathe. away. any way. any where. any how.
i don’t want perfect. Perfect is dull.
i don’t want discomfort. Discomfort is pain.