Leaky Abstractions: A Summer Journal
Summer is almost over, and while I have spent all of it in the city, I've had time to trace a few somewhat random thoughts over several weeks.
[July] Paint falls of the ceiling of my room. Water leaked from it a couple of weeks back. It ruined the sense of unnoticeability about that part of my room. I stare at it more often as my eyes wander to that spot where the water seeped into the paint and soaked into the layers culminating in the paint giving in. The whole scenario formed an imperfect patch on the formerly white coat. I’ve had two books suffer a similar fate – water of some sort got into them while being transported in my bag – the result of which is noticeable if I don’t pay enough attention to the contents. These are fixable things – I can pack up and move to a different apartment and burn the books as an excuse to get new copies. This is, after all a consumer economy. This phrase – “consumer economy”, however, makes me want to keep less track of how much I am spending and click buy on that new set of pants. I’ve acquired a few thrifted pieces that I’ve wore all summer long. The acquisition of things is a thing I picked up from mother. Conversations with her have picked up again and I ask her about who she was when she was younger. There are things she tells me and details she omits. I read between the lines. Apparently, I was a violent child. That word – violence sticks with me.
[August] Fully awake at 2 am – pondering, gazing into the nothingness, becoming one with the night. Memories morph. I seek distraction from this endless void. Thunderclaps pierce the city skies. What is sleep that it taunts me? A Prayer: May the God of rest and peace grant me momentary reprieve. I am attempting to articulate my position on certain issues of concern to me to my friends and in various encounters. How do I feel about this and that is cause for others to lean in and widen their eyes. Again, I find myself mapping the social contexts I occupy – determined to seek patterns. How can one cross that invisible line between cultures – of idiosyncrasies in tongue and skin? I transmute into various forms; acquiring mannerisms that make me feel better about myself – in speech, dress, taste, ideology – to allow oneself to navigate spaces with ease, becoming something alien, unknown to my being. I am learning the language of assimilation.
[September] A man is an exorcised ghoul who wants, needs, doesn’t always get what he desires. Desire – a populated landscape that contains hidden crevices, uncharted territories. I am just a man who seeks absolution from my past. At times, I fail to identify the ways I am being cultured in the spaces I occupy. I’m picking up habits to pinch myself from this dream. Sleep gets interrupted. I’m awake again this early September night. Thinking about plenty of things — loving, living, longing – and approaching these with honesty. A gaze into the infinitely finite is to attempt to understand the fault lines that wreak havoc on the ordinary – the everyday normal, chasing highs to settle into. Ordinary is frightening. I’m running a lot more and have these episodes where having eaten a nice dinner, I still feel hungry, and I wonder what this means. My hair is growing and I’m giving it a bit more time before I get it retwisted. Fall is nigh.