I haven’t had allergies as an adult—this one took me by surprise. Three days of vomiting and basically not being able to leave the house. All this made it worse that I couldn’t get down and keep down my medicine for bipolar-type schizoaffective disorder, tardive dystonia, and OCD.
Needed Davina’s help—so glad I was with her.
While I was out, I experienced visions, different types of thoughts. I made a bunch of notes starting from the second day, including one for a book and one for a Pilates-type examination of the feelings associated with various body movements—it’s a series of questions/exercises that lead you through a meditation on your body. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with that yet.
Anyway I’m back. Planning to write today. Planning to take it easy, too.
When zipping together two or more texts into one, hold whichever order they’re already in. This honors the ordering of each text and will tend to order those texts “correctly” in the end. Then make minor adjustments.
Just a suggestion.
We think when we die, our consciousness will be gone. Or will live on, here or there. But what about this nature of consciousness:
I am writing a novel now. Putting my consciousness into the novel, expressing thoughts and thoughts in ways that only appear very rarely in the ‘verse. When someone reads the book they will usurp or momentarily follow my consciousness. I say my awareness may not be present. My feeling of self. That feeling will not sit in a person reading my book—or will it? But imagine the degree to which my consciousness is in you is true with someone who reads my book. Even if the current awareness of me does not rise within that person’s head, their consciousness is so much aware as us both! They have popped in a module of me. I respond by voice to that person’s queries, asked of me, as the current me would do so—to a degree.
Just as this momentary awareness seems weird, seems to me a misnomer of consciousness, the way presented here seems to indicate ways we can improve our understanding of consciousness. Maybe my consciousness lives forever. Maybe it lives through selection of tapes from a library available to everyone who comes after.
When ideas are presented to a cultural evolutionary system, they appear from within, as unique dots, then as double dots, then as rare strains. These ideas are vulnerable at first and then they either die off forever or they take over forever—those are relative forevers, not absolute ones. They are forevers that last a good long while, not literally forever. Still, as they take over the entire system for a while, they can be said to be dominant for a virtual forever. Almost impossible to go back on.
This is where story happens. Between the point at which a new and challenging idea appears in the relative, lowly culture and the lowly culture’s timeframe..and the point at which the idea is smashed forever by the dominant and existing culture or at which the idea becomes present in the vast majority of culture to live there and stay there forever. That is something I know about story. If you like the idea of a disrupting change, you can say that all stories exist between the point at which the new idea challenges existing ideas by the new idea’s simple existence..and the point at which the new idea either completely disrupts the entire culture (and sets it back down, modified) or at which the disruptive idea is squashed forever by the overriding culture.
Stories do not exist anywhere (anytime) else in a cultural evolutionary model applied to storytelling. Those other times are times of peace. And story does not happen there.
This is where the rubber meets the road. A gap in lithium due to weather (4*F) and pharmacy delays. So I felt awful all day and am up for the second night in a row. Playing with my website (deadnovelist.com). Jamming to Beyoncé. And feeling super excited about what I’m doing. But knowing that I need to get regular on my medicine again so I can be sane enough to write.
My main accomplishment for the day is getting our inside/outside cat to go to the bathroom outside. I tried opening the door for her three times, then picked her up and put her down, walking outside to accompany. When I opened the door, a cloud of frost came in through the screen window. I don’t remember ever seeing that, that strong. Anyway my cat is a hero.
Also, so are my housemates. Thanks for getting along with me, gf and gf’s son. You are cool.