The Spin of the Ball

recent posts

about

  • Post 52: The One Looking at the One Looking

    Am I the one looking at me? Being looked at by me?

    Jesus Christ, who cares!? Shut up and reach enlightenment like the rest of us!

    That’s how it feels to me sometimes. One moment I believe that everyone gets it but me. The next, I think no one else gets it but me. Perhaps it is the middle way again. That we all get it, but we can’t say it out loud. We can merely say our lines in the play. Does that sound fun to you? To be in a play? I think it’s fun because we can never know. That it’s just a play. Maybe it really is serious. Here on this rock. Flying through space in an indifferent universe. But if you can see yourself as part of the universe, you can defy its indifference by caring. For you have a say.

    I’m not sure why I’m still talking. A few posts ago I threatened to become a beast. Do we just continue yapping into infinity? Maybe it’s not the words but the tone. The words are a distraction from the underlying feelings among the speakers. I’m going to a party next week and I will to try to remember that. That it’s not what you say but how you say it. I’ve heard that many times but it’s only starting to resonate.

    And here I am, still writing words. They must have some value. Perhaps when organised in a certain way, they can produce a tone of their own. And the care taken in the arrangement of the words may reflect the writer’s care for you.

  • Post 51: The Dance You Cannot Teach

    Obsession: The other night I couldn’t sleep. I was obsessed with something. So obsessed, I couldn’t even think about it. Like if I were obsessed with football, but all I could think about was the word football. So I resolved to write about it the next day. Write down all the ways I could articulate my obsession. All angles. I fell asleep shortly after this resolution.

    Then, I wrote about it. Just a few hours ago. I have learned the value of writing in private. About anything I want. Seeing the words on the screen, rather than grasping at the words floating around in my head. I was in control of my thoughts, it seemed. I drank a little. I had fun. Suddenly, my obsession seemed like a mere speck. Still there, but not obscuring my view.

    Routine: I have been going to bed at 7am. Awaking at 3pm. Doing my groceries at 10pm. Going for walks after midnight. Doing things when nobody else is. Like the last man on Earth. I am open to sharing my life with others, but I am enjoying the phase I am in. You may as well enjoy the phase you are in.

    The Dance: You have a dance that you do. A dance you cannot teach. You may have spent years trying to teach your dance to others, in vain. For you only know your place in the dance. Others have theirs. And they go together. Perhaps the best you can do is keep dancing. Demonstrate that there is a dance to be danced.

  • Post 50: Delusions of Beastliness

    “He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.” – Samuel Johnson

    I think people get hairstyles to make them appear separate from the animals. I, on the other hand, want to be a beast. So I don’t do anything about my hair. My parents comment but that is because they want me to be a man. But I don’t want to be a man. I want to be a beast. Just like you. And it makes life easy for me. Which I like.

    It is fun to pretend to be man. But it’s time to be a beast. I don’t know what day it is. I like that. Only man needs to know what day it is. I am no man.

    But I use soap. A beast wouldn’t do that. I don’t think. Shit. But I must use soap. I must use my body wash. I have five different washes. I like them. Perhaps it is the body wash that keeps me connected to man.

    When I decided it was time to be a beast, I climbed again. And I remembered things about being a beast. Climbing trees.

  • Post 49: Ego in the Words

    I don’t want to say “don’t write with your ego”. Because what do I know? Write what you want, I guess. But this “want” comes from somewhere I cannot control. I can’t choose what I want. Nor choose who I love. Because I would have chosen the easiest option long ago. But how do I know that? What am I talking about?

    There is a certain prestige in being a writer. And you may want to be seen to be a writer. And you may want to write clever things that might some day be quoted. And perhaps that is your intention. And this intention may be detected by the reader. And then you’ve been found out. Found out wanting people to think highly of you. That’s ok. I do it all the time. I’m a bit of a wanker, you see. I’m jerking off in front of you right now. Impressive, hey? But the one jerking off is usually having more fun than the spectator. With exceptions. There are always exceptions.

    But I think I’m writing what I want. I seem to be having fun. Weeeeee!

