Birth-Whirlpool-Rebirth

Let me start by elaborating on some of my methods. I think people conduct themselves in oddly particular ways, I can feel people trying to be themselves, sometimes they aren't paying attention to one another and their methods shine through, their decisions that most resemble themselves because its the sort of things they do most frequently, it's what they are either telling themselves or keeping quiet about, and by it I mean their daily preferences, the embarrassing rituals, the conduct. I am losing this a little bit. Method. We are capable of noticing our own method and riffing on it, mocking ourselves a little bit. Egging ourselves on to do something slightly different next time. To reconsider. To dispute our own presumed choices, our own so called stylings. It happens every time I write this blog. I think to myself, very quickly, what sort of words to I want to incorporate? What sort of language am I neglecting? And by thinking that question I simply try to surprise myself with my direct effort. This is the living fuel of effort right here, I don't revise these, I just pump them out. My friends and I are sort of talking about what it takes to develop yourself while you are acting it out. When the hesitation and questioning coincides with the production. That's a trick, keeping those two around. Doubt and action as persistent forces in your life, it's like breathing and thinking. I dunno, I just feel that doubt and hesitation are masks I've used when I am being indolent. I want to learn to question my method while making it over and over again. I reread these blog posts, note themes, note emphases, note word choice, notes notes notes, I am a witness to myself. I am also a self detective. I am also the culprit. The exploiter. The rationalizer. It is some treat to realize all the responsibilities involved in making yourself right here right now, ha as I like to say over and over again. What a thrill to take that noticing and questioning and addressing and impacting of the self and sharing it with everyone else.

I am so thankful I can play along with the other people who are right around me. I mean an English major, fuck. This is what I did with a select few of the "great and recognized", the important ones. I studied their making of method in order to meander over to my own. This is just a passing by thought, something to really stare at as it walks past you. Something to take with me and really chew on for awhile. A hunk of cud in my mouth that I can suck on, that I can extract some juices from, it all mingling with my saliva. Swallow some, spit some. It's all hot and frothy, bubbling from that cud of a thought. It's funny how you can sometimes forget that you have a mint or a piece of gum in your mouth. It either shrinks or becomes flavorless. Do something with it. Get rid of it. Move onto another piece. But thought is different in the way I remember things. This blog is a language of gum prints stuck all over my own internet for whoever to see if they want to, if I happen to give them a chance to.

Here's a little inkling of method and ritual of mine to share, maybe inconsequential, but it's mine and it's on the mind. When I go into the work bathroom I have to be prepared. I need a key to access it at all. We share it with the realty office and the dentist. Although the only person I have ever seen it was my boss. Ha, we quickly mumble one another's name and just book it. We are not close to bathroom buds at all. I suspect we won't be. Which isn't surprising or disappointing. I like working around the guy. Anywayyy you want it (better way to say "anyways"). I use my key, enter the baffroom. The automated lights audibly click on. If I have to use the stall it requires some forethought. That's what this is about. It's a monster of an auto flush toilet and it has bested me many times. By bested I mean that I have gone to sit down and it has just fired off a preemptive flush. The toilet swirls its flush over my bare bum. Always catching me off guard that it is going to flush until I am half way into my seat. Sitting atop a hole that is swirling with water doesn't quite do this flush justice. It is a roar. A deafening airplane taking off into the void that is sky. It is like taking ten Halls and seven Ricolas and shoving off the top of a mountain for your first time down a snowy, mogul filled black diamond. It is raging adrenaline in the form of a mechanized, triggered flush. A preprogrammed eruption. In short, it is very uncomfortable to sit above. I have adopted a new method to avoid such a frigid blast of water and air. I stride over to the stall with my long legs, making sure that the final stride squares me directly over the toilet, legs now on each side of the toilet. I am stand-straddling this machine. It's sensor has caught me, but I am not just some passer by, who it thinks has already come and gone, the source of preemptive flushes, I am instead locked into its sights. I can then methodically unbuckle my belt, pull my dance forward and down at the same time in order to avoid skimming them against the white exterior of the toilet. This is probably an irrational fear brought on by the instructions of socially expected sanitary measures. Speaking of which, I wish toilets were found in more colors more often. White dominates and allows for proper cleansing inspections. Once I have got the pants and boxers all the way down I can ease into the auto toilet and proceed as you'd probably expect, ha we'll save that investigation for another time; whenever you are (who are you again?) ready to compare those notes.

That's a method that took some change. I'll change it again before I'm done. I'll take on variations on variations. I'll try to bear in mind my written out stylings, my involvement in the execution. I'll experiment, rearrange. Why why why? It's a sampling of involvement in the development of method that should be happening on every level of who I am. It seems trivial, and I bet you could argue it is, but if I can conduct myself to the level I just wrote above for something on that scale, I believe there is a chance that the real method I am working on, always working on I like to tell myself, will really feel comfortable with itself. Will come into its own and suggest newness (another one of those "my all the time now words") to me voluntarily, aspects of me surprising all of me.

I will spare you elaborating on my difficulties with the coldness of the water in the automated sink, and the wastefulness of the paper I often use to dry my hands. Ha, more parts, more methods, more noticing. Plenty.