In an effort to raise the resolution of my waking life I'm cutting some things out that were essential to a life with clear boundaries. Higher resolution will mean the destruction of the bridge as much as I've loved it.
And now everything that I was going to write about why I came to the conclusion that my waking life was too far out of resolution is being called into question because there really was nothing wrong with it beyond health concerns? I guess. I don't think my extremities have been holding heat all that well. Probably a circulation thing. Random shoulder pain like pinched nerves. And pain whenever I breathed. So I guess that's pretty much it. Otherwise it's been perfect. A perfect separation of faith and solid state. Two land masses and a definite bridge I can cross at will. What more could a person want?
Not much, I don't think. So the thing is, I guess, I have to choose between a slow-ish death with a flux capacitor or the unpredictability of an unmediated existence. Which do I hate more? Hard to say. There were several days when I felt like my liver was climbing up through my throat and tearing my kidneys out with it and that pain was real and describable and diagnosable. There were several days before that, however, when the only logical solutions to the anxiety and rage and hallucinations involved jamming a pen knife up my nose until it cut through my frontal lobes and bricked my brain entirely. One costs money. Not as much as pills, but money none the less. The other is free.
So I'm going the free route. Partially because I have to, but also because my body hurts and I'll just have to suck up the turbulence associated with - lost it again.
It's like a light switch turning off. Clarity. Sanity. I don't want higher resolution. Things make less and less sense the clearer they become and I don't know if I can take it. I'm afraid of it. I'm terrified of it. I don't want to be conscious of time. I don't want to know the seconds and the minutes. If I let up on the gas and stop tearing through these wilderness roads without a map or a dog I'll start to see and feel the things between the trees that would snap my femur in their jaws like a finger in a car door and I already know what's there and I don't need to find out. People talk about stopping to smell roses and things and I don't need to. Maybe they do, but there aren't things out there trying to kill them.
I've liked the balance. Sure it's come at a cost, but that cost is unavoidable whether I'm paying out of life span or paying out of wallet. I don't want to hear the whispers in the trees. I want it to fade. I don't want to manage the caucus and round up the bits and pieces and make sure everything's working together and with the usury I didn't even have to think about it. It's all clawing back and it's like ... I don't want this. That's all. I don't want this, but in this world this is the ground state. Low resolution let's me look straight through it and even forget where and when I'm standing altogether. It's not a pain killer as much as it is a liberator or an oxygen mask in an ocean of shifting and violent shapes. So much maintenance. Higher resolution means going back to a life geared toward maintenance instead of geared toward being. I don't want that.
I guess I envy the people can simply wake up and be and never have to think about. Do other people have to deal with this stuff? Maybe that'll be me. I know it won't, but it's fun to say. No, it's not even fun to say. Some people dream about being rich or famous. These days I just dream about normalcy. I'm not different. I'm not special. There's nothing magical or glossy. I'm just damaged, and it takes so much work to get back to zero everyday only to wake up in the red in so many ways every day thereafter. Yes it can be spun and bright spots found, but to hang onto those requires so steep a reduction in resolution as to make life beyond stupid bliss unmanageable.
I want out. Maybe out will mean nothing, but how long is long enough? 25 years. 26 years. 40 years. How long do I have to search for a solution to this thing. How long do I have to spend looking for a way to understand how to interact with this world in a way that can make sense from one set of hours to the next or looking for ways to explain the decoupling of emotion, and action, and laughter, and violence, from reason or explain the terrors of things people call imaginary and hallucinations, but are sometimes real as sunlight in my eyes. I just want out, but I'm forced instead into higher resolutions.
Sorry for the ramble. Maybe it'll make sense years from now. Minutes from now. What's the difference really?
///Mum - "They Made Frogs Smoke 'Til They Exploded"
