Ah, no. I don’t know anymore what this is saying. I would like so very much to know…
Every time I hear it, I think, “you know, you’re right. I believe you.” But I don’t know what it is…and probably it is not right. Or believable. But something about it…Wolf and I both look…and that is all.
That’s what this whole thing has done that I don’t understand. My Wolfish side and I, we would always look at things differently, or at different times, or we would oppose each other…one being attracted to a thing and the other repelled…and now it is all one cohesive attraction, and we look at the same time, or we hear a thing and it strikes us the same…or we find a thing to hold and consider, and we find the same ineffable fascination.
Out of all the ridiculous things to finally smooth out the discord of my self-characterisations… *sigh*
I find I understand it less and less though. Because…there is still no why. No reason at all for it. And that was what Haiko said that we found strangely comforting…that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
And so it doesn’t.
Most would argue otherwise, probably, but…I think he is right. Like when I visited that film club at my university. Everyone hated the same character in the film we watched, and I made the mistake of exclaiming, “Aw, but he’s so friendly. How can you hate him?” They gave me this collective look, like I must be trolling them. I find I am making mistakes like that with increasing frequency…ones where people can’t even begin to take me seriously, and which I should have been able to recognize and keep to myself.
I don’t know though…
Out of all the things in the world…
I should stop affirming that “I like upsetting things”.
That’s not what we mean. Not here.
I mean, there are upsetting things that I am not enjoying. Not one bit.
Like the constant feel that the universe has played a sly joke on me.
Like the joke is about meaning. And worth, perhaps.
Things that I am finding more and more that I do not possess. Perhaps because I have fewer and fewer people bothering to tell me that it is not true.
(Perhaps that’s a reason we’ve taken comfort in this thing: because regardless of the reason–projecting, or just being too obvious in our interests–others have picked up on it, and even embraced it. And as much as I have hated it at times, I have never been able to avoid taking to heart what others say I am.)
So there is that.
Also, the smell of blood.
I am getting better and better at identifying it, which is terrifying. Because I know what blood smell is, and I smell it all the time now. I smell it when I should not be smelling blood. Why is that a thing now?
Fortunately, this other thing is preventing me from dwelling too long on the blood smell. Goodness only knows what frightful conclusions I would draw if I were dwelling more on that. (Namely, that I must be dying. Or truly becoming a monster.)
But yes. Upsetting things. And, you know…
I am sorry that we both lack self-worth. I am. And I am sorry that while your lack of it turns inward to cut and hurt you, I could not bear to let mine cut me anymore, have chosen to fashion my worthlessness into a weapon to hurl at others, that they might be hurt in equal measure. I am sorry I have done this with you, and that I lack gentleness.
I am also wishing the blood smell would go away. And I hope that it is nothing serious–badly cooked meat, and the grime on one’s hands after counting coins…that is what it smells like. It is not a good thing to be smelling with such frequency, and wondering if other people smell it, and worrying about that…or wondering if they do not smell it, and perhaps you are going mad.
I am also…wondering what I am going to do with these things I have spent these last months collecting. I have thought of making a shadowbox for them. That would look nice, I think, if I could be motivated enough to do it. But…how to explain my possession of them…? (Just the one, really.) To anyone?
I did not think that bit through.
And on that note, I have a practical question for anyone who has bothered to read to the end of this post: in the case of a vintage item, or an item of historical significance, is it better to clean and restore said item, or to let it alone? This is more concerning something of a decorative nature, rather than one with a practical use or application…
I would welcome whatever advice you citizens of the internet have to offer.