negative space

p i g e o n s, by sergey neamoscou

just now, i found myself thinking about languages. more specifically, i was thinking about how the way i express things, and, indirectly, my general mode of speaking, and even my “personality”, varies depending on which language i am speaking. four different languages, four different egos. and i asked myself, which one is the real me?

i guess you could make arguments for each language-me, and eventually come to the conclusion that they’re all me, but i have to say that the split first place would go to swedish-me and english-me. why? because i have mastered these languages well, and at pretty much an equal level.  this might seem like the most obvious thing in the world, but think about it for a second. i feel most comfortable expressing myself in these language because i know them. i can fully* verbally exercise my acts toward self-actualization only through these two languages because they give me the biggest playground. as opposed to the spanish-me, for example, in whom i can’t even hear my own personality at times, due to my linguistic limitations. imagine if spanish-me was the only me i had. my view of myself would be so small, i’d be nearly no one.

now, you can expand this theory, look at other aspects in the world like, oh, say, everything ever. the more you know about something, the more you can move around in said something, and the more you can find yourself in said something. feel your way through the negative space. this applies to anything. to be able to find yourself truly being something, you have to understand and, to an extent, be everything that isn’t that something.

sometimes, experiencing the alternatives to that something you were set on going to at first leads you to not find your way back. sometimes, you learn that you weren’t that doctor, or buddhist, or heterosexual, or poet, or pessimist that you thought you were at the beginning. you’ll find out just how selfish you can be, how cold the world is sometimes, and how everything is really really hard. it’ll hurt. it’ll hurt a lot. but you’re closer to the truth.

the truth is what really matters. you have to try things, all the things, to know the whole you. paint the picture bigger and bigger and strive to get the whole thing, even though you’ll most certainly die before you get there**. the more you do it, the bigger your self will become. that’s why experienced people have that certain something. you can see the sureness glistening in their eyes, it’s solid. like a rock amidst a stormy ocean. they know themselves. a bit jaded, broken, but so beautifully real.


*well you know, relatively.
**who knows, the search might transcend mortality.


(play and then read, yeah?)

i want to be as unapologetically me as possible. i want to be the me that i am in my head. i just want to say what i think without that tremble in my voice, without that flicker. i want to wear a leather jacket and have dyed hair and not say sorry a single time in the whole goddamned day. i want to look at a guy without thinking that he’d never be interested in me anyways. i want to wear clothes that cling without worrying about which rolls are showing where. i want to make that one mistake that’d be awful but such a good story in the end. i want to ask what the fuck are you looking at and have the evening end with me having punched someone in the throat. i want to make out with strangers and get tattoos just because i feel like it in that particular moment. i want to flirt in languages i don’t speak. i want to walk in that certain way without thinking about it, saunter. i want to do things that make me question who i am, shake my foundation. i want to scream, and laugh into the dead of night. i want people to hate me, and i want people to love me. i want to knock them down.  i want to blow them away. i have a cyclone within me, but i want to be in the eye.

the other – die ultimative selbst

so the concept of the other with a capital o. the third part, constantly being looked to; watching, discerning, judging. seeking validation, not from other people, don’t flatter yourselves, randoms, but from the most important entity in the world, the center of the universe – yourself. but… not. the perfect you. the you that you almost lust for, perpetually long to be, but never will become. nietzsche saw the übermensch as a goal for humanity to set for itself. he was a little arrogant, to pin his view of the other with a capital o, his manifestation of the perfect self, as the goal for every single person that has ever and will ever live. god, the state, whatever shape you want it to be – isn’t it just the ultimate you? perfection is a concept defined by each individual, there are no set quotas. we constantly seek confirmation, claim that it can only be given by others, get frustrated when we don’t get it. really, we can only give it to ourselves. the power is with us. we separate ourselves, se us as both self and other. we surround ourselves with our own realities. is it a free will if we’re keeping ourselves from our wills? we tie our own knots.

self-calibration in 3… 2… 1…

every now and then, i get a little (or a lot) un-aligned with myself. i let myself get carried away with things in life, and dragged along paths that i don’t really want to be on. they’re things that distract me, things that start out small but blow up and take more place than they deserve. petty things. and then i need to stop and think, and realize how small the blown-up things really are. how it doesn’t matter, and what does. i re-direct the camera lens and see myself shift into focus. it’s funny how i never notice myself blurring until i’m gone. but i always come back. i’m always reminded of my main agenda and it all becomes clear again. be a rockstar. whitehotbrilliant. re-aligned. centered. calibration complete.

two hours and eighteen minutes

8:36 am

i woke up this morning feeling disgusting. not “ugh i’m so sticky and gross” or “oh my god why did i do that i’m a horrible person”, but just feeling wrong. like my existence is wrong. every point of my body connecting to another felt slithering and too soft and too hard at once. like creatures crawling under my skin, carving paths of nothingness. i wanted to crawl out of my skin, leaving my own path of nothingness. as the morning went on, i started putting myself back together again, piece by piece. now i’m on the train, feeling alright again, but still slightly off. hopefully i’ll have slotted back into place by the time i fall asleep tonight.

10:54 am

i can’t really feel my skin at all at this point, which pretty much sounds as not-good as feeling it too much. it’s easier though. doesn’t feel gross, just a little unsettling. i’m bouncing off the walls again and everything feels kinda POW! BOOM! ZAP! i feel like i’ve run through a thousand days in just one morning, and like the summer days have bled into one infinitely stretched out moment. time is fleeting, time is fleeing and we’re pretty much chasing it. a chase. a race. time always wins.