Belated stream of consciousness / September 20th, 2017


The other day, Simon told me that a quick and confronting way to get over the debilitating self-consciousness I feel around sharing my writing/photos/music/etc is to post something I know isn’t any good and open myself up to the experience of having people read something that wasn’t ever meant to make it past an abandoned Word doc.  So in the spirit of fucking off self-consciousness and without further ado, here is some stream of consciousness writing I did in mid-September while crying in the bath.

Writer’s block, writer’s block.

Is writer’s block just blocking the truth? Is writer’s block just a symptom in the illness that is self-deception? I could write a solid few pages about my relationship with my body right now, how much I miss certain things and certain people but I’ve done that, done that and done it again so I refrain. And in trying to reach for alternative subject matter, I’m drawing blank after blank after blank. I tried to tell Alison and Parker how I was feeling but my tongue got tied between the words ‘glum’ and ‘blue’ and I ended up saying I was ‘glue’. Which actually, isn’t far off. Stuck and sludgy. Maybe it’s because I haven’t exercised since Sunday. Maybe it’s because I’m stressed that our love celebration wedding equivalent is happening in less than 2 weeks and I feel creatively unprepared. Maybe it’s because the playlist I put together to listen to while I write is nothing but sad piano music. How weird is it that sometimes you can talk yourself out of a bad mood and other times the bad mood talks you out of yourself?

I think social media is really, really bad for me. Very bad. How do I rid myself of it? Or at least use it in a way that feels constructive? But how can endlessly scrolling through the chatter of other people’s lives be constructive? I unfollowed over 100 people yesterday and it was concerning how elated the process left me feeling. Maybe this ‘glue’ feeling is simply down to the fact that I re-watched Big Little Lies in less than 24 hours and it got under my skin.

Imagine if I told every man who’s hurt me how he did so? They’d just get defensive anyway, what a waste of time.

I want to start a homeless shelter for queer youth in a few years but how would I be able to pull it off in this area? Young people can’t travel all the way to stupid Byron Bay for resources. Cities turn me into a wreck. There has to be a way.

Last week I became convinced that one of the most relevant things you could do for the environment is plant an organic garden and have a bee hive. I’m so weary of telling people I’m vegan, it feels so trite and ridiculous to talk about but then again…the meat industry is one of the primary reasons why the planet is quite literally dying. So it’s a lot of mixed feelings. And I’m not really stoked on having mixed feelings around what I eat. Been there.

I keep feeling like I’m sitting in the middle of an intersection, visualising myself and Parker moving through different lives. Parker made me a film for my birthday that is nothing less than a piece of art. How did they do that? They are so creative, I don’t think I’ve ever met somebody who’s so emotionally, artistically and intellectually well-rounded, it’s striking.

Dad got really excited last week because the new show he’s watching has a non-binary character who uses gender-neutral pronouns and we talked gender theory all night over a dinner we made together. It’s times like that that I feel as if I get to witness a small piece of a revolution as it unfolds.

Parker, Alison and I went zip-lining yesterday. I spent the whole time considering that I may die soon, I felt like I was borrowing adrenaline from my future self in order to keep myself focused, soaring between valleys, above tree tops worrying that the harness made my butt look disproportionate to my body. I wish anxiety was a sustainable resource, I could power my house with my needless worries.

I’ve been focusing on belly-breathing a lot, I’ve heard that it’s one of the only ways you can physically reduce the production of stress hormones but then I end up forgetting and stressing out further about forgetting to belly breathe. So it’s a work in progress.

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