stream of consciousness

i don’t have an affirmative identity and this is what gets me into mental beef. i don’t want to be alone but then i want to be alone and then i am alone for too long in my head and get so deep into these inner worlds of mine that i now just want to drink wine or sleep. agh. i am sad. why am i so bad at this. i am so indecisive. i want to be good at this. this is all a metaphor for something i am not saying because i know it’s all in my head but the point is I CANT GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD. i want to somehow cut my brain open and take these words out so that my mind can rest. but i can’t. reality doesn’t work with imagination like that. my thoughts are running wild. how do i tame these vicious words.


the other night i went on a coffee run for my boyfriend and i at midnight, and it was the first rain of the season, and i began to think about how the roads are dangerous during the first rainfall. and that naturally led me to think my car was wearing ice skates and the ground was the ice. and i’m poor at ice skating and i’m always terrified of falling and so that’s what i was afraid of, my car slipping and veering out of control. but then that fear didn’t last long because i began to think how windshield wipers are a metronome and how rain will always remind me of santa cruz. rain brings me back to the first time i bought rain boots and jumped in a puddle and realized i was invincible. and then i moved on from that thought, and i looked at the ground and saw the way the street lights reflected onto the wet road. there were streaks of red and green with smudges of yellow here and there. it looked like dripping paint. it reminded me of pollock’s work. and i began to think that if rain was the paintbrush, the pavement was the canvas. and that i was part of a watercolor painting. that i was part of a painting. yes, that. that i am part of art.

‘caffeine withdrawal’ is now part of the dsm-v. if you don’t know what that is, it’s a huge, nearly useless and counter intuitive book with long extensive diagnostic criteria on mental disorders. i have so many problems with psychiatry and with this society. put disorders into labels and people start going frantic over what’s normal and abnormal and having themselves be defined by it. then the ones who have these very symptoms but are actually quite creative, intelligent, wonderful human beings, are put into boxes by the definitions we create. don’t you know that when you try to put anybody in a box, whether it be psychological terms or not, you are stigmatizing them. yes, you are, you are on an individual level, a human level

edit/ american society is fucking aware that caffeine is a drug, a stimulant. it’s already written in the health books, the psychology books. it’s fine if someone is overcaffeinated and jittering from too much coffee, but we judge a college student who is overstimulated on adderall due to strenuous work. yet we don’t judge the 8 year old who takes ritalin every morning and takes medication at night so he is able to fall asleep without the side effects of insomnia. caffeine affects the adenosine receptors and different types of amphetamines (such as adderall or ritalin) affect dopamine. given that they attack different parts of the brain, they do produce similar effects.

there are so many flaws in society i cannot begin to tell you how we file these sort of associations with different behaviors because i don’t view life that way.

and furthermore.

why do you counteract your very definition of caffeine that is found so prevalent in so many drinks and has become so popularized in daily routine that we have up-ed the dosage to three or four cups a day? you’ve subconsciously advertised this sort of behavior so well by giving us 40 hour work weeks, which, by the way, is not made for our bodies to work that much, and now you’re going to classify caffeine withdrawal as a “full-on mental disorder”

maybe we need coffee because we’re sleep deprived because we can’t manage to live in this society unless we work full time to pay off our bills and just eat a nice dinner once in a while. just maybe. it’s just a hunch

you try to make sense out of nonsense by putting it into black and white categories and this is what you get. sooner or later, someone who is overcaffeinated is going to be deemed as unhealthy. dear the world of psychiatry, what are you going to add next, that post-grad depression is a real fucking issue and needs to be medicated? why aren’t you concerned about cigarette withdrawals? why isn’t that in the list of mental disorders? oh wait….because that’s all about profit, because we live in an industry where they mask their true intentions

go figure

i think both the extravagance and difficulty of living is that you have a choice. so, so many of them. part of awareness is realizing how many of these choices are at your disposal if only you would leave your room. when you care about freedom, about not only living but being alive, this becomes a double-edged sword kind of situation. you can doanything. and this is why i am indecisive, why long-term goals are out of my range of thinking. and still, the clock is ticking.

and i always want to live now, right this instant i want to live in london, because i am impulsive, but i always delay living until tomorrow. i realize i seek a different sort of lifestyle that completely falls off the radar of normalcy. i want to do daring things, put my mind to the test and my heart on the line. i want to stop always doing what contributes to happiness and instead do what contributes to simply living. i follow my intuition so often that it is rare i find myself in ruts, at least situationally, not the kind where i often mentally and emotionally wage with myself. i want to, at least momentarily, experience what it is like to love someone temporarily. to just, date. to see if i can just get over my fear of intimacy because so many others can do it. i am so tied on the idea of permanence. this does not mean i want to feel hurt, that i don’t believe i deserve the life i’ve been following. i just want to know what it is like to let myself be blindly vulnerable. i’m so often in control of my life that everything manages to pan out well for me. i want to feel on edge, to flirt with danger. i want my body to tremble next to a stranger and then flash red lights begging me to say, “no, i can’t do this,” leading me to ask him to kindly leave. is this insane? totally. i want my morals to stop always acting as a compass for the way that i lead my life. i am so hyperaware of what i believe in and what i don’t, what fits me and what doesn’t. i want to stop playing it safe, because that’s what i have been doing. i want to know what it’s like to be caught on fire. i want to know what it’s like to fall without the certainty that there is a trampoline on the bottom to bounce me back to my groundings. i want to fall and see if i will grow wings along the way, because my god, i will have to. i want to play with uncertainty.

