since i've all but given up my privacy with this stuff, might as well be generally honest. let's see what comes out of this.

a while back i started liking a song again that for a long-ass time, for reasons unclear to myself, made me too uncomfortable to even hear it. what is that shit?

anyway. i see things in magical terms, recently. not in terms of any literal belief, but as things things and people having powers and tendencies and properties you don't have words for. your language-mind and common sense tell you it's not real because of where we draw the line from real to silly superstition, but then somehow we accept that "ennui" can exist or "guilt" or "love". that's the level i'm talking about, here.

which weirdness is something i take on board in a big way because it's something like a raw feed of what you are in the world. a new sense. and actually listening to that shit gets you into funny places, mentally. that's where it gets unexpected: you essentially start thinking magically. and every once in a while your conscious mind just grabs you by the shoulder and does this one-eyebrow-raise thing as if you're turning yourself into a kid or a savage and he's worried, but you know, fuck that guy: you know better. we're looking at something invigorating, here. it's so not fucking coincidental that the root of "enthusiasm" comes from being possessed.

you never think you're actually guided by ideas stronger than you, because they are how you see things, not what you see. for as long i remember, it turns out, i've been basically controlled by a vague christian-shaped guilt over maybe teetering on the brink of some temptation or other. usually laziness, doing unhealthy things, shit like that. and there's been the illusion that by consciously trying you could somehow make a difference in what you do (which is strangely common) but its even more surreal corollary that it makes a difference that you worry. (what the peril really is is never known, and that's a crucial part of the illusion). yet even as i thought this, i could have sworn it was nothing like me.

then it kind of sneaks on you and wham: fuck that karmic nag. you do actually like to do the things that are good to you and others. you won't make a dent in your bad habits by worrying about them. you, as the you you experience you are, are not you and you are especially, emphatically not the decision-maker w/r/t what you do.

the mass of humanity so far has lived a messy, exhilarating, dangerous and vile existence, you know, so far.. and until you as the contemporary part of that tidal wave have a desk job and hobbies in a calendar. you. the latest chapter of mankind's existence—depravity, illness, murder, war and eurovision—you worry about like smoking. if you actually were connected in your sheltered life to things that make a difference, which means your actions would obviously and directly shape or take lives, or yours was directly at stake, you wouldn't keep yourself up at night by trivial stuff.

and so then you kick back about it. what if.. could you be completely immoral if you tried? gave it a shot? gave yourself license to become your private little sociopath? does a temporary small-scale epiphany have the momentum to really subvert your adaptation into society? hell no. you end up noticing that your instinct is nothing if not to be good and kind to your fellow man. and in that realization there is one more distinction: you don't care so much about their feelings (as that would lower you both), but something that's behind that. like their elán or something.

and that's the magical shit.

(note - if you read this and feel a compulsion to call my bullshit or something, comments on the blog being broken you are welcome to drop a line at here)