*[Due to having been a touch “out of it” when this entry was originally written I thought it prudent to go through it and just make sure I didn’t swerve into the utterly incoherent as I strive for quite the opposite when I write.]*
[At approximately 7:45 am- 8:00 am—ish]:
Got to make better policies…better politics. Our President is President Trump… what the fucking fuck… rhyming sometimes is really fun, just to play—hey, hey, hey…why can’t a person be a hybrid, polyamorist, or an artist, or anyone who challenges the so-called apparent “social realities.” *[Not sure why exactly I wrote that. But I was thinking about labels…distinguishing things like genres…one who writes poetry versus one who writes prose and I was thinking about conventionality but the thinking was very let loose and playful and uninhibited in a way despite the paranoia….]*
I’m gonna write, write, write. (I’m cold. ) I feel cool. But don’t want to.
I’m determined to self improve.
Watch that anxiety reduce.
MSNBC, Stephanie Rhule,
Treading in the Sea of Graduate School
Spirit of Kerouac came back
In some of my mind’s thought-track.
As if a ghost in fact
With a mix of Virginia Woolf, Anais Nin, Susan Sontag, with some Nietzsche too. Nietzsche and Sontag make notes I almost can’t distinguish from that which ushers us beyond postmodernism where poetry and non-fiction, in a thought that balances the spontaneous with x amount of hindsight to one can be both in the moment yet abstract on the verge of dissertation lingo jargon (why not? If you’ve been making art for a very long time and it just hasn’t made you rich and famous yet—perhaps the more experimental you get, hypothesizing that maybe what you were doing before “wasn’t working” so you try something a little different *[in life and maybe it reflect when you write]* like mixing CBD oil with an SNRI…who would have thought it would really get you high? Where was I?
Sometimes my imagination goes back in *[time]*
Even further than *[than what? I don’t know…I started the thought and then just left it.]*
Back to Montaigne as channeled through Phillip Lopate.
Glue my eyes on a list of things I most appreciate.
I try to add more to the list every day.
It’s… one could say…my way to “pray”
I’m listening to “Ain’t Talkin” by Bob Dylan while I’m writing this here diary entry to you.
How often do you listen to SONGS…with “deep words”
“what do you mean by ‘deep’–?
Usually I only listen to instrumental in the morning. But sometimes even when you’re trapped inside you can feel like you need a vacation…Cabin fever… Googling “cabin fever covid” see if anyone out there catches my drift…I’m thinking about my wife, I’m thinking about fucklovelaugh.com and contemplate the feeling of being turned on…as if a psychologist researching for Oxford University or Columbia University or William Paterson University… thinking about THOUGHT as such…the neurology of thought from conception to human touch…there’s a little guilt in the rain as if just to keep the possession of a conscience constant *[that is to say, I do not believe myself a saint– so to speak– in the realm of applying ethical theory …and I wouldn’t, thus, want to get cocky just because things seem “good”]*… trying to work off the CBD paranoia…
Yes, CBD makes me paranoid…paranoid I’ll be the only one to admit it in my quest for the cultivation of my commitment to this diary.
I ain’t a quote poet end quote but you can call me one if it floats your boat, if you think its GOAT.
I’m writing you a note… here and now… Kerouac style.
Passion to see life improve its actions.
Say I want hot sex.
What are the readers’ reactions?
When sexual desires swim through you and brims out of you as you take a few walks down Marcel Proust and Bob Dylan Avenues…but wait! The fuckin’ news is on. Should it feel this traumatizing? Am I over dramatizing? In my daydream (now getting Charles Lamb style on you…) in my daydream you say to me “you cray-cray.” *[I must admit, another effect of the CBD oil is that it makes me feel an escalated level of sexual desire and sense of sexual existence]*
…wow a plethora of hypotheses (hypohesi…why didn’t we make the plural of “hypothesis”–?) Hypothesis regarding open marriage concept: may make the world a less scary place… a way to see something new every now and then yet have that special someone…she’s there with you when you take too much CBD oil and you’re paranoid and she is the most calming person I know…what’s her secret? *[I don’t suppose an open marriage must or necessarily would “make the world a scary place” but I do notice, in researching both in an academic/sociological sort of sense as well as in more personal reflections 1)either in art or a story directly from someone discussing her or his experience, that often a connection is made between non-monogamous desire and a sense of it easing the sense of mortality one has when one thinks about it. If you see the show Wanderlust
this connection is suggested, for example. ]*
Called my psychiatrist because the paranoia has been well…freaking me out! If you have ever experienced paranoia before from smoking pot I imagine you understand…my psychiatrist said that due to lack of FDA regulations there is no way to detect for example just how much THC might actually be in CBD oil. She suggested I may want to throw it out. The only reason I want to keep the question raised (as to whether or not I’d like to in fact throw it out) is that in low doses I felt rather fine. Remarkably fine now that I recall it. It was only after every time I woke up in the middle of the night …without the Lunesta that I usually take for insomnia…. I took more as I was under the impression one should take a little drop every time one wakes up or every half hour if one just stays awake… where did I get that information from? Does it ever happen to you that you can recall a fact but not its source?
My psychiatrist also said to stay away from stimulants and wait the paranoia out and that I ought to do “whatever you do to feel healthy to soothe yourself.” (Back to yesterday’s theme of trying to relax…I felt very relaxed last night just not this morning. Tranquil. Even through the night I felt fine. Reminded me of the every now and then good times I felt *[back when a pot smoking experience did not go unnervingly awry.]*
So I’m reading the “tip”-sheet / “suggested serving hints” that the polite associate from Deans Natural Food Market
gave… it says “Everyone needs to take a different daily serving, but every person must start slow. Start with 2-3 drops about an hour before bed. You will be able to tell if it makes you drowsy. If not, add an equivalent morning serving the next day. Then add a drop or two to your evening serving to slowly increase your serving to a level that helps you.” The sheet (more like a card…about the size of three intext cards in one, roughly) also says in bold that “Less is More.”
Apparently so, in my case.
I should have taken that more seriously. Honestly, I really thought the whole CBD thing was going to be a hoax, that I would feel nothing, no difference. When I felt nice last night I thought it was quite likely that the good feeling was the result of placebo effect. Now it would seem not.
(the associate said too much can have the opposite intended effect, now that I recall)
Trump makes me feel fucking paranoid!
Those who like him often tend to…I don’t know…believe that through his mystic bullshit powers he’ll keep them employed? I didn’t know Bullshit could do that! Why haven’t I tried that for wealth and power? Ha. Ha.
Now it’s 11:52… paranoia has finally subdued! So it seems to have lasted almost 5 hours…that awful feeling of…worse than a panic attack…like a storm…an actual STORM of thoughts all related to my fear of death and dying…just like it was the second time I ever smoked pot back in 2006. Anyway, glad that stopped. Still feel… “high.” In what way? As I mentioned in my private diary last night…a certain meditativeness and mindfulness and calming river of thought-stream.
References [ + ]
|1.||↑||either in art or a story directly from someone discussing her or his experience|