Talking to myself again

Today is one of those days when I just sit here and wait to die.  Not the first and won’t be the last.

We all experience (enjoy/suffer) changes.

Recently, a spate of three events caused a significant change in my way of thinking:

  1. I appeared in my first Internet video (in fact, it was the first time I had participated in any form of video chat (e.g., Skype) not associated with a corporate conference call) in which I was asked to and got to say whatever I wanted to an international audience,
  2. Abi gave me a deep-tissue massage during which I might have asphyxiated on the massage table, my heart going into arrhythmia and my body shivering uncontrollably, and
  3. I had my annual physical examination where an EKG showed an abnormality within a few days of participating in a charity party where whiskey/whisky tasting was the main event.

A subsequent fourth event — following in my father’s footsteps as a legacy — added to the change.

I live for the thrill of change, no matter how small or large — a change in composition of air molecules in the space around me or a major shift in the sociopolitical environment.

But the thrill is only important enough when I have two components to rely upon — an imaginary reader and imaginary/real girlfriend(s).

If I don’t have the last two, no change is significant enough to keep my heart beating.

When I was on the massage table and Abi was working out knots in my muscles, my esophagus was pressed closed while my face was pushed into the hole/opening of the massage table.  Between the seemingly excruciating pain of Abi breaking the knots apart, my breathing cut off and my trying to divert the primal male ego from working through its usual passing thoughts of sexual fantasies, I entered a trance, a set of thoughts that I have been trying to understand, let alone explain to you or me, since then.

For a span of time that couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, maybe even a few seconds, my personality disappeared and I did not exist.

In what I can only describe as a body forgetting how to breath, its heart forgetting how to beat, my core self, down to the medulla oblongata itself, briefly merged or tried to align with Abi’s.

I can describe closely similar feelings: getting in synch on the dance floor with a dance partner, reaching simultaneous orgasms with a sexual partner, taking hallucinogenic material with friends, cheering jointly with 100,000 fellow fans when your team scores a last-second victory.

However, not a single one of those is close enough to what happened to me that day in Abi’s flat.

That alone would be enough to send me into psychological fits akin to psychosis.

But then I also got to express in five to seven minutes during an Internet presentation a life’s worth of opinions in my description of a robotic art piece, opening a virtual pressure valve and releasing all of my pent-up emotions/thoughts about the ultimate futility of technological innovation in relation to our species’ place in the universe.

That alone would suffice to drop me into silence the rest of my life.

The whiskey/whisky tasting proved to me that my days of heavy drinking should be, for the sake of any desire for longterm physical fitness and/or long life, behind me.

The physical exam confirmed all of the above — great cholesterol levels associated with exercise and happiness (due in part to love for my virtual girlfriends fictionalised into characters named Guin and Bai) but an abnormal heart rhythm because I had, in a way, achieved my life’s work.

I believe I know now why some people die within months of retiring from their life’s work — their thoughts aren’t trying to the rest of their bodies to stay healthy or aren’t pushed to work beyond their normative capabilities anymore.

I once had a girlfriend who said that the ultimate experience for her, when she could say she was ready to die happy, would be to sit next to someone without touching and the two of them simultaneously think themselves to an orgasm, meaning that she had melded her thoughts with someone which was important to her because she often felt alone in her thoughts.

We discussed how a mental relationship with a deity is supposed to feel the same way except she couldn’t because she didn’t think of God in sexual terms, even if the person next to her was supposed to be one of God’s creations, thus an extension of God and, by proxy, God physically manifested,

When I lost myself in the presence of Abi, it went beyond the physical, beyond the sexual, into something new.

Something good but at the same time scary…

Wordless…

Emotionless…

…like a window opened onto the eternal infinity of the universe without our species’ memes getting in the way.

I have no idea what to do with the rest of my life!!!!!!!

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