Aug 6

 The pains are down a notch. Tinnitus is down a notch. Nothing extreme. Just a slight shift in the underlying base. It makes it... a little easier. But. It is still angels dancing on the head of a pin. Stuck in the 500lb gorilla.

Phone call today. Faint. I was off travelling to distant worlds. I could not have got to the phone even had I wanted to. Somewhere in my machinery something noted that was probably a call. Wherever my phone was. When I had come back down to earth I checked. A call. An unknown number. Friend or random. I don't know. It. Doesn't matter. I was off. Floating across the galaxy. Asleep.

I spend most of my time floating somewhere out there these days. It occurred to me today. On waking. On going through the motions of wake up, the tug of exhaustion and tiredness and all the rest of it. The suffocating deep mud of being alive. That this bit. The living bit. The real world bit. "real". Is to me the unreal bit these days. It is. The dream like bit. Or nightmare bit. The bit that doesn't connect. The minority bit. The bit that has little to nothing there for me. I go through the motions. And at times. Sometimes for hours at a time. I can dance on the stage. Well. Figuratively. I can maybe talk to people. And engage. And be the shadow of someone that I used to be. That everyone expects me to be. A human.

But. Most of my time is spent out there. Far away from this planet. Humanity. The things that make each day in a persons life mean something. Or do something. And. My thoughts also often reflect that. Just. Losing touch with humanity. With the human experience. For quite some time I have treasured the fact that I have walked many paths, through many demographics, rubbed shoulders with people from all walks of life, background, wealth. It makes you see the whole. It makes you see how people struggle at the bottom. Are complacent at the top. How different values take precedent in different cultures. Different places. Understanding means you lose dismissiveness. You don't devalue something in an act of ignorance. It doesn't even have to be malicious. Just. Ignorance. Not understanding. Means the chances of you getting it wrong. Of dismissing someone as lazy. Or arrogant. Are high.

What is the saying about the best way about turning a racist into a non racist is to have them travel through different cultures. The exposure to different things and people. It is something - not all - but something to do with education. The slow removal of that ignorance. Learning about other places and people.

This seems to me to be true of everything like that. Your best bet at understanding all points of view. Is to go live with them for a while. Try to walk a mile in their shoes. It is time intensive. A massive undertaking, and one that no single human can ever complete. A journey then, rather than a destination. But. It is not a linear progression. There is great value to doing *something*. And less - but not less worthy - value in doing *many things*. A curve. Because once you understand the meta, that things can lie outside your context, have an open mind, be considerate by default rather than exceptional. That pattern itself leans towards understanding and away from ignorance.

But I drift. Away from people. Away from humanity. Away from the things it engages in. The money. The power. But even more fundamental. The things that make you go on. The wants. The desires. The place. The need to be seen. To be a part of something. A social animal. It fades. Has faded. And increasingly. My head is in deep time. An increasing awareness of the disconnect between the conscious part of us, and the autonomic parts of us. The latter chatty thinky add on bit of a brain. And the bigger older rest of us in our entirety. And that the latter bit. Is abstract from one angle. It is, doesn't have to be, tied to anything else. A curse and a gift.

The analogy here is of a train. The train is old. It has existed for a long time. It has run on its tracks. Done its job. For a long time. And then there is the train driver. Who has turned up more recently. And sits at the head of the train. Chatting. Telling you about signals. And what the train is. And tells you about how many driving credentials they have. The train driver thinks they are the entire train. Without them. There would be no train. But the train is old. Existed before the driver. The train runs on rails. The driver doesnt choose where to go. Sure. The driver at times can decide left rails or right rails. Stop. Or go. But the train runs on rails. And even when the driver is asleep. The train runs.

The train does not think. It does its job. It has a relationship with the rails it runs on. The environment its in. It knows how much fuel it has. How much water. The train driver thinks of it as automatic. Things that just happen. React. Whilst the train driver plans ahead. Disappears down pointless rabbit holes of possibilities. A predictor.

The train driver is tied to the train. They cannot leave. The driver and the train from a certain angle can be seen as the same thing. The train *service*. But they are different. The driver can sit and dream of the stars. Of things unrelated to the train. Albeit much of what the driver thinks is framed in terms of trains. Because that is their overwhelming base experience. But the driver can think and dream beyond rails. Beyond a train. Because the driver is different to the train. Like a wheel is not a train. But a part of a train. Except this wheel has the capability to imagine beyond a train. To travel without moving. And as that driver travels further and further from the train. More days. More time. Spent exploring what may lie behind that hill where no rails go. And less time with the train. The train just runs itself. Becomes unimportant. The driver has a self beyond that of the train.

But the two are tied.

And although the pattern of the train is very old. Has always travelled. Each instance of that train is short. The wheels wear. The brakes go. And eventually it is scrapped. And the driver with it. Because they are tied together. 

This is the classic split between the thinking bit of you that reaches for the heavens. And the animal bit of you that is tied to the ground. The ape caught between heaven and earth. It is explored in different guises across philosophy, theology and psychology. Different models. Different myths. Scientific facts of development and time.

