Ghosts in my shell - Grin with cat attached
|Ghosts in my shell||Feb. 1st, 1999 09:29 pm|
Each of us builds a shell around our deeper thoughts. Many of us remain outside that shell safe from the disturbing sight of what lies within. But I find myself trapped within, caught within a wild machine that I can barely slow nor direct. Its complexity is incredible, perhaps inifinite; it seems to curve in on itself in a fractal format. And it's growing, generating itself from its own ideas like some insane perpetual motion machine. Somehow I need to understand this system to be sure that it won't tear itself apart; certainly it's not running so smoothly as it might; it screams as it runs: an unbalanced wheel scrapes on another, shrapnel is thrown into the works. Yet none of this slows it, and I can't even figure what task it is on; self-discovery perhaps, but I don't understand the method it's using. It seems most involved in weaving ghosts, questions that taunt me, screaming "answer me" yet refusing to show me their text. Somehow I need to exorcise these ghosts, or at least stall them. I need distractions, but all I have is distraction. However long I spend tackling these thoughts, as soon as I turn away the machine produces more. I need to find it another task; perhaps I'll find one soon. But few tasks will suffice; this isn't a tame machine that'll run in the Mainstream, but a dark creation still looking for its culture. There are clues, and I think I'm on the right path, but the options ahead are bewildering, in many cases the antithesis of what I was taught in my cocoon. I need to smash this preconditioning, but it's been there a long time and his integrated with my Self; sometimes it's hard to tell which is which, so how can I excise it?|
The solution to every problem, they say, starts with a plan. (Darkness knows who "they" are). Perhaps this is that plan, or maybe it's the brainstorming that leads to it. An apt term indeed for the tempest in my mind. But it's theraputic; if I can see my thoughts in front of me rather that spraining my mind to look in, I can, quite literally, face them. Perhaps I don't need to remove the ghosts, maybe it will suffice to put them in order. That could be the way to tame them without losing the power inherent in this machine. Maybe now I can function "normally" (or apprently so), maybe tonight I might sleep without the machine tearing through my mind. Maybe.