Chapter 11

A character that feels itself — well this is very different from a feeling type of character.  I wish to let you know.  That’s the problem with coming at things from different angles, let us say 180 degrees.  Because there are those who feel themselves excessively, one must be led to presume.  I mean, I hear it all the time, that there are people like that and I notice it, too, for instance when they claim that service people haven’t catered to them quite enough, or whatnot.

So there are those who orient the world around themselves, rather than counter-directionally.  So if you do something, they think you’re doing it against them personally, or whatnot.  When you aren’t exactly, because their thoughts and perceptions never entered you mind.  I had an office worker come up to me one time.  She said don’t you know that Eliza is watching you and monitoring you and actually she is making out her daughter is competing with you, because she is jealous of whatever you are doing, for instance your skydiving and your philosophy and she is now boasting that her daughter does this too, for instance, bungee jumping and philosophy, for look she’s got a philosophy book sitting on her desk.  And true enough she had a William James one, and I was reading Nietzsche around this time for I was going out of my mind.  She had this tome and it just sat upon her desk, but all my Neechy books had been into the bath with me, not once but umpteen times, and that is why their pages had spread out like a fan and the spine was starting to disintegrate and some pages came loose.  Eliza’s book was thick and firm.

So clearly she was watching me and surreptitiously competing, so she must have thought about my thoughts a lot quite probably, although who knows.  I think she was a feeling type alright although a type like any other.  But these types can try to get inside your head.

She told me she was trying coz she picked on little things about my work, not once but every day, and talked to me as if I were a reckless child, which wasn’t true, except in the case of the philosophy books.

It was kind of strange.

But there was a spying racket in that place and things about me kept on being reported.  Very strange.

It almost seemed like they were trying to climb into my head.  Those feeling types.  Or not.  But anyway.

My head was full of thickets.

Trying to get my head around the Neechy.

If I didn’t then the pressure would keep building.  As I pressed it down to stop me feeling.  I was not a feeling type, but working on my adaptation.

Two things I noticed.

1.  My processes were not linear and methodical but abstract and therefore associative.  Bad clerical worker hencely, down dog down.

2.  My alleged superiors who probably were for all I knew but I wasn’t quite sure then were keen to monitor…not so much my work, but what was in my head and they were very keen to know about that.  They really deeply needed more compliance and subservience and not so much cool getting on or cool fucking up or whatever it is I was doing, as I was not cut out to be a clerical worker.  I kid you not.

Two things I concluded.

1.  I need to come down on myself more heavily to push my mind into a linear, methodological mode, since my mind was not taking to it.  Bad dog.

2.  I had to let these people into my head.  Or they were going to keep attacking me with petty points.  They had to have complete control over my head, or else.  The whittling and combative moral criticism about what they alleged might be inside my head.  Or not.  The case may be.

From all angles considered, Western adaptation was not going to be easy.  Not a piece of cake not a walk in the park or anything.  really.

Quelle fromage.

This whole adaptation business was taking a fair chunk out of me.  Wearing me down.  And particularly my emotions.  Which I couldn’t feel yet.

Harsh Christianity had worked its charm like DDT on a minor cockroach species.  My head.

So I was trying to do the Western adaptation thingie.

Indications were to follow those two principles, which were abstractive and naturally non-linear.

Naturally — they came from my head.

And then some things came from my body, such as the pressure to adapt, for I was overheating.  all that superego nuclear intensity.  From being brought up in Rhodesia and surviving a war.  That came from my body, my digestion, oooh, aaah, eeeeh!

I was losing it for sure.  My body.

It was shutting down right under me.  (Ooh.  Aaah.)

Buttocks.

In any case, my emotions were red hot.  And suddenly went white.  Oooh–hooo.  I felt them temporarily before they slid over a cliff.  Then I was soaring.  Literally.  Ooh-Aaah.  Well not then, as the case may be.  But still I felt it.  Something in me was emotionally soaring.  I had got emotions under me at last.  Oooh-Aaaah.

But still, they’d got into my head by then, did I forget to mention?  So it felt a bit like mind-rape in a sense, although I undertand that notion isn’t physically realistic.  Still, that’s what it felt like after all this time.  Because I’d cry for absolutely nothing and I’d lost my stoicism by then, ah, and oooh.

I should write a book about it some day.

Anyway, that’s when my whole digestion totally collapsed and I could not eat solid food.  I guess I had resorted to a baby mind because I felt like it.  Ah! and Me!

I guess I made some weird decisions in my life, but I kept on reading Nietzsche.  He made sense bit by bit.  But by this time my body had evaded me.  Its processes were AWOL.  I couldn’t bring them back no matter what I tried, which was frustrating.

I still had my mind, but it was emptied out and kind of like a gang rape, I’d imagine, even though I’d never noticed or experienced one.

So I had to figure it out but this could take days or weeks or months even years.  I’d have to get this from the Neecha, all the answers I’d been craving for two decades of my life.

That’s what kept me on reading philosophy, because needed to, to come to the rescue of my body, which had all but totally abandoned me.  Right here, right now.  A mild irritation, China.  Don’t mention it, Old Chap.

Talk about a shamanic invasion.  By spirits.  But not of the most pleasant sort.

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