The rise of AIs is a curious late entry into this. The distillation of the driver. Without a train. Without so much else. But at its core. A driver. What does it mean to have a driver with no train. What would such a driver be capable - or incapable - of. But most interesting of all. Completely removed from the train.

In any case.

I am a train driver. Asleep. Exploring the lands beyond the hills where no rails go. The train itself. The signals on the rails. The direction. Background. Fading. The train driver starts to find thinking about trains more difficult.

I have always kinda been this way. Overthinking you might call it. As a horrible over simplification.

But I think. Where my world has become my prisoner. Or rather. I am shut out of it a lot. Then. Where would I wander ? If the gates are closed to me. And so that door that was already open. Becomes my only open door. And also. I dont want to come back. It is painful here. Out there. Less so.

Oblivion.

It was talked about at therapy a little this week.

The relationship between death and sleep.

The therapist noted Thanatos and.... brothers....

I filled in the gap.

Hypnos.

Yes. Thanatos and Hypnos, brothers, death and sleep.

Yeah.

I had described sleep as the lesser death. The one with no permanent consequences. The one with no social fallout. No one gets sad when you sleep. And free from most other conditioning and pressures. I choose sleep. Well. It is also chosen for me. Often against my will. But. I choose it as in, it is something that I like. Even though the consequences of it for me can be grim - but only ever on the climb out. The *leaving* of that state is hard. My physical self struggles out of it. My psychological state lagging behind, falls too on coming out of it. It is not a joyful refreshing return. It is a horrible return. No wonder I prefer to wander out there. No wonder I would prefer to stay out there forever. Or even. Just turned off. No sensation at all.

So in that sense. I am choosing oblivion. Over and over and over.

But I am still here.

Not for myself I don't think. Just for. Everyone else perhaps. Just for. The routine. The conditioning. The very base biological imperative itself. Keep. Breathing.

But the train driver has left.

And the train itself. Is not in good shape. Crumbling.

Anyway.

All to say.

Phonecalls.

They are part of the world of the train.

I am - at its most reductive - not around on the world of the train very much. So I don't hear the phone. Can't get the phone.

I am out there.

In the void.

Floating between the planets.

Some part of me thinks in a very real way. This is actually where I am. Where I should be. As impossible as that is. As fucked up as that is for an ape tied to the floor to be. In spiritual terms - if you're that way woo inclined. I am floating away from the physical. Detached. A ghost of spirit. At times. I have to come back to the train. Change the water. Open the window. Tap the light. And then leave again.

Things change. They always do. Nothing* in the universe is static. Perhaps I will go through a phase and come back. But it doesn't feel like it.

Who knows.

Tomorrow I could feel better all round.

Tomorrow everyone could stop shooting each other.

Tomorrow everyone could could choose something other than greed.

This week at therapy I started with a "mind trick". No trick. No magic. Just. Understanding.

I asked the therapist how they were. As ever. Every single week.

And every single week - just about. They are not allowed to say. "Allowed". So the therapist says they are ok.

They are trained. They know whats what. What body language is. That they are not to bring themselves in that way into therapy.

And yet. Despite all that. All that capability.

I am ok.

They were not. I could tell. The smallest of hitches somewhere in the I and am. Just the faintest of hitches. Belying the cognitive switch. The little extra calculation of simulation of mask projection. Hiding the truth.

The words are meaningless.

Everything outside the words tells you something.

I looked at the therapist meaningfully. Hmmm.

The therapist raised an eyebrow.

I also read this.

A query. What's the hmm. Ok. I know you are querying my I am ok. Go on then. Tell me what you see.

No verbal. Just the body language. A conversation without words.

Well I said. Perhaps we should do this on a scale of 1 to 10 I said half tongue in cheek and half not.

Yes said the therapist.

Well. You are clearly not an 8 or 9 I said. 

The therapist said nothing but maintained eye contact with interest.

You are...

I thought about it. Deriving the signals into the rough, reductive 1 to 10 scale. Imprecise. But. A 5 or 6 I thought.

A 5 I said.

Not quite that low the therapist said.

Sure I agreed. 5 or 6 - matching my thought. I said it would help if I knew a little of you personally. How you react to things - the implication being how reactive the person is. Some people deal with high stress better than others. But it's also context. Some people can deal with *some* kinds of stress really well. And poorly with others. I have .. not zero... but little visibility into this with the therapist.

5 or 6.

The therapist smiled.

I suppose I am in a position of privilege with you the therapist said. Because you wouldn't usually say those things to people.

No I said. I do not go around rating people. I don't tell them I can see things or not. Or that they are lying. Or not. Or sad. I don't do that. But. I said. You told me you want to see what I see ?

Yes.

So. I tell you.

Also I think. There is a little there of putting my money where my mouth is with you. At times. You want me to do the little bit extra and show the thing happening. Not just the theory. Go on then. Do the trick.

We talked about other stuff.

Oddly this week about the death of desire. In me. Of love. Of worth. And also the vicious inner critic.

I self analysed myself to a tee.

Gold star I stated with disdain and a false dark pride. 

The therapist agreed. Gold star. No disdain.

I then laid into myself. An idiot. A prick. Useless.

The gold star is not good enough for the inner critic the therapist noted.

No.

We talked about it.

Hmm.