this is what happens when you disappear for (about) a year, or: if I can make it past 30 then so can you

Facebook results in Bruxism.  So does Roulette.  So does Cocaine.

Here is the truth:  I honestly believed I was living my life as closely as humanly possible. By closely I mean to death.  By death I mean absurdity, absolutism, annihilation (and anything, really, that offered momentary comprehension).  Cut your arms, eat a pillow, you become a sort of God.  Reality chokes, existence fails and you can prove it.  After all, from darkness shines the brightest light.

Oh, God.  Fucking good and fine until you barf to death.

I do not know why I felt this way.  I probably never will.  The madness pushes in like a bad toenail.  The madness hurts a lot more than you realize and so the value increases, which makes it hurt more still, especially to those around you.  I wanted everything to disappear. I wanted everything to appear immediately.  There is no reason; search for one and nothing changes.

I made myself sick.  I kept myself sick.  I fled to the woods.  I fell in love.  I tried again.  I tried again.  I tried again.  I flew to Florida.  About a month later, I checked Facebook. Somewhere between the daily sun and the unnecessary updating of time and space I became a point.  Singular yet undifferentiated.  I learned, in what felt like a heartbeat, that what I believe (trust + observe) is constantly transforming.  Life is nothing but a beginning and we are always too late to tell.  This understanding took the form of a reflex that had been present in my skin every day but had gone yet unnoticed.  As nice as this metaphor sounds I assure you the reality is infinitely bigger.  If you wake up with a second mouth you don’t go back to bed.

I truly feel that one day I vanished and fell back out an entirely different reality.  I woke up.  I keep waking up.  People tell me that I’m happy, calm.

So here’s the meat, the part I really want you to know:  If you feel trapped in your own life, if you are aware, in microscopic time, of the drudgery of embodiment, and this pervasive sensation is forcing it’s way (sometimes successfully, sometimes not, but always uncomfortably) into your consciousness like a thrombosis; specialized, screaming, then YOU ARE NOT ALONE and your suffering is always temporary.

This is an obvious but extraordinarily difficult element to grasp because suffering teaches us that the only way out is in, and we’re only really in if there isn’t an out.  A bastardized Void.  There is profundity in the ceaselessness of interiority.  There is a certain beauty in destruction, a fundamental grace in decay.  However, there is also vastness.

By vastness I mean that probably you are not important.  Neither Am I.  Seriously.  Take a moment to observe: all we tangibly do is hop around, our only clear purpose to run into things (and we do, well, often dramatically so).  This is not to say that life is pointless, but that the greatest, most inarguable truth to it all is that LIFE IS CONFUSING.  I have come to believe that this confusion, the same confusion that promised me intractable insight into the nullity of living, is anything but.  The confusion is a gift – because once we’re confused enough we simply let go.

For the record, letting go is not giving up.  Letting go is becoming aware of how tightly you are holding on and of the panic you feel when your bones start to loosen.

This may be our legacy, and it is absolutely worth the struggle.  Accept this as you do digestion, earnestly and without embarrassment.  YOU ARE ALL YOU NEVER WERE. Accept and “you” will learn the meaning of SUDDENLY.  All “you” know will pop.  “You” let go and “you” change and probably, if you so desire, make shit better.

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About thesupercoda

A weekly experimental cabaret
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