Rising From The Ashes: We Can Do It

06:15 What’s the point 07:36 The point is to be successful 10:21 The point is to try and fail just so I can learn that I was trying for the wrong reasons 12:20 The point is to identify the right reasons 14:46 The point is to be loved by you 15:10 The point is to try and fail just so I can learn that I was always already loved by you 17:56 The point is to love you 19:39 The point is we are always already love 22:32 Principally, we are pointless 06:11 (+1) What’s the point

Wake up, 8am, hungover, naked, reeling, black coffee, blueberries, peanut butter, decarboxylated weed, green olives, whatsapp life update, cycle down the road across the bridge to the swim spot, 5 degrees, 3 minutes, naked, sunning, cycle home, hot shower, bursting now, writhing, the love I hoard in your absence, forgetting you like one forgets a dream, like one forgets the sound of the glottal stop, but not the feeling, the sound found in the catch in the uh-oh, what never started never has to stop

I fell for the oldest trick. Moved halfway across the world to get closer to love, just to find out that love is not something you can make ground on. It is always exactly the same distance away: Two arm lengths, three cups of coffee, five words, a poem completed. I’m making ground on the 3-sphere, I say to myself. I encounter the longing contained within the beauty. The pleasure contained within the longing. The grief contained within the pleasure. The beauty contained within the grief, and I’m back at the beginning again. Every time I get a little closer, I am precisely the same measure further away. At least it keeps me spinning, I say to myself. But the truth is what I cannot say

Sure, desire is revealing, but only really to yourself. From the beginning, all I had set out to do was to show you that love is already always within you. After all, I am not really here. I am not really saying anything. I am the white wall you need to see your projection most clearly. And to say, how could such a perfect image spring from me if I myself am not already perfection

Nobody is a good person. There is no such thing. At some point you learnt to identify with the good person because you were taught that this person, by virtue of their goodness, is worthy of love. Except, the good person does not actually exist, and so for you to continue to identify with them, you are met with the ceaseless task of finding evidence for their existence. You have learnt to see only flattery, success, and admiration. This feels like love, half of the time. Yet, in the absence of such evidence, you are left with but three options. First, to construct a fantasy from which you can generate new evidence affirming the good person. Second, to conclude that you must in fact be the bad person, the one not worthy of love. Third, to recognise both as an imaginary, two-dimensional construct. To do away with the construct altogether, in favour of three-dimensional reality. You see, there is a person who is really there, who is not made from ideas but from the very love you are so desperately after

Any feeling that pierces performs the added function of tearing a hole into the skin that was containing it. An injury like this becomes an opening through which every other feeling can escape. For me, it was piercing love followed by overwhelming grief. For you, I imagine, it is the other way around. Each morning you will wake to find that the skin has healed over, you might think this its function. But then, your function is to place yourself in the path of arrows, again and again, any length to let the light in

It is not just that you are living through it, but you were born into it, and so, constructed from it. Meaning, the political conditions are playing out inside of you. This is the domain for which you are solely responsible. You can postpone the feeling, or you can let it come to pass and deliver the information of which we so desperately need

Yes, I'm sorry. Attachment is normal. It's just. The only way to let love in is to risk it's emulation. To reveal one's deepest shame, and to be loved even more for it. For the simple fact that there is now more of you to love. I was so confused. Once I had revealed myself to be reprehensible, I could not understand how all of these people still loved me, how they ever loved me. But see that's just the problem. To believe that love is earned. For being someone admirable. For doing something exceptional. Turns out they never loved me for my qualifiers, but for my innocence. In my eyes they saw me pleading, and they answered, of course, I will love you forever. As if it's the easiest thing in the world. And it is, to love a baby is the easiest thing in the world

The only way I know how to reconcile being objectified is to become the better subject. That is, to tell the better story.

I would prefer you to go wordless

Attachment is not bad, it's just, all attachments are temporary insofar as there could exist something eternal. So, naturally, I tried to attach to love itself. Unfortunately, love is not the massive object I want so badly to circle. Never in the last place I left it. Certainly not in the last place I look. In some sense, love works in opposition to attachment. Meaning, it is not love at the centre of all things, but love that allows us to act as if there is no use in a centre