i remorse my dummys and all the railroad bawlings banal; i predicate my fish and all is fermented again. the blanket goes forgoing out in jocular and sonorous, and pedantic dummy bawlings: i remorse my railroads. do me demented. eggman from the blanket.
I wrote that on 05/27/2006 at 2:16:35 PM. I “remorse my dummies” indeed. Sylvia Plath, William S. Burroughs – here I come and all that jazz. I “remorse my railroads” too. And I should (considering the state they’re in).
I am pausing here to reflect on all I have done and all I am doing. I believe in action afterall. Master Yoda told me so: do-or-do-not-there-is-no-try. Then why am I anxious? Oh no, here I am, slipping into the personal realm (without humor, too) in a public space. Stone me.
So here I am, immersed in introspection, digging up old dirt and making a mess. Besides, being on medication for anxiety gives me enough distance from it to be able to view it as yet another image/event.
Anxiety: 1. A relatively permanent state of worry and nervousness occurring in a variety of mental disorders, usually accompanied by compulsive behavior or attacks of panic. 2. A vague unpleasant emotion that is experienced in anticipation of some (usually ill-defined) misfortune.
How unfortunate. Sometimes I wonder about the myth of the infallibility of doctors and their grim diagnostic abilities that I believe in so completely. This eventually leads to absolute disappointment but I continue believing in this infallibility-myth. Yes, it makes me happy in some twisted way.
Throughout my life, I’ve been prodded, probed and poked by doctors. Whatever myth I might choose to believe in, I fear doctors. I look at a doctor and my legs turn into jelly and I fear they will tell me something that will change my life forever. So, doctors are similar to fortune-tellers. And they tell you “what will happen next” but without the assurance of fortune-tellers. Therefore, doctors are misfortune-tellers without the reassuring conviction of fortune-tellers.
Stepping outside the personal realm can be difficult but it is possible. I could turn this into a rant about doctors/external conflicts/the social environment etc. But the doctors (oh those horrible infallible creatures) prescribed a magical potion that makes me numb and distant. So, this can remain random and I can rest easy that I didn’t really mean to get personal with myself.