i remember when i used to be such a wakeful dreamer, one who sought out experiences past the horizon and jumped at any opportunity to connect with others. i have now hit a point in my life where i have become so comfortable in my current surroundings that i haven’t been dreaming of being anywhere else. but one should never be too comfortable for too long. i have mixed feelings about the way i feel now, because i spent nearly eight months fighting between madness and discontentedness that i actually reached this equilibrium. “you were really depressed in september,” my friend tells me. i didn’t even realize it at the time, i still didn’t until she had told me. i don’t think i like balance. i always need some sort of movement in my life, i need to know that i’m not being stagnant. i like madness, that’s what i like, in any shape or form. madness becomes a story. and when i feel uncontrollably mad, i will say that i yearn balance. none of me ever makes sense, i’m used to it by now.

it’s taken me years to even out my life to the point where it is now, but now it has no longer plateaued but follows a downward slope.

i seek meaning. so much of it that it’s agonizing.

i never fear living a boring life until i actually do feel that i am. and this drives me crazy, not but crazy enough to change it. so this where the problem really arises: stunted passion.

i am insane for thinking this, but you can’t tell me that it has never crossed your mind to live alternate identities, say, an astronaut, one who hitchhikes across america, a starving musician, a regular drunk at a bar in a foreign city? maybe it’s just me, but i’ve always been enthralled with the idea of starting new lives.

i want to be silent, completely silent, only communicating through gestures. i want to black out, unafraid of what i may do. i want to pretend to be homeless, just to see what it’s like to be on the other end of humanity. i want to be so many people but there are not enough worlds to contain my alter-egos, because i always come back to this me. i never leave me at all. i am too faithful to myself. i am always fighting for my happiness.

and these ideas always sound so good in my head but never find their way to reality. fuck.

the meaning of life is to drink beers while sitting around in your underwear. and when you grow tired of sitting around, which you will, you should dance in your room and sing loudly and off-key if that is needed for you to sing loudly. sometimes i go on long drives contemplating the meaning of life and who i’ve been and who i will be. i spend all my gas money on inner self-discovery no matter how high the price of a gallon is. but the meaning of life is right here, already laid out in front of me. there is nothing more to life than eating straight out of the ice cream tub and rediscovering how to laugh like a child. it is not enough that i learn to laugh like a child. i must be able to laugh at myself too. because life is a little weird and makes less sense the more we think about it. and we get so wrapped up in everything. we try to understand if who we are matches our career, we try to understand the elusive idea of love, we try to understand our childhood issues. my god it just gets all so overwhelming sometimes. we are all trying to make sense of ourselves in this big world but the paradox of trying to figure something out is that we only dig a bigger hole and then we don’t have a ladder to climb back up to the top.

it’s just one stressful thought after another, piling as tall as the stack of papers on a monday morning. take a look around, everything around is so funny. the other day i walked back to my car only to find a huge birdshit on my windshield. and i just laughed. i couldn’t believe it. it was so big i wondered what that bird ate. and then i began to think if there is some subconscious, systematic process to how birds leave their shit. i mean, think about it. what if shit landed on you? oh god, and then i thought about things falling from the sky, namely birdshit, like a snowstorm except every snowflake is birdshit, and i started laughing even more. i’m sure these silicon valley guys in their suits walking by were wondering what was wrong with me. but i just kept staring at that birdshit, thinking that if i blinked enough, the birdshit would shrink, that i was just seeing things. that was my logic. and then i laughed some more. and then i took a picture and sent it to my best friend and she laughed too.

laughter. laughter is the best remedy.

i want to have conversations, interesting ones, stimulating ones, where we talk about visiting australia specifically during the month of november because of the magnificent jacaranda trees. let’s go to the annual festival, yeah? you see, i can’t stop talking. i must always talk. i must know where you come from and what you currently identify with. is it your significant other, your university, your weekend getaways? no, i don’t want to know what you learned from your degree. i want to know what you learned in the moments when you fought between crying and studying. i must know the story behind why you never smile with your teeth, why your hair is blue, why you yell at your mother. why you stereotype people based on race, why you’re dating someone you don’t love. i must know the story behind you.

