Things are dense.
In the United States we’re facing a particularly tense election, both sides accusing each other of ending democracy, ushering totalitarianism.
Around the globe: Israel squabbles with Iran, Lebanon, and Palestine. Ukraine and Russian proxy, post-covid economy, nuclear pileups, looming authoritarianism, and the fallout of Middle East foreign policy; not limited to mass immigration, terrorist-run-states, arms and slave trade, and death tolls under dwindling democracy.
Covid unmasked the wielding power held by institutions: Moderna, Pfizer, Department of Health, National Institute of Health, people like Anthony Fauci, and the attention of the average news consumer, the Joe Shmoe, still plugged into the corporate news matrix, who began questioning the narratives of a new deadly influenza.
I write from my couch while my back heals in agony. Muscles strained against the density of consciousness. I have degenerative disc disease from life’s dense moments, neck locks, back spasm, all the like.
Self care includes wearing ankle braces, eating well, and working out regularly.
After the last couple assassination attempts, my overwhelmingly Trump neighborhood was less than content, causing a reaction in my back.
I’ve also accumulated a new neighbor next door, somebody from Philadelphia.
Unfortunately they’ve brought somewhat of a vibe.
My sexual energy is extremely sensitive, and I’ve always struggled with ejaculation for whatever reason, repression primarily.
The vibe is currently so thick, so dense and heavy, that I’m unable to maintain sexual arousal. During masturbation, after a few minutes, my penis goes limp, I lose interest, and either decide to power through and/or retire, take a shower. Do something else.
I’ve also been experiencing the least amount of ideas regarding creative project.
No short story ideas, no short films, my last EP was a train wreck and descended into ambient/noise.
I haven’t produced video for the last 5-6 projects.
I haven’t really done anything.
I tried drawing and doing comics, maybe I’ll do more but they aren’t why I’m here.
I’m tired all the time, exhausted, it sits underneath my eyes.
I’ve spent over a decade in constant chaos, attempting to address my mental health, only recently discovering I’m an intuitive psychic. Extremely sensitive.
I feel trapped in life.
Running location to location, often away from other people, searching for peace of mind, seemingly unable to find any.
While the cabin looks fantastic, I would preferred something AWAY FROM PEOPLE, not in the most crowded development in the area.
I have no source of income, no real finances. I’m uncomfortable and miserable everyday, stomach pains, nausea, weights on the air.
I don’t see myself being productive.
I can complain though.
So here are my complaints.
They say creative energy and sexual energy are linked, makes sense right?
Sex is used to create life.
So maybe I shouldn’t be surprised with my sudden drop of creativity, minus I never really allowed myself proper time to heal.
Multiple head injuries, including a car crash where I smacked my head at least three times.
A bar fight.
I was knocked to the ground with my back turned.
Self harm, I punched myself in the face, head for the last how many years because it was easier than feeling anger.
Byproduct of growing up in a house where you’re not allowed to feel anger, because anger would imply something isn’t right.
And how could that be??
Everything is perfect.
Here’s hoping my sexual energy returns.
For the sake of pleasure and for the sake of creativity; however, this is a situation I know well.
Not being able to achieve orgasm. Girlfriends, hook ups met with the same resistance. My inability to cum. Was this because I’m unconsciously sleeping with a reincarnation of an Oedipal figure, mom, sister? Or am I getting a bad vibe? Something else?
Hard to tell, but it’s frustrating and has my plagued my life since the earliest of my sexual encounters.
Quite early, mind you.
Will be taking time to explore, because I think it’s another proving factor of the unconscious mind and psychoanalysis.
Anyway, my phone died and I almost lost this blog.
It’s a sign.
POST.
THE BADBOOB 