acute. non-stress. self-hypnotic in a pattern of steps, very nearly reassuring. underneath the left-right repetition of brokensoled shoes on pavement, there is something else. a sense of confinement, packed vacuum-tight. infinite space surrounds the condensed bubble of mentality, a physical reality that is at the same time untouchable.
intense focus blurs into concentric dilution as the street moves past, stop sign quickly approaching. humidity envelopes skin in a damp aura of sticky heat, while pressure builds silently on the inside... the intangible non-entity, the one that talks as opposed to the one who feels -- is aware, congealing into a direct suggestion, a word: relax. where was the tension before it came to rest inside of my mind, and what motivates its return? the nonsensical question why threatens to descend and cause the impending thunderstorm to crash from deep inside the clouds above.
first droplets of rain fall, heavy, large, splattering on shoulders and staining the front of my shirt as i continue to walk. contemplation, an intermittent hum of song melody becoming lyrics that unconsciously spill from my lips; the pressure seems to steady up and hold off. but it remains, reminding, rebounding, conception taking cue from perception as the rain becomes more steady. a delicate massage, new rhythm, an alternative sensation to the gravity feedback of footsteps. the broken rhythm of the late summer shower even has its own scent: nature versus asphalt, isolated memories of a soiled, oil-slicked earth interrupting the clouded stench of a damp city street.
rain isn't enough: interaction of man and environment, the polished machines of the rich so rudely imposed upon by beggars' defiant pleas for survival; as i pass a homeless man i fail to see his cardboard mendicant shrine and plastic donation container. stumbling, regaining balance, only a momentary act so instinctive that most other pedestrians can't be bothered to notice. the homeless man, however, emerges from his invisible reality, standing, mumbling curses and shuffling forward to recompose his cardboard-plastic monument. he disappears again, his near-infantile weakness forcibly reduced to emptiness by the fears of those who struggle and hurry to get away, only inches from his grasp.
the rainfall begins to subside, but people curiously do not lower their umbrellas. shoulders hunched, they simply carry on as if the rain were still falling unabated. dodging the pointed exoskeletal tips protruding from beneath waterproof skin, it becomes clear that the crowd relies not on the physical reality, but rather on surreptitious gaze and consensual decision. as i look up into the nebulous condensed masses of steamy vapor roiling in the sky above, an errant raindrop finds a vindictive satisfaction in glancing off the lense of my left eye. i blink the stinging sensation away and continue to look upward.
projection into the minds of others: the city, not as physical existence, but rather as sensationalistic illusion. projected from a flimsy desire to look up, the gleaming spires of skyscapers float high above the hovering ceiling of clouds. isn't it absurd that man's tribute to himself cannot be seen from a human perspective, but rather exists as an implied threat to all those below, in the form of the homeless man who can barely afford to survive, much less to live?
i don't understand. my clients are affluent, and yet when i speak to them, we have a language that allows for something like communication, but entirely without personality or affect. the suffocating bemusement of the 'businessman' impostor envelopes ruthless motives in the pretension of care, implying a bastardized version of friendship when truly this is a question of money and nothing more.
this friendship can be outsourced and offshored, gotten on the cheap. the only mediating variable is the application of existing technology and the "virtualization" of the expertise that i provide. temporary asymmetry of information is the rift within which i am working, and this rift feels as if it is inexorably grinding to a close.
amazing how a shift in perspective can wreak havoc on a dream. equally fascinating that the same disruptive shift can produce and reveal an entirely new constellation of hidden intentions. perhaps this is what hasn't felt right from the beginning. of course "this" is still largely an unconscious feeling, even now. over time, the results of this perceptive shift become clear, and my personality evolves as the moments pass.
from here i have contemplated the satisfying destruction of my client base -- who were rich, and for the most part, incredibly keen on keeping every possible penny in their pockets -- and starting over. a complication is that the end of this journey is meaningless. "earning" a fortune :: looking down at a frightened populace delighted by their customized cell phones, herded into compliance by laughably simplistic "anti-terrorism" measures :: dour-faced enforcers dragging tightleashed drugaddicted police dogs to search train cars :: the idiotic passersby attracted to the symbols of 'security', unable to resist the urge to chat with heavily armored soldiers whose subliminal message is the sanctioned murder of any and all who resist.
my footsteps rest at the street corner and my mind is at ease. the tension headache dissipates into the sky, clouds playing their inimitable games in swirling contrasts of light and dark as i count my breaths to pass the time. the light turns red, walk sign turns white, and i cross the street, listening to nothing. touching the world with each cell in my body, the massive empty flow of the minds rumbling around me as they indulge their own distractions from what lies behind the shimmering goliath of social proof and hive-minded complacency.
audio: renaissance presents therapy sessions . disc01 . tracks 1+2
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