    I was going to write about what I call the Ego and the Divine. That there are two voices inside you. One wanting to impress, and the other to connect. I’ve been writing things down for a while and I’m starting to tell the difference. I don’t want to be too desperate to avoid ego in the writing, because wanting to be seen to be ego-free is an ego thing itself. But when I read back what I write, I prefer the divine to the ego. As I perceive it.

    When I manage to put the ego aside, the words seem to write themselves. But how do I explain the editing and the rephrasing? Wouldn’t the divine get it right on the first try? Perhaps the divine doesn’t want you to know that it is writing for you, so it throws in these little tricks. To make you feel like you are doing it. The left hand mustn’t know what the right hand is doing. I’m not sure what that means but the divine told me to write it. And that. And so on.

  • Post 47: A Brief Letter to Skeletor

    Dear Skeletor,

    I read something today by Kazuo Ishiguro and it went like this:

    “All I know is that I’ve wasted all these years looking for something, some sort of trophy I’d get only if I really, really did enough to deserve it. But I don’t want it anymore, I want something else now, something warm and sheltering, something I can turn to, regardless of what I do, regardless of who I become. Something that will just be there, always, like tomorrow’s sky.”

    This inspired me to wonder where my warm shelter might be. Is it in me? Did I split off from myself, to eventually return? I always seem to be there for me. I talk to me and I listen. When I want to dance, I let me. When I come home late at night on more than one substance, I kindly tuck me in without judgement. And I send me to sleep with pleasant thoughts.

    I must admit, I still want. But I don’t know what. More than once I begged God to let me know. But He gave me only traces to nowhere. Or jokes at my expense. Good ones, I’ll admit.

    I was out in the sun, smoking a cigarette. I began to think about cancer but realised I don’t care about that anymore. I’d prefer to pay attention to life as it happens, rather than try to prolong a life I’m ignoring.

    I’d love to say I love me and that I’m enough for me, and I suppose that will come in time. Perhaps I’m already here and I don’t want to recognise it. I want to keep fighting my Skeletor for the fun of it. But I look forward to the day I put my sword away.

    Love,

    He-Man

  • Post 46: Some Crap About Writing

    David Foster Wallace once wrote, “How odd I can have all this inside me but to you it’s just words.” This is the dilemma of the writer. To share or not to share. You have discovered something, somehow, and it makes sense to you in the words you found. But what about the reader? Do you have to rearrange the words for them? Do you have to find new ones? And why do you need to share them anyway? Because it’s nice to share, I suppose. Sometimes we remember one who shared and what they shared. And it helped us on our journey. And there is a school of thought that suggests we are a neural network. Each node transmitting and receiving data. Perhaps turning that data into information. So perhaps you are a node. A beautiful node. Because why not be beautiful? And so you may try to make your words beautiful. Easy to digest. Delicious words that leave the reader satisfied and enriched.

    So, how do you do any of this? I really don’t know. I mentioned in the last post that I suspect I’m merely a puppet on strings. And someone else is doing it. So I try to get out of the way and let them write. Not try to break free from the strings. I’ve tried that and nothing good came out. It was just words. No beauty. No connection. But I enjoy the words when I feel like I didn’t write them.

    So you try to find that state. Or allow that state to emerge. And you find your own way. And you remember and you forget until you become that state. And all that is inside you may become more than just words.

  • Post 45: Getting in Trouble

    Connection: I’ll start with a thought I just had. The best way to connect is to be playful. What do you think? Is life play, or is it work?

    Dessert: I’m beginning to believe I deserve to get what I want. That’s cool. How did I get here? I don’t want to bore you. It’s probably a different way to how you did, or will do.

    Trouble: “You’ll get in trouble.” Possibly the lamest warning. I got into trouble, they say. A kind of trouble labelled “extreme”. Yet while I was in the trouble, I couldn’t quite see where it was. I guess I must have missed it.

    Precautions: Someone said that the precautions we take can be more painful than the danger. So you can live your life being careful but missing the best parts along the way. Bring the umbrella in case it rains. But now you carry the umbrella. The baggage. If you don’t, you may get wet. But then you have an adventure.

