bonus entry! (nap)

dang. well, this one’s embarrassing. have to grit my teeth and bundle on an extra coat – remind myself what the WUSS project is all about: spotlighting that moldy old creep of a secretive subconscious. the way it slinks around when i’m not aware; keeping to the shadows, the dank of the dark. cooking up a stew of distraction & confusion to leak into my life-stream.

love i need; this embedded farcicle romance i needn’t.
dreaming i need; your delusional flights of fancy i needn’t.

so get off my bloomin brain’s back, subconscious. get with the greater program and meld into the conscious already. or at least stand up for yourself in the light of day. oh, but you can’t do that, huh? because you really only deal in contortions & disfigurement, dontcha.

look, i appreciate what you’re trying to do. i know most people just love it. and i sure used to too. but the thrill be gone, and now you just feel like dead blood-sucking weight. my guess is you’ll go poof into scattering ash like a vampyre when shined a light upon.

also though, heck, it’s a good song. maybe i’m lucky never to be around certain people or the radio so that i can enjoy things without having to endure the wafting of certain stenches always along with them. whatever the reason anyway, it’s true, i sure am one lucky son of a gun.

and maybe that subconscious really was just trying to be helpful even this time, sharing info in the only way it can. maybe i was too hard on it. …Not. here’s a fix: let’s all start using the FRONT door, how bout.

i had a realization, made a decision a while ago that if i really do want the people i really do want to listen to me, the ones perhaps actually capable of benefiting if i’m ever actually capable of writing beneficially, i’ll have to simultaneously entertain, or at least engage, pacify the addicted masses guarding their brain’s castle walls by shooting em up with their romance fix, infusing them with the sound of the boy-girl merry-go-round. like dangling keys in front of a baby to get it to stop crying and pay attention. or the promise of sticker-star praise to entice grammar-school compliance.

and that even goes double for mine own pining self’s dream factory: sex-obsessed body, love-obsessed heart, romance-obsessed psyche, and power-obsessed ego. to get them all to calm their jockeying & blabbering and actually sit silently and work together on creating an even more possibility-stuffed now, they all have to be made to think they’re each acting of their own accord in pursuit of their own rewards. silly rabbits.

so that’s the why of all this always boy-girl eyelash batting in these writings, in case you were, you know, hating on me for it. plus, allegorically, as representation of both the internal & external energetic relationships to be integrated, romance works wonders; we’re all just too busy trying to be it to see it.

the other (potentially) good thing about it, though, is that it’s kinda, as your friend eminem recapited in rhyme, cleaning out my closet, like yoga for the subconscious, gettin it all limber & light, ready for take-off. so i can slow & stop the spending of my own exploratory energy on continually wandering unawares round the same romantic circle of desire, depression and delusion; what-ifs, if-onlys and darn-it-alls. re-focus it on the more progressive expansion into the as-yet unknown.

but you should’ve seen the writings before, it was all scientific & philosophic, abstract and complicated and zzzzzzzzz

we sure have come a long way, eh?

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