land in madrid. my thoughts on the plane were heavy.
the heavy thoughts:
after having my whole psyche destroyed
for an entire year, i lost faith in any universal oneness, becoming incredibly austere and blunt and matter of fact.
even reading essays about near death experiences, clairvoyance, DMT, whatever, brought me the affirming feeling that any association with GOD or FAITH was a result of chemicals in the human brain– there are no synchronicities. “like minds attract one another.” it is possible, i concluded, not by way of otherworldly magnetism but simply through like morals, attributes, interests, humor, proximity.
as i sit on this airplane, at the onset of my grand departure, a 29 day incubation period, i am inspired to gather my thoughts (for which there are many), concerning the nature of our meeting, and the innate compatibility that i somehow felt within my first few moments with you. i enjoy travel, when my hand is not on the wheel, especially when i am detached from the internet, because i have no choice but to create– it is the perfect in-between space.
[REDACTED PARAGRAPHS FOR THE SAKE OF INTIMACY]
does the use of an iphone negate fate? at times yes, (consider my friend sean’s thesis on lower female class tik tok mass hysteria spirituality, algorithmic tarot readings, “if this appears in your feed it was meant for you,” etc). maybe it does not completely usurp fate, but can act as a modern adaptation.
there is something about a new love that makes your eyes well up at 9:15am on an aircraft that just landed in madrid. it brings a spiraling exuberance to your chest, it brings an inkling that a god may exist, and it makes me want to grab you and never let you go.
end of thoughts.
beyond abandoning a budding romance in pursuit of, well, rock music– being in a new country is unsettling yet exciting.
i escape the boys and wander to all the local touristy historical spots, conveniently walking distance from our hotel, and i stumble upon the royal collections gallery. i sob over several pieces– which i acknowledge is dramatic, and conclude it is from my lack of sleep and fragile mental state. another facet of my present psyche is the intrinsic disgust i feel, intrusive thoughts i can’t shake, except for when looking at the art. (internal warfare) (i don’t want to talk about it)
i should probably sleep more and walk less so i don’t get sick again.
i feel fatigue. i practice my spanish during an attempt to acquire water. it comes in an unfamiliar blue glass bottle, and i must peel off a piece of paper to open it. its novelty contributes to the uncanniness of being here. i am lacking grounding.
the jetlag is causing me to nod off in the gallery cafeteria while i sip my elusive liquid.
i depart, and find myself on a grassy hill covered in daisies amongst a crowd of spanish youth. or are we young adults?
we are facing the royal palace of madrid and the almundena cathedral. some of the loungers give the impression they have been here a good while. bliss. they sleep and sunbathe, i follow suit, it’s so easy– the sun is glorious and healing. one group who had all their tops off reclothe themselves and head off. i remember i need a saline rinse for my eternally recovering body.
continue to doze off…
two men sit down remarkably close to me though there is plenty of space on the hill. like, so close i am shocked they aren’t saying anything to me. i start to wonder if i am invisible.
they converse.
“it’s not because i don’t like sex”
one of them suggests to the other to “turn on grindr to get laid.”
“my english is very american your english is very…”
be my baby by the ronettes plays softly in the distance.
i should probably get home before my phone dies.
