Real World Computer 3

I stand between

Can we resolve the twin places?

They blend together

Where do I exist?

The harsh light fans out of the portal

Stepping over the pock-marked barrier,

Dirty finger marks on touch screen.

The oil from my skin on crisp white writing pages,

Digital words and shapes make harm on my human heart

The muscle reacts to the display, tandem feelings as I switch tabs

Soothing notifications/ message received comrade – I support you through this port-hole,

You support me.

I tap my keyboard for love of you, finger work

Emotional tech support.

Internet Culture – Peace

Where does one go when Nihilism becomes cliche?

Internet cliche.

Nihilistic memes.

Trends pulse and pop.

Do you remember when everyone was into sloths?

Then unicorns.

Buy plastic pastels

Rainbows.

Sparkly notions dreamlike.

Then you get the backlash, the opposite fashion

Black nails again.

Mermaid time

Pearlescent greens and blues

Seashell pink,

Narwhals.

We need things to suck up our sickness,

Rolling ideas gain traction

And become popular.

Cats are a constant.

The places we escape to are only so original

We can help each other find sanctuary.

Share, spread the good word.

Things grow and curl around our culture,

Become our reality.

Almost infinite complexity that we’re wrapped up in and made of.

I work to understand my own beliefs and where they come from, I’m certain of little, although I’ve learnt so much,

I want to be a gentle generation.

I want us to do the right thing.

Therapy notes

When I was in therapy

CBT for my PTSD

I had to tell the woman what happened

And she recorded it,

I had to listen to this hour long thing,

As many times as possible to get used to the feelings and process them,

Desensitise myself,

Here’s what I wrote the second time I listened to it

(I had to note down the bits that were particularly difficult, when I got upset.)

24 mins in the word sex. Right at the start when I was talking about being ashamed. 26.42 Start of the description. Safe place 37 mins.

Just the embarrassment of her asking me to go to my safe place made me get twound,

As if I didn’t deserve to go there.

The first time, I heard myself cry quite a lot

I heard myself cry in a desperate way

I heard my breathing become heavy and laboured and I heard the distress

That helped me have the empathy I have for myself now,

Strong woman,

I treat myself like a treasured friend.

When I told what I thought of myself after, she asked me :”What would you say, if your friend told you this?”

I’d say it wasn’t her fault, and I wouldn’t be lying.

I deleted what I wrote the first time I listened to it – I didn’t want to see it again,

She also said I could delete the recording now,

And I did, and it felt good.

 

Beep

Beep beep,

You’ve got a message.

It’s from me.

I’m gonna start doing that in real life,

Or just vibrate so everyone knows I’ve got something to say.

I might lay on the table and just vibrate loudly until someone picks me up.

Connecting

Filling up notebooks is pleasing.

And I like turning through past thoughts.

I have some essays I wrote in 2015 – just for myself, not for school or anything.

There’s sort of journal entries where I’ve stayed up spilling.

Talking about my emotions, my sexuality, my problems, fears.

It’s nice to have a record of these things – if enough time passes it can be a bit like reading someone else’s diary, until you get to a part you remember really feeling and it can take you back there for a second.

Another record gets kept – often without this intention.

Messages sent between friends, to people I may not even speak to anymore.

You can search for a particular word and see hours of past conversation.

Odd.

Imagine when the only record one had of particular conversations was in one’s memory.

Just in a general vibey way – you can remember how you felt with someone generally and the odd bit of conversation, a particularly intense secret sharing session, or inside jokes that were repeated so much they became your second friend-language.

Now, sometimes I find people seem to exist in the words they’ve let me in on – in the smiling yellow faces they click in.

It catches me off guard in the first second of a phone call – when you can hear a voice

And you know that voice is embodied.

There’s someone else with a real body, whose lips form the sounds and whose tongue pushes them out.

Real eyes and real brain, speaking to yours.

How close, how connected – what a blessing.

What a blessing to see someone in your actual vicinity – to share the same space and time.

To be free to share smiles I can use my muscles to make on my own face,

To see yours appear with my own eyes and hear your laugh, sing-song.

To share sunlight and a drink, to both feel the bitter air on our skin.

Isn’t it a privilege to see your words touch someone else’s face in real time, instead of waiting for a response in a vacuum.