Words matter (become matter).
© Saul Williams: The Dead Emcee Scrolls.
There’s something that I want, have wanted for the last year or so. An intense, overwhelming, all-consuming desire, something I had never felt before and am now feeling in the core of my being. This need manifests in the physical, my subconscious reminds me of it in my dreams, and it’s a constant, growing void in my life. Disturbing, but action on it is now non-optional. Truth be told, I believed it would have come to bear by now. Or at least I would have been a lot closer than I am.
Words become matter. Isn’t that the whole point of prayer? The vocalization of desire, formatted into a request to a higher power. Words manifest. What words do I manifest? What words do I want to manifest? The secret behind The Secret.
I’ve been trying to figure out how to turn one of the most intense desires I have ever felt in my life into something that’s real. And also trying to prepare a portal back into the unreal just in case it doesn’t happen. I now know how to do that selectively, that was the whisperer’s gift to me. Thank you.
I’ve been voicing my desires. I didn’t start doing that though until the dreams started. The dreams increase and decrease in frequency and intensity; I had expected them to come to a head sometime soon, but no. I have to be patient (still working on that, but I’m getting there), and I have to not force anything, as is my wont. I just have to wait for these words to manifest.
I get projected on(to) a lot. Names/titles get placed on me, start shaping how I’m viewed by different people. I often shrug, let them perceive me in the image they create. It’s their mental state that’s at stake, not mine. Maybe I’ll raise an eyebrow when I hear myself introduced. (Please note – this happens mainly in platonic and semi-formalised relationships.)
Sure, I’ll be a passive recipient of your fantasies. But only for as long as I can stand still. Don’t expect a heads-up when I get bored. I’m not your lover unless I engage in loving you. I’m not your manager unless I’m conducting your affairs. Dude, I’m not even your friend unless I’ve told you I’m there.
This is only meriting a post because ish is getting annoying. Other people not involved in the name-bestowing have been referring to me by given handles. I have to keep on correcting them. This places the name-giver in a bad situation, but next time, consult before you call me anything but my own name.
Sometimes there are words I won’t manifest.
I’m not down to have my needs rejected before I’m allowed to voice them. The politics of exclusion manifesting in intimate spaces. If space is only selectively made for me, I need to take a long hard look at how I allow myself to be treated. And right now, I’m too fragile to be mis-handled. I try to explain, but I’m left choking on the words stuck in my throat, too worried to speak them in case the response brings on another constrictive experience.
I’m trying to develop my criteria for successful relationships: where are my boundaries, what are my deal breakers, what do I expect, what do I reject? Heavy, intense, and more difficult because they’re unfixed. And then trying to move those ideas into the concrete: how do I want to be treated when I’m in a writing state? When, how and why do I become needy and how to avoid that? How do I expect my other to read me?
I need to know who I’m dealing with, and I like to know what tools I have at hand for dealing with them. Where my weaknesses are and how, once known by the other, they’re handled. Are they protected, attacked, manipulated?
Checklists are so pedantic, borderline neurotic. Let me distill mine: Is your word your bond?
Starfish silhouetted/I watch him
blend away in black skies.