(Segment 19)
I do not know how to access myself anymore. A truly repulsive thought, for if I am still in this head – carbon suit – surely I am accessing me right now? But no, it seems not. The proverbial pipestem is crushed between the proverbial gnawing mashers. Sitting here, I am frowning rather aggressively, and for SOME REASON this allows me to concentrate more actively. An aggressive inward turning of the magnifying glass, I inspect myself (simultaneously trying not to magnify the sunrays an inordinate amount, this would result in my clothing catching fire, and I do detest thinking about that[1].
But what then, am I truly on about? That question buzzes about inside my head continuously, and I suspect it always shall, inherently linked like a conjoined, and badly deformed twin. Not only do I NEED to work, but I WANT to work. I am after all, a member of the productive society model, this is what I am continuously told at least[2] (perhaps therein lies the problem). But my problem, our neighbour’s problem, dad’s problem, Gabriel’s problem, sun-drenched problem, a creative problem, the problem is that simply ‘needing’ or ‘wanting’ is not always good enough.
Here I shall take a short ASIDE to explain a term: the LIMBIC system.
I take this aside with no intention to fix any knowledge or definition in the head of a reader. Rather, this aside functions as a key to my lexical vernacular and internal (mostly subconscious) understandings of what is going on around me. The limbic system is a biological term that defines a part of the human brain responsible for a certain number of emotional and behavioural processes in the body. The structures that it comprises of are those of the fornix, hippocampus, cingulate gyrus, amygdala, the parahippocampal gyrus, and parts of the thalamus. Within my lexical fridge, I store a definition of the ‘limbic’ which would rather swiftly be laughed out of the head offices of Merriam-Webster (if ever it wound up there). The limbic represents a strange kind of internal opponent for me now. Again, I do think this is related to my heightened awareness levels of mortality, but it is also ephemerally experiential.
Instructions:
Do not treat your body right; sleep too little, stub your toe, impede the flow of traffic bodily, give yourself goals and purposefully do not attain them.
now experience the resultant limbic pressure and try to overcome this pressure.
(This is fucking hard)
And so, I am forced to wonder. When I am continuously unable to defeat the LIMBIC PRESSURE am I really in control? For fuck sakes I had to take a pill to write this time. The past week has been a RECURRING COLLAPSE, unable to fend off the limbic. I don’t like to think of the limbic as being a part of me, even though it necessarily is. Far easier to blame it for irrational behaviours and simply acquiesce like a slave.
*I lean down to inspect the shattered pipestem between my fingers*
*My left-hand smells like medical cotton, disinfectant*
*The ring finger exhibits a tear on the middle phalanx*
[1] Segment 5 – between 18:00 and 19:00. I am drastically changed.
[2] Segment 7 – between 11:00 and 12:00. The productive city needs feeding.