I haven’t been trying to write so much as trying not to disembody, (leave the body or the soul,) and they’re not the same thing.
Cataclysmic events keep occurring, (since 1971) and writing is a form of trying to communicate back to myself if any of it is negotiable.
I want things out of my nervous system, I want to live.
Soon it will be Easter. And soon it will be spring.
I think we are beginning to see the daffodils, but we no longer take the bugs for granted as we once did.
Take a deep breath, Celia.
Pack your bags. Get out of NYC and NYS.
Hustle off to Spain and be at peace.
Life begins at 40. A contradictory sentence. On April 7th, a Sunday, I will reach that age. Forty, like the HIV/AIDS mass disembodiment event.
I have nothing prepared. It's like being born again. The first time, it didn't went well. Now that I get a second chance, I wish the mistakes are new and exciting, and not a mere repetition. Mom and Dad are both in Heaven, and they can't repeat anything they did. So any error is my own, and that thought feels good to me.
Maybe I should become a writer. There is no risk in it because few people read. If I was not severely risk-averse, I would try making videos or podcasts, because that medium is king right now.
But I've started "becoming a writer" before. I'm a great starter of things, not so much as a continuator. So I left that many times in the past.
This week there will be noise in the streets: the Holy Week Processions. I might go again to **see** the noise of the drums, although last year I said I would not repeat.
The Holy Week is the time of the year when I force myself to be near many people. The other fifty one weeks I avoid all contact as much as possible. I've always done that, the avoiding. And the disembodying, for I was born, alas, in both the the year 1984 and the novel 1984.
If big brother is everywhere that means we are forever little siblings: criticized, overprotected, discouraged, unstable and unsafe. It's always been lies to protect me from the risk of life. The lies are also an electrical phenomenon that contributes to the disembodied experience.
Being lied to always about everything and all the time means that you have to not be there.
That's the marching orders from The Party's Ministry of Love: Be Not There!
Then, they see you depressed and the irony slug fest starts: "Agent Roger, your problem is that you are not living in the present, you have to live in the present, don't worry about anything, we'll take care of you."
It's so funny when the people who love you commit "Accidental Darkness".
So much fun being a mere analyst of life.
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I will do something I've never done before. I'm going to buy a stupid smartphone, brand El Cheapo, and I'm going to record some videos of the Semana Santa, and I will upload them somewhere. If I follow through this project, I'll post links. Maybe I open a substack site just for this.
Although I will be kinda doxing myself if I do that. Maybe I shouldn't. I'm still 39 and I still have a right to be shy.