wanting

Aphorisms:

    that time on the floor
    
    today cleared up

    my future wife



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Sitting on the train or in the Otto Modersohn gallery I am so filled with want. It flows into me easily and overwhelmingly. I saw a porch cut into a steep roof that opened in to a kitchen and somehow the window was wide open so the space of the kitchen spilled onto the porch, and the last angled sun rays filled the space. And I wanted it so bad, wanted it so bad to pray for it: that space being mine and shared with someone and filled with friends. You could smoke in the kitchen because it opened so wide onto the porch. I forget what I wanted so bad at the Otto Modersohn Gallery…to draw, to live here in the sun and fog and manure and hay smell, to be in a time before climate change, etc. The wanting flows into me and fills me to bursting. 
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At the centre of all writing is the truth. Everything you write ends up being about more or less the same thing; it all circles one pith, and the deeper you go the closer you get to the centre—and the more concise and simple your writing gets. 



I want another cookie 
I am reminding myself that there'll be a new heaven and a new earth where everything is reconciled
No more longing
$4.95 Starbucks cookie
 
Was pretty good though
Minor taste of preservative
Also ate a tuna sandwich and a Fresco slice and other things
today (turkey club sandwich, )

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The wanting is Holy. 
It’s just too easily satisfied by another cookie.
Fasting: the wanting goes unanswered for a moment and in the next moment the world becomes alive and real. 

“It would seem that Our Lord finds your desires not too strong, but too weak.”    

I read hunger in that discomfort which may just be the prick of being alive; fear in that which might just be excitement.      

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One part of my social anxiety is feeling bad about being so silent. I always have a better time having a lively talk, even if its small talk, and I have a good time with those fellows who can produce such a talk even in me—silent as I am--so I feel bad being unable to produce this talk myself. “Obviously there’s something wrong with me. If I wasn’t so self-serious and absorbed and intense then I would be able to do this.” There’s times when it does come to me, when I feel an intuitive desire to talk. That intuition guides me in what to say. It is the intuition of desire, the same one which tells you where to kiss your partner in bed or what to cook for dinner, when you’re hungry. (Sweet desire, come onto me….)
I feel bad for being so silent.