    Free Will: Who wrote the words above? It certainly wasn’t me. I just sat here, or was sat here, watching it happen. Like a puppet on strings. And sometimes I get a vision of the one who might be pulling them. But I’ll spare you the details of my madness.

    Walking: Thinking about the route. Thinking about getting there. But what about the walking itself? Can you enjoy that? Can you find the pace at which you truly want to travel? The universe gave you the cue to walk. To give you a chance to observe your thoughts. To create in your mind.

    Or do you reconsider walking? Make a list of other things you could do? And wonder what would be the smartest option. The one that would bring you the most prestige. Tell me princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?

  • Post 44: Do You Love You Back?

    Hi. I ask myself from time to time, “do you love me?” And each time I ask myself, the doubt seems to dissipate incrementally. I am becoming who I am. Not who others want me to be. I could go on but it seems I don’t really enjoy writing. At least, not for an audience. I like to write in shorthand on my phone and then talk about it. So I have started a podcast and I’m enjoying it. I’ll share a link if I can find out how. It’s called Josh’s Queer Ideas and it’s available on Spotify, iTunes and Amazon.

    (5 minutes later)

    Here’s the link: https://open.spotify.com/show/0346oRi77nk3tVnvLpbLk5?si=Um2j-m0wQeG81pqAzxdioA

    Perhaps I’ll write here again some day. I’ll share a thought before I go.

    God painted a picture so real, it fooled even Him.

    And here He is. Here You are. In the picture. Believing it is real. Be not afraid, for You painted it. Just the way You wanted it.

    Love,

    Josh

  • Post 43: The Sign in the Sky

    Stars: I have a technique for looking at the stars. I have tried to show it to others and no one can seem to see it. Well, there is one person who understood. They understood and nearly fell over. “It’s 3D,” they said. I hope you can find this technique on your own. It’s really cool.

    Desperation: I was in an uber the other night and I told the driver that I was desperate when it came to love. “Don’t be desperate,” he said. But I am. I have to accept that women must come to me, not the other way round. I freak them out if I approach. When I told the driver about my desperation, I felt as though I’d done 3 years of therapy. I was finally able to admit it. I’m a waiter, not a chaser. This gives me peace. And I’m starting to think it doesn’t really matter what I do. There’s a person who will see the beauty underneath my issues. All I have to do is meet them. I’ll let the universe set the date.

    Lessons: Sometimes the universe can be obnoxious in the way it deals out the lessons. I suspect this is deliberate. Sure, the lesson may have been taught rudely, but it was taught, and a degree of thankfulness may be in order. If I’m not thankful, if I can’t put my ego aside and I refuse to learn the lesson, I’ll keep getting it over and over. And I’ll wonder why it keeps happening to me. Only me. Poor me. And the solution is as plain as day to everyone I complain to. Be kind, be humble and good things may start to happen.

  • Post 42: In the Beginning

    The Word: God started a conversation with Himself. “In the beginning was the word…” He began with just one imaginary friend and gradually added more. But then His friends introduced more friends and He lost track of who He was. And He started to think that maybe the whole thing was Real. And perhaps that is where we find ourselves.

    Aladdin: I watch Aladdin about once a year. It’s filled with really obvious messages. My favourite one is “be yourself”. Disney tried to tell me this so many times and yet I tried to be someone else. So I wonder what the deal is. You hear the advice. You don’t follow it. You make a big mistake and then you remember the advice that you didn’t take. It’s an interesting process. I suppose it’s more fun to make a big mistake rather than heed the advice initially.

    Fruit: I wrote the above ideas in my phone recently. I don’t really know what else to write but I want to keep going. My ex-girlfriend texted me for the first time in 2 years. I thought she would. In the brief chat, I asked her what her favourite fruit was, she told me she was over me and the conversation ended.. Ah well. I don’t regret asking about her favourite fruit. For all I know, I’m merely reciting lines that God wrote.

    The Book: If there is one possibility I entertain more than any other, it’s that this is a story being written. Being written now. Having been written. About to be written. And surely I’m writing it. I’m writing it for you and you are writing it for me. It’s a story about beings being. I hope you’re enjoying it. There have been times where I haven’t. Where I cursed the author, not realising that it could be me. But now I’m grateful there is a story at all.