The Totalization of Shadows, Part II

My lovely gold-tinged fogs, though introverted, introspective, and private, I do not take to be sublimating—I am taking a relaxing stroll through gently downward-sloping corridors of bowed willow stems, tulips, and orange blossoms, occasionally plucking fruit I don’t have to reach for, gazing and not focusing, stopping and shifting at the slightest resistance, riding the breezes, and trusting they’ll not pick up into gales…Trusting, trusting, trusting…Not afraid…On a pleasure cruise.

There can’t be hazards in here,in the fogs,and even if there are, I am plastic…I’ll warp and morph, oscillate and become giddy…I’ll either sail around the reefs, or I will appeal to the almighty Zeus in my head who is Me and who controls everything…He-we will blast holes through the reef with thunderbolts, and on I will ride.

Now the stoop-- crudely conceived and constructed though it be, unremarkable in every way, I had sublimated in order to build it. Effort went into it. I had to plan, measure, calculate, design; then I had to purchase, carry, lift, cut, nail—feel aggravation, resistance—had to work up a sweat. To some degree, I had to go against another desire, the desire for more immediate gratification. I had to exercise some instinctual renunciation.

My stoop and stairs—others will use them. They won’t use them as often as I will, but I will care that the few times these others use them, they’ll work just fine—no harm will come—the stairs will do what they are designed to do, safely, comfortably.

My gold-tinged fog…Most likely yields nothing anyone else will ever use. I don’t intend it to, either. If I do exteriorize the fogs, or the oranges I’ve plucked there, I don’t make a truth, knowledge, power or wisdom claim to cover it…I wouldn’t pretend any utility or value, and I don’t see there could be harm or help in any of it, (unless, unintentionally I conveyed the pleasure of the fogs and thus induced someone else to spend more time conjuring their own—a seduction to evil, a harm.)Care or concern for another isn't a significant part of these experiences.

I DO associate the gold-tinged fogs with the erotic,(because of the pleasure, because I do "like" them?) and I DO associate the erotic with intimacy with another, but clearly this association doesn’t work very well in actuality, contains a contradiction—intimacy with another has very little and perhaps nothing to do with my gold-tinged fogs. I DO associate the gold-tinged fogs with a wild freedom which relieves me of the demands for stability, order, and control I encounter nearly everywhere else in my life, and yet upon examination, this sense of wild freedom is complexly linked to the omnipotence of my interior plasticity which gives me all the stability, order and control I would ever require in my interior universe. Somehow, I think of my gold-tinged fogs as having some vague capacity to cultural creativity, in spite of the fact that it is only in my drudgery I create anything anyone else could admire (consider cultural.) I must somehow believe cultural creation is independent of a thought of others (I'm disturbed to admit.) And still—I’m not convinced I should give up my gold-tinged fogs or consider them worthless, pathological.