Title Irrelevant

Study carrels provide a safety I can’t find anywhere else. You are in a room within a room within a room within a building and it is small. And the light is florescent. Anyways, you’re in here and no one disturbs you because, they just don’t. It’s accepted that this is a place of painful worship of… something…grades, learning, work.  I am there now and I feel kind of inhuman as I haven’t seen the outside of the library in a number of hours and have been living off of coffee and donuts so this is what I’m like WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! My mind is kind of everywhere, but also in one place. And I can focus quite well, if I try. All of this is like a drug and I feel high. But I decided to write whatever came into my head because that’s what they told me to do in middle school and I could never do it. But now, here I am, 7 years later, following their instructions, trusting in the “wisdom” of the teachers. Writing things down, though, changes your thoughts regardless. We can never express purity of thought. It is always transferred/translated through language, which is not pure, but rather, restraining. All your thoughts have to be squeezed into these boxes before they can be shipped out. You can mold the boxes a little bit, but you can never truly mold them exactly to your thoughts; maybe one day, but right now we/I don’t know how. I’d like to think if you knew ALL language there ever was you could express pure thoughts, but I don’t think that’s right either. And even if you could, no one else would be able to comprehend, and so you’re left with the same issue of translation to other people. I don’t completely agree with myself though. I think there are some times when pure thoughts/feelings/what-have-you are translated to other people without any mechanism for travel but I’m not entirely sure I could give an example of this (well, of course I can’t, that would go against my argument). I think I may post this to my blog, so in that case I will say HELLO ADAM (he told me to leave him a message) and I will also begin a new paragraph so that it is more reader-friendly.

            I believe that somehow my soul was imbued with some intense connection with Beasts of the Southern Wild. I guess I feel kind of odd that this happened with a MOVIE of all things, as you would expect your soul to be deeply connected with something that is living, but I guess, in some weird sense, the movie is living… it has a beat and a pulse and an idea and it changes as I change or as the time changes or as everyone changes. But I think that this infusement (ßmolding the box) of soul and movie occurred when I had to study it for my final paper in my intro to film class. This will sound dramatic, as it IS dramatic and unreal, but that class seemed to change my life but I do not know how. But I feel very different form how I did before I took it and the change feels very different from any other change I’ve experienced. So, that’s all I’ve got to show for backing up that dramatic claim, whatever though, I have to believe in something. This connection is NOT necessarily a positive one. I do feel as though I have some form of PTSD from writing that paper (this I have no boxes of translation for, you’ll just have to take my word). Yet, I also feel addicted. I watched the film in full at least 6 times and yet I still have an unending desire to let it move me and let me move it, with the analysis in my head. It may be the timing. The fact that I had to deeply analyze this film about (many things but one of them being) a daughter’s relationship with a dying parent and her ensuing struggle may be the cause. It’s right there… I’m right there. I’m fucking doing that and although I am not Hushpuppy, she is me. “If you’re gone, I’ll be gone too.” I never said that out-loud because I thought no one would hear me, but then Hushpuppy said it and so then, it was spoken, and people heard, a lot of people heard. “Everything loses the thing that made them, the brave men stay and watch it happen.” Thanks for the ridicule, Hushpuppy… you six-year-old child. I’ll try to be like you. I will try to stay and watch. I will find that fried alligator and I will feed it to the ailing... use it as an emotional panacea. Here’s the thing, no one will understand anything I’ve said about this, I’m almost certain, but that’s okay. Because no matter who leaves me or how alone I become I don’t think I will ever again feel loneliness in the same way because I have this soul-connection with this film (again MOVIE?!). It ripped me to shreds and I’m still whole. So I guess I can withstand most anything.

            I am in a bubble bubble bubble (that is so very much NOT reality) and I am not ready for it to pop. That’s why I don’t want to… erm, not about wanting, can’t comprehend Alex’s suggestion of running or rock climbing or any form of movement away from here because then it WILL pop. But it popping probably needs to occur.