LUUUUCY! I'M HOOOOOME! (For your information, I've been in Philadelphia with my family for the last ten days. Hence, my absence.)

whoof! Ten days was an excruciatingly long time to be away from my affairs. I mean, it didn't pain me while I was there, I enjoyed my stay just fine. But I was so goddamned glad to be home. I was walking through SF Int'l Airport with the BIGGEST dang fool smile on my face. I haven't seen Alex, Noah, or Christianna in three weeks. (Joel, I know that's nothing to a hermit like you, but never have I yet chosen hermitry as MY path.) My friends! My god! I ache to see them! And my beloved bicycle! Exclamation points all around!!!

You know, I've been thinking about what my friends are to me. Sometimes, I meet people who have a different idea of what friendship is. Alex's girlfriend HK, for example. She's from Germany, and she once said, "Friendship is very different here. Our friendships are much deeper in Germany. My friends there, I've known them for sixteen years, and we will always be friends, no matter how far or how long it's been since we've seen each other. It's not a question. It's very different here." Now, I'm not one to argue, friendships that last that long are golden. But Christianna, for example, I've known her for, oh, ten months now, and we are close. We help each other out, feed each other's pets, we know all about each other's families, because we each confide in and are a source of understanding for the other. Now, there are people that I have known for nigh on eight years, but that doesn't make Christianna any less a companion of my heart.

Basically, to me, a friend is someone with whom it is easy to be myself. It's not work to be around them. There is a measure of understanding, a willingness to make fun of each other; I see fault but that is a part of the person who is my friend. My friends, whoever they are, are a relief to be around and communicate with. I wouldn't ask them to beat anybody up for me, die for me, any of that nonsense. My family are the people who will do anything for me. My friends are the people who understand me.

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You see, when I am away, I make up for it with the Longest Entries Ever. I wrote this on paper while I was in Philly, and if I don't get it out now, I never will. But I wanted to share it. It might be worth reading.

etc etc etc

I was in a dream that was very subtly intense; that is, I could feel it with my whole body. It was somehow very real. At one point, I was viewing a reality that had been missed, that could have been; therefore an "alternate reality", another world. AaronB is the only figure I can now recall clearly, so I assume it was a reality in which we were in love together, or beyond that. I saw him walking down a paved waterfront under grey skies; he was wearing a long black overcoat make of heavy wool. A very different AaronB than the one I know, but AaronB all the same. He carried a small black canister. This was really a scene I was watching, not a scene I was in. But something about this reality grabbed me; and with a great sense of mischief, the feeling of gladly breaking a well-known rule, I broke in. I snatched the black canister from Aaron's hand and make a run for it.

This canister represented some sort of concrete knowledge or evidence that belonged to this other world; and it was indeed something I desired. Immediately 'AaronB' snapped out of his role in the scene and sprinted to catch me. I felt other entities tackle me and wrestle me down while AaronB caught up to take back the canister. I don't think I really expected to get away with it anyway, but I was a little surprised to be so quickly policed. Someone, perhaps, AaronB, was saying, "You are not allowed..."

I snapped to. It was very dark and I lay motionless in the sheets. I mean, really motionless--my body was in somee limbo os disattachment, and my mind was soggy with a different type of consciousness. The general reality was ill-defined, just a sketch as though to give me something to wake up to. My sister, beside me, and my parents in the other room were all snoring. It all had a somewhat menacing cast. It seemed that they were the entities that had tackled me down in that dream, and that held me still, even in my wakefulness. Their snores made their presence felt, and, silly as it may sound, indicated a power over me, laying silent and immobile. I was a little fearful, but still rebellious and pleased; For a moment, I had that canister in my hand, it was mine--they didn't own me entirely.

But still, the fear. When the world is so drastically different, and one is conscious of it, you can't help but feel that this moment is especially important. That something *hangs in the balance*. I began to doubt myself. Was my rebelliousness appropriate? Is that what I should be doing, or do these forces really have my best interests in mind? Perhaps I should go along with them, stop struggling. But that doesn't sound like freedom...

But was I mistaking heedlessness and irresponsibility for freedom?

I had somehow, in my thinking as I lay there, accessed an eternal struggle. In some way I still had a hold on that black canister, and I was still being held and they were still trying to take it from me. If I continued to hold on, they would continue to hold me, and that was that.

Now, by "eternal struggle", I mean something that feels tortuous and that it seems will really never end; that will last forever if you so choose. A certain path of action will simply loop back into this experience, again and again, without end.

The last time I experienced the possibility of eternal mental imprisonment was when I sincerely believed I had become paranoid schizophrenic. That time was debilitating and terrifyng (it didn't last too long, though in those hours it was real and eternal), so I still do retain a rational fear of going insane.

The mindstate of timelessness and superawareness is part of this experience; however, I have accessed that mindstate in different ways before, and am aware that in itself, it is nothing to fear. When my mind finds this state, I perceive it as a variety of things, the chiefest among them being any of the following: insanity, bliss, adulthood, or death. In truth, it is probably all of the above, with none of those words quite describing the difference.

Insanity and bliss I consider to be diametrically opposite. Let's clarify: when I say "insanity", I mean it as a bad bad thing. This word is defined as Eternal Tortuous Mental Imprisonment. It is another term for real Hell.
I don't mean it in any of its innocuous counterculture definitions, ie., "We're all a little insane," or "Only those considered insane are truly sane." I don't mean "thinking differently from the norm" or "visionary". These are things I value and encourage in society. Insanity is something that, when I encounter it, makes me want to scream or die--but I can't.

Now, back to the mindstate of timeless superawareness. Insanity and bliss seem to me irreconcilable, so there's some confusion there, that the same mindstate should be intrinsic to both of them. Rationally, that makes sense, but having tasted the two, there seems to be an experiential dichotomy.

The idea of adulthood also gives me ambiguous feelings. I don't have a problem reconciling it with death; I have often felt that this world is dedicated to beings going though some sort of childhood or pupative stage, death being a door. It is not always a door, but it becomes a door when hearts and minds are ready.

I also know, to some extent, that "adulthood", whatever that may be, is a double-edged sword; it is not necessarily something to be desired, and it is certainly not something to be rushed into. Nevertheless, I naturally feel impatient, as though I am left out of something way cool. I'm sure it IS way cool, though will have some serious drawbacks as well, and I'm sure once I'm there, there will be freedoms or aspects of my current existence that I will miss. Now according to my calculations, (real) adulthood is something one must choose to attain. However, it is also something that comes in its proper time. When the right time comes, when one is ready, the choice will be offered, and the desire will be there.

In the book I just read (The Sunlight Dialogues by John Gardner), the protagonist says, "This world is full of children and dead people. That's it."

Look. I'm aware that my life is filled with diversions and pleasantries. I worry that I think only of fluff; I worry that anything anyone could possibly think in this world is nothing but fluff. Nothing is serious, nothing is important, though we concern ourselves with it so. All the romances and ambitions upon which our souls seem to rest amounting to nothing but toy trucks in the sand.

But what else am I supposed to do? There are these unexpected flashes--fearful, exciting, terribly enticing--of something more, something for which we are destined. And I find that I recoil from it, a lot or a little, though perhaps a little less so each time. What else are we supposed to do with the space that is in between? Play with what we think are life and love, and perhaps do a little work in opening ourselves up to that moment. I am trying, though I am not sure that I am trying My Best. Am I shallow for being a child? Do I have a choice?

10:17 p.m. 2004-08-11