Mud left buddy jam

Introversion can sometimes manifest itself at the most undesirable of times; and what frustrates the most is that I still haven't figured out whether these manifestations are natural and involuntary, or whether I have more control than I believe. My guess? I think it's "natural", only so far as it is familiar - which I guess makes it involuntary too. With proper training, I'm fairly sure it can be curbed, though I doubt it can be licked entirely.

A recurrent experience is a feeling of complete distancing from myself at completely inappropriate moments, where consciousness and reality are separate (that is unfortunately the best I can put it). There is no awareness of "myself", perhaps due to the fact that there is no time for thought. Instead, I am forced to rely on an increasingly rusty auto-pilot, whose technical limitations are showing themselves quite flagrantly of late. And usually, all of a sudden, there is a flash of clarity, where I become all too aware of this, and as a result I cannot help but feel that I have been stringing my companion on some elaborate ride when my heart is not in it. Truth, where does it lie? Not in half-formed blog posts, I know that for sure.

Why exactly do I keep writing here?

I sometimes wonder whether the reactions I observe are simply normal, or whether they indicate that some of my fears are founded; that my dealing of human relationships is far too clouded by personal insecurities for any of them to have the sort of depth that I feel others experience. As always I seem doomed to be at the pathetic end of the relationship, almost sycophantic in my praise of the other party, who shows but a mild tolerance to my presence. It is a burden to try and keep the flames still burning, and when I move into the territory that I am now, I wonder whether there is much point to it. Am I just shifting focus away from the real problem, that the diminishing flame indicates I have, yet again, suffocated the thing from the start? But I still dream on though, of having someone care enough to display the initiative to take that first step to resurrecting a dying relationship.

Many moons ago, I used what I thought was foresight and some connection to that realm of the beyond to proudly claim just what it was I was in this life for. Naturally, I said, it is to understand! Implictly, I suppose, I meant that I wanted to understand the grander fabric of it all. There was no scope for nihilism at that age, and so meaning was taken as an assumption (nowadays, I feel it need not be an assumption, but anyhow). I thought of that incident today and wondered whether I have done that version of me justice. I feel there have been gracious moments that have gone towards such a goal, but much remains unexplored and hanging, waiting for contemplation and comprehension. The naivete of those days I have lost a little, but I still hope the sentiment holds strong in the years to come.

Silent moments while sitting in the midst of a sizable crowd are special. A part of me uses them to affirm certain existential truths it feels it has unearthed.

For once, it didn't work! I tried to get rid of those thoughts of you by putting them in writing, but I just had to take one look at your friend to realize I was deluding myself.

Her cold eyes and my rapidly weakening smile...sometimes I wonder what this life is all about.

The poor recipients of my correspondence during some of the roughest days I faced. If only it were possible for me to track every one of them down, sit them down to the place my mind now inhabits, offer a cup of tea or what have you, and explain with simple words (plus some new ones I have since learnt) that I am not that person anymore. I cannot, of course, but I will still sigh and dream, only sometimes asking why people are so unfair as to pigeonhole each other.

Update '08: But then I read again the things I wrote, that I thought I meant at the time. I cannot honestly say that I would forgive such talk, even at this, my "mature" period.

"...I think it's a good idea - I actually want what I do to be criticized. Because if you do not want criticism, what are you doing here?", he asked, and all those around me smiled knowingly at his decidedly rhetorical question. I was the only one who took it to heart, however; and after a moment's thought, I calmly collected my belongings and quietly left the room.

If there is a meaning to it all, and if isolation in all its majesty can reveal to us truths we would rather not seek, surely such things need to be greeted with at least some level of humour, as though they were part of a cosmic joke perpetrated on us. A perennial shrug and chuckle can sometimes be an unassailable strategy.

Voss

"And what about you, Frank?", he said, or shouted again, so recklessly that one old mare pricked up her drowsing ears.
"Have I not taught you anything?", he asked.
"To expect damnation", said Le Mesurier, without considering long.

I don't consider the above to touch upon the true "meaning" of Patrick White's Voss in any sense, but it is something that I found particularly striking. The novel is far too dense for one reading, spread over two months, to discover its secrets - and so I will not attempt to analyze its deeper meaning or central themes. Certainly, to paraphrase Voss himself, it uses the narrative as an opportunity to provide some insight on the human condition, and as it goes with such novels, there is precious little I can offer that is not a mere quotation, followed by a sigh of pleasure. Suffice to say it is powerfully written, and more than satisfied my expectations.

I guess I really wanted to remark on why I started the book in the first place, which, as is often the case, was due to a pure whim on my part. Well, this was a whim that actually turned into something of an infatuation. There was something about the description of White's work, Voss in particular, that I felt drawn to. Perhaps it was the excitement of seeing how he might use the desert as a device to reveal great existential truths. Or something like that...as it goes with my whims, I am all to eager for some great universal revelation to be presented to me, without much knowledge about truths that have passed by me before, and an almost child-like (winsome?) fascination that does not really seem befitting of the subject matter.

It was a tough read, but I am glad I pulled through. The first third took next to no time, which seems appropriate given that this is pre-expedition. The middle third was a long, arduous journey for me, much like the book. And the last third...well, you get the idea. There were most certainly times when I gave serious thought to putting it down, and admitting defeat; somehow, though, I persevered, and reached easier terrain!

Anyhow, a second read seems inevitable, even if I cannot place the time. It will be revealed to me, I am sure.