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Sometimes I think about stuff

And think some more.

And develop those thoughts.

Then think about the developments and their consequences.

Following these consequences brings me to yet more thoughts.

Which in turn create new thoughts and ideas.

Sometimes I put those ideas down on paper, or type them into a computer. Sometimes I talk out loud, especially if anyone is there to listen.


(There is a noticeable silence in the air, as they pause before saying)


"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Sorry, I'm in my own little world"

Yeah, I’m in one of those moods, disjointed and restless. I don’t want to go anywhere now, no, I’ve spent all day at home in the city. Now I’m here, washing the dishes, scrubbing down the bathroom, sweeping, mopping, ignoring the fact that I’m moving around three other people, they’re moving around me, we’re living near each other but that’s it. Thank the Lord every day for this walkman.

I don’t want a stereo filling the place with sound, the music spreads that way, we all end up sharing it. I don’t want it that way, this is barely about the music anymore. It’s about creating a personal space within the public areas, carrying the sound around with me, my own sound, inside my head, loud and encompassing, boom boom boom and no one gets to share with me.

I’m in a bubble, you can’t reach me in here. I’m going to scrub down the walls, get out of my way. Driven by a determination that’s driven by desperation and energy and frustration and countless nameless, formless emotions, I’m an automaton and I think it’s time the floor was swept. I think it’s time the tub was scrubbed out, it’s time this whole place got disinfected and renewed and smelled of pine scented cleansers.

It’s not about the music or the cleanliness, it’s a dance station, ”Today’s hit music”, anything loud with beats will do. Anything with beats and lots of clear noise to make my brain seem bigger. Anything with water to occupy my hands, just about stripped down to my underwear, splashing and swishing and sponging the sinks and dishes. I’m almost on my hands and knees scouring the kitchen floor, only the other girls are in there and it would take three hours and a slow song just came on the radio and I dropped the walkman and scattered the batteries and everything went skittering across the floor, I dropped the whole contraption when I tried to switch to another station that was moving with music.

This is when I ruin my eardrums, not my day to day usage of headphones but these nights when I pump the volume so loud it echoes in my head, the sibilance hissing through my brain and when the music plays it takes me away and somewhere else.

From a relativist's point of view, everyone lives in their own little world, and external reality exists only so far as it is a consensual shared hallucination among everyone's own little microcosms. This thought leads to two conclusions. The first is that to change your world, all you have to change is yourself. The second is that in order to change external reality as applies to other people, you have to share your world with them.

My own little world is an especially lofty one, I think. Lots of people tell me that I live in my own little world, especially that my beliefs in the potential realization of pure ideals don't hold any water in the larger world. I know there are lots of ideals out there that are great in theory, but don't hold up so well in practice. (As we all know, there is no difference between theory and practice, in theory.) Things like world peace, meritocracy, the idea of not judging things by appearence, or even liberty. I honestly think all these can happen in practice, and not just in theory.

Maybe I am really idealistic and would like to believe a lot of things that might not be true. That doesn't stop me from wanting them to be true. If everybody believed them, then perhaps my little ideal could spread and become our little ideal reality. That's why I cultivate my ideals carefully in the safe garden of my own little world. Sure, you could answer, great...believe whatever you want, but it doesn't mean anything in the larger scheme of external reality, because it's not true. My argument is that regardless of whether it's possible for ideals to be realized in our external reality, not believing in them negates the possibility thereof. Maybe for other people it's sufficient to live in a world where nothing is great, and nothing can ever live up to standards. For me that's not good enough.

But then again, maybe I just have my head in the clouds, happy, in my own little world.

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