Abstract Feelings

I have memories of being a little kid and waking up, sitting on the edge of my white bedspread and feeling disgust. It was an overwhelming emotional nausea. I felt weird, sad, and grossed out to be a human.

Around this time I had the dream I was accidentally eating my cat; my uncle Ian told me about the concept of infinity; I prayed to a god that lived in the center of my head. This god understood everything while also not understanding anything, I would ask it questions and get a feeling without an answer.

Also at this time my sibling was newly born and I was newly vegetarian, explaining to my parents that we had eaten all the dinosaurs and that that was not acceptable.

I was a sensitive kid, often triggered into vague body-emotions with rubber-head or rubber stomach, or some time capsule of energetic space that gets popped and fills you with a sentimental depression or someone else’s tarnished emotions that then become your internal state as you sit inside a clothing rack under fluorescent lights or in an arroyo, nearly passing out, everything 2d. I still get these types of feelings but am no longer immobilized by them.

Today I was getting gut-flashes in the same brand of freaked-out emotional synesthesia (or whatever): some leaky depression of 70’s-hued stagnation with big unresolved stomach loops done diagonally in shapes like big seeds. Who knows, it wasn’t personal, but it was heavy on my left side.

There is always color and form, but usually ephemeral/transparent, and having to do with a direction and a movement. It’s like a very detailed punch. Beyond the aesthetics there are heavy emotional states – the feelings you get when thinking about something with emotional weight but without concrete thought. The feelings within the colors and forms have their own more concentrated colors and forms, and sometimes they are folded together. Multi-layered moments. Sometimes they’re body-based and sometimes they make me feel like I am not much body, they are outside me and then I am a me outside me.

Viewing my ribcage from outside, like a sculpture.

There are also more dreamworld images to concentrate on: when you get shot in the throat, or through your back windshield and left temporal lobe, or when your lungs are replaced by machines. Thick blood, death, gore, sadness, trauma, brain damage, irreparable destruction never coming back everything is ruined crying over spilled milk from animal virtue’s bloodied tribe. Even so, that’s what, so everything is okay and we can cry on our clean sheets if we are thinking this.

We can have these space-pockets of someone’s sad story and complicated color-emotions. But also oscillating sinusoidal space pockets can be benevolent or neutral, combining us into stacked galaxies, making our shining migraine back dissolve gleefully into what earth is. Or suspended blue power noise with gleaming gold in the center with the essence of water woven with a dead-friend’s magic and true love.

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