Dear SETH,
I asked mine and I’m still listening to its answer. I worry that sometimes I might come across more like I’m self-glazing than simply somebody who is intensely within himself most of the day, but that is partly why having close friends like you matters so much to me. People I can trust with my life, where I don’t have to constantly worry about saying the right thing, explaining myself correctly, or finding some version of myself impressive enough to present. We been homies since Kids. Sage too. And even with Sage included, with your own personal friendship with Sage and my own friendship with Sage as well, vice versa, there is still something particular about the amount of life you and I have spent communicating. We’ve gotten through arguments. We’ve spent thousands of hours talking. We’ve watched each other change without really becoming strangers to the people we were before. And when we’re tapped into each other // which is definitely true for Sage too, and I’m sure you’ve experienced it yourself // it sometimes feels less like knowing what my brotha is thinking than knowing the place the thought is coming from. Like I can read my brotha’s mind or something deeper than a mind. Something that only happens when two spirits grow so used to the other, and have so much more life experienced between them than what most people ever actually see, that you become One with a sense of Being. You begin knowing what it is like to be a human in somebody else’s skin. Not completely, obviously, but enough that another person’s existence becomes incorporated into how you understand existence itself. The bond formed between homies is something that only sharpens with time.
And I don’t think I’ll ever change when it comes to what I’m willing 2 say, or how I’m willing to say it. Even at 4am. Even with spent Ink, blotting out my thoughts into a journal because otherwise everything begins feeling like something Acquired, and then Forgotten // some unfinished Guilt of having experienced something without encountering it deeply enough. I like to communicate because I want to encounter things that are fundamentally Meaningful. That is probably my primary Driver. To encounter Meaningful-Things. Whether that encounter is with a Thing which has already taken Form, or with a Thing which has not yet revealed the Emotion necessary for me to recognize what it even is. And I think Emotion can only derive itself from One of Two worlds. Something either enters us from the world already given // from what has happened, what has taken Form, what can be pointed toward, remembered, inherited, suffered, loved. Or something arrives from the other direction. From what has not happened yet. From whatever exists within us before it has an object, before we have language enough to describe why it has begun moving us. And dependent upon that initial point of polarisation, something indomitable can awaken within the Few who willingly confront and Hold their darkness, not as another layer to fold beneath some Facade like a morning blanket, or hide inside themselves like a secret Note, but as something whose existence they become responsible for.
There are people who suppress darkness because they are afraid it will define them. There are others who stare at it so long that eventually it becomes the only Thing they can see. But there must be another possibility // to Hold it. To become responsible for its existence without becoming obedient to it. And whatever world that kind of spirit’s insurrection belongs to seems to call itself through us strangely, drawing its own channels, making some kind of compass-Mind out of consciousness, causing it to hyperfixate upon invisible, ephemeral channels until something without Form begins accumulating one. Something is shaped there, or imagined there, and I’m not even completely sure anymore that the distinction is as clean as people pretend it is. Maybe that is what I am actually trying to describe. That there are certain things we do not discover because they were hidden somewhere waiting for us. We discover them because something inside us kept circling an invisible location until eventually the circling itself gave the Thing a shape. Whatever world such a spirit’s insurrection is calling itself toward, whatever compass it somehow draws inside the Mind, perhaps the strange part is that the destination does not always exist before the movement toward it begins. And if I had to strangely answer the question I’m asking myself, even then, I think I would say that most of my life has been spent doing exactly that // trying to feel the shape of something before I know its name.
CAMIGULA