i want to talk about how i didn’t know the real meaning of a poem until you murmered it into my mouth. and i wanted you to recite a second one, and a third one, and for a lifetime. kiss me again, promise to always kiss me. i want to create a 365 calendar marking my love for you. heck, where is the 730 calendar? how silly of me to think that i can count my love for you in days, in years. i want to talk about how i’m a stargazer and you are the constellation. do you ever fall in love with strangers and places you’ve never been? what happens when your dreams seem more alive than reality? people call me a dreamer, but i am as much of a dreamer as i am not. do you ever meet somebody and you realize you both understand each other in a way that no one else can even begin to comprehend? what do you do with people who think they know everything, who believe everything can be put inside a box and stamped a label? it’s an illusion, after all, the way we believe we can control our surroundings with knowledge. tell me, what do you do with uncertainty? does it frighten you? most people seek closure, you are most likely one of them, aren’t you? i must ask you, what puts you in a slow dancing mood? when i’m struck by the world’s beauty, i always seem to stand frozen enraptured by how much the world is communicating to me in its stillness. tell me, tell me, what are you trying to make out of this life of yours? tell me, what keeps you alive and what keeps this world spinning? list me a few, list me a hundred.

but we only live for a few things, they’re quite simple really.
we live for magic, for beauty, for romance.

we live for rhythm, for poems, for art, for each other.

and that is all. that is all.

fashion is so fucking interesting to me – the twentieth century and how women became so individualistic, wearing styles similar to what men wore. we cut the boundaries between what was socially acceptable between men and women’s attire. people noticed this implicit pattern and decided to say fuck you to this dichotomy of masculinity and femininity and merge the both. they said, “unh unh, this won’t do. it’s time for something new. it’s time to break these boundaries.” and so that’s what they did.

isn’t it crazy that we don’t have to think twice about this nowadays? it’s now the norm. and you know what? we don’t even think of it as a norm. it’s just part of the way we live. we don’t even look twice when a woman is wearing pants, when this used to be such a big deal in the 1920’s because it was only acceptable to wear skirts, to look ladylike, “womanly”. what the fuck does it mean to be a lady nowadays? it fucking means everything.

let these labels spread across so many seas that they get lost in the sea with the litter. because that’s what they are. labels contaminate us.

the corset was an invention with good intentions but it had turned so sour. think about it: the way a woman had to be portrayed as beautiful, and we defined this beauty through a tiny waist. beauty was suffocation.  because that’s exactly what it was – being confined within all these damn wires.

everything has come such a long fucking way. the world is so fucking incredible to me. sometimes i forget how much has changed. isn’t that the point of life? to break free of these labels, of these connotations (!) so that every unconventional thing defined as crazy can become the norm? isn’t that the fucking point?

isn’t that how any idea is formed? ideas sprout from unconventionality. unconventionality stems from an original mind. you get the point. i think it’s so mindblowing when an idea that was so farfetched once upon a time becomes reality. we sometimes forget the steps it took for anything, absolutely anything, to be where it is now. tradition is such a beautiful symbol of culture. when we compare then and now, we can see the degree to which the world has shifted. culture, man, culture. and culture is what connects society today, it’s how we connect across all time spans, it’s how history is created.

we look so forward to the future that sometimes we don’t look back and marvel at how we are here today, in this…in this world filled with young creators with big minds and even bigger hearts. history is how we know this world has changed in some way. and that’s the best part of any movement – creation. it’s such a beautiful feeling to know that the world is always changing, that tomorrow will not be the same as today, that we are finding more ways to connect than ever.

i have so much respect for creators because they are the ones who change the world on such a big scale. we always revel in the creation and are so grateful that this treasure now exists, but rarely do we recognize the person, the people, behind it. we don’t recognize their perseverance  their sleepless nights. people laugh at creators. but hey, creators laugh at themselves. you sort of need to in that environment. there is so much frustration when an idea cannot be implemented the way you want it to because you do not have the tools at your disposal or it isn’t the right time, so much frustration when people tell you your dream is a scam. and they get through it all. they have such patience. they do, most people do not see what happens behind a closed door, and most people don’t care to know what’s happening behind the scenes. but frustration and patience complement each other. all creators somewhat incorporate the fishermen personality – patient and expectant.

it’s a strange paradox, have you noticed? the biggest creators, the ones who connect it all, are the ones who require the most isolation. creators’ minds fascinate me. a creator’s mind is a bowl of baking mixture being stirred, a constant act of stirring and putting the plate into the oven to see what idea was created this time (ding!). but it’s not always like that. they know exactly when their creativity is leaving. and at that point, they intuitively know they need to cut themselves off from the world in order to get the juices flowing again, in order to create a new world. they isolate themselves so that they can isolate the ideas themselves, and catch them, quickly. and bam. there you fucking go. innovation at its finest.

back to what originally inspired this post: fashion. the way fashion evolves throughout the decades is only one of many examples of what mattered economically and politically at the time, what was revolutionary, what symbolized what. we have fashion with such symbolic features, with a certain emotion and meaning tied to each and every article of clothing. isn’t that fascinating? we have clothes for any occasion – for the day at work, for the night out at bars, for the afternoon barbecue with family and friends, for the heavy workout at the gym, for cozy bedtime. and it just keeps expanding. the fashion industry, forms of expression, art, life itself.

avant garde my friends, avant garde. i think we can definitely cheer to that.