I am capable of creating a model of the world yet still hardly capable of dealing with it effectively according to my objectives, plans, ends and desires. It suits me well. I am no doer; I am simply an observer. My head is off, I am wrong, such thoughts are profane. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Too much time agonising my 5-HT2A, not enough time spent with a needle in my arm. Is that the problem? Something about my childhood. Something about my mother: "No, I am not leaving the house so that you might experience something new, boy!" Attachment to comfort. Fear of fear. Lack of desire, desire for nothing, desire everything at once without desire. Do I run from the bear because I feel fear or do I feel fear because I run from the bear? I feel both secure and free but I am a river flowing into a sea and I am building a dam. Hormones conflicting with rationality and the competition between my brains. The thought must occur to me that it is not necessary that I stay stuck in this room.
Où est l'Algérie? Comment puis-je y arriver? Pourquoi suis-je ici? Pourquoi est-ce que je tiens à être là? Ou au Mexique ou en Californie ou vivants ou morts?
Now is now and also will be tomorrow. Where will I be?