What are these days where I can only stomach questions? In other words, what causes them? I find myself asking these questions in a level pitch, without the elevation that marks inquiry. What effect does that have? Question after question in the melody of an incantation, what am I wandering off towards, what distant terrain?
Inquiry, reasoning, and experimentation—each, are exploratory behaviors.
I was talking with a friend. We were close together, my hand on her waist. What is that wonderful feeling? How can skin feel that way? I asked her how. She told me, “I dry-brush.”
Alone again, miles away. I imagine some experiment.
If I work for one half-hour, this anxiety will wane.
I don’t know, but now it’s mixed with something else. Some grim pride and affinity for the world.
It’s better to work through it?
Yes. Scale of one to five.
Five being terrified, envisioning myself being stabbed or beaten, lacerated; one being tranquility.
And what was the effect of placing that there? And what was my intention? Why do I have to go through so many iterations? I don’t mind the first question being wrong, but the eleventh is worse. But we learn. We inquire further.
I mean, five. Obviously. If you use that scale.