2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43
Second hand feelings or this wonderful wonderful world.
It can be scary. And then I run away. No matter how much I run, I still stand still. This place is not even and not slanting, it is simply not suitable for the life of the spirit of freedom. Of course, I can say that having a lot of work and being successful, or not having a job at all, is about the same thing, about how bad it sucks for me to be immersed in work and success, or into complete numbness and do not see exit. As well as your feelings. I do not see them. Such an eerie insensibility drowning in objectless fear, hiding in the shadow of a Stranger to me, who brought with him into my life the absence of anything in me. Yes, I can see my inner emptiness as something existing and filled with the absence of me, and perhaps this will be the shadow side of being captured by the Shadow archetype, who knows, who knows, after all, it's one thing to feel an elephant with a blindfold on it, and quite another thing to be swallowed inside a blindfolded elephant. A giant of feelings beneath the thick skin of unfeeling fear.
Space responds with an acute pain of spasmodic walls to my fear, displaces the figures of my subconscious madness on me, the terrible mummies of my thoughts come to me dressed in lean bodies, there are few of them, but they exist, some of them are more afraid than me, someone reminds me about the thick skin of an elephant, and someone as dark as black darkness without time and regrets. And it’s so scary to imagine that all this can only be this way, and not otherwise, and all my attempts to “fix the situation” are invested in it “in no other way”. Are we doomed to live our meaning? There is no chance for no, today is not his day, however, as always. The creation of my hands cuts them off, rises in the Oedipal Oedipus and consoles itself with the hope of the right to illusory God out of itself. This is all so unusually sad, because I just wanted to quietly feel my happiness and carefully put it in its place, but this roar made me see the elephant. I was horrified by its ridiculous size and remembered that elephant hunters lie in a pile of elephant shit with a knife in their hands and wait for the elephant to cross the pile, then the hunter can cut the elephant's belly. This is so metaphorical, because this way the hunter can free the one in the elephant, but at the same time he must mix himself with shit. In shit and with a knife, hmm … pretty homosexual. Well, well, well.
In all likelihood, you will not be able to get out of the water dry. Feelings are hidden under the insensitive protection slowly wandering in the merciless beauty of the blatant chaos of the universe. Second hand feelings are all I have at my disposal. I take them from others or they endow them with me, we constantly change them, we see that we have clearly used feelings, but pretend that they look at us new, give them a new shine with their filling, and they cover us. Cover and cover. And around this wonderful beautiful world, and heaps of elephant shit, and hunters with knives in their hands, and elephants, and fear. After all, I’ll say that I’m scared, maybe I’ll even get excited by this, maybe my hands will start to tremble and I’ll run away, but it’s so hard to believe in looking from an elephant with a blindfold on.
I'd rather go to work, make myself successful and fulfill my plan to sell myself, so it will be less noticeable that my hands are stained with something that was previously in the elephant.
Finally, let's remember those who fell asleep in a heap of shit with a knife in their hands, waiting for an elephant. It’s a pity, a pity.
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