What is This Self of Yours?

A hundred years ago, perhaps, another man sat on this spot; like you he gazed with awe and yearning in his heart at the dying light of the glaciers. Like you he was begotten of man and born of woman. He felt pain and brief joy as you do. Was he someone else? Was it not you yourself? What is this Self of yours? Why are you not your brother, why is your brother not you, why are you not one of your distant cousins? What justifies you in obstinately discovering this difference – the difference between you and someone else – when objectively what is there is the same?”  Erwin Schrödinger

Upside down, worn out degrading minds of people not wondering about life and death – which one to think of first? How to live or how to escape death? What was more urgent, more important and necessary right now in this moment of time while we were all wasting time thinking, typing, ignoring, working, far away from the people we love, stuck in deluded relationships, making plans for babies and distant eternal happy endings and beaches. Was this life or was it a justification of why we weren’t supposed to be taken away yet? Because we had so many things to do – we haven’t been to the beach in a whole year, we haven’t fucked in a couple of months, we haven’t told that person we love them, we haven’t seen our parents in ages. The future, the future, the future. Do it now, collect the unanswered conclusions, save yourself the avoidance of realizing that the more we were growing old, the more we became aware of the impossibility of holding on to all the fragments of time we rented through our lives.

We were all disposed to the vanity of the compliance to the world and all the worlds beneath, this was all that was it; editing pictures, apps crashing, panicking waiting, constructing then damaging feeble actions and blurs preventing us from crystalizing our own beautiful and ugly selves. Nobody seemed concerned about the immediate net of thoughts taking decisions for us, dragging us to sharp ups and downs where nothing was pouring. I detested numbness, all the jobs all the boredom the drinking games all the fucking, the suffering and at the end nothing. I think I needed hurricanes and fire and races to bring me back. We didn’t even know each other but we knew each other, we shared punctual heart jumpings, white trainers and the endless strive to become better, wanting it all to work out amazingly, pretty adoring faces naked in the kitchen. I sent her away, popped a pill and drove to regions that didn’t take such long months and eras to get to the raw core and essence of existence and self, it was all just a sleep away.

2:13am, sunsets non-existing, ache for moments of time that must go unseen – was there not enough time to experience things parallel to the present or was that going to diminish the value of the ‘now’? I didn’t give.a.damn. about the ‘now’ under my sheets, up to a dozen layered multicoloured and crazy infinite thoughts of côte d’azur or Ibiza or any European island or exotic coconut-drinking distant shores and mountains of champagne all over her glorious freckled and sunburnt body.
I looked for something that could take my brain out of my head, but nothing like alcohol or drugs, just bare hands digging inside my head and getting rid of all impossibilities still holding on squeezing each other there, making believe that everything was possible, but how, when I couldn’t be somewhere else now, how, when there were things that could have been going on instead, things more beautiful and easy. Easy. Easy like common people sleeping soundly, going to work early in the morning making a good living full on that content convenience, it scared me more than my own insanity and my deluded happy endings and shameful patience for the next dirty slut’s orgasm who would still adore me and forgive me if I completely disregarded what a good girl she was. Goodbye color, there is still a black and white city of London, neglecting pain, escalating desires and counting the days to something, whatever.

4 thoughts on “What is This Self of Yours?

  1. Yes….. As always, you carve your thoughts and feelings into something greater than the sum of its parts. I have a new experience of my own to write about …. I’m still in the thick of it but I love how you so easily write out things that I cannot articulate — we’ll talk about it soon, yes?

      • Yes we do … I re-read your piece and it’s worth reiterating the intrinsic value contained within; in between the syllables — impossible to quantify the human experience but maybe it shouldn’t be assigned any static state or figure … I dunno but some more Jack Daniels might help clear it up….? 😎. Yours, J

  2. Life seems to be a question with no answer. Is there anything worst then a brain teaser with no solution? Every second spent here should be spent somewhere else or with someone else.

    And it’s not sadness. It’s just an endless searching, engine of the world, meaning of the life we can’t understand.

    What will happen the day we will understand? Stop thinking and searching?

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