The brain—because its job is to infer, predict, secure—does not like, does not enjoy, risk, uncertainty, openness. Spiritually speaking, we are at war with our biophysical imperatives; the will to survive is something very different than the will to create, master, understand. I think one of the highest states, therefore, is simply one in which uncertainty fuels joy. This is a kind of secular transcendence.
I don’t think Time runs in a line. I think it bubbles, lays dormant, condenses, erupts, seeps through the cracks; I think Time bends, twists, emerges, doubles back. Insofar as we are conscious, we channel time, and change it. Insofar as we are conscious, we create time too. We both experience and shape it. We might even be Time, in a way.
I think the most regrettable, and weakest part of my diary is the lukewarm, not entirely original cultural criticism evident in certain entries. I’m certainly bored of some of my own generalizations and pseudo-observations—but I might have to keep making them on the off-chance of sparking a genuine insight.
In New York, many of my friends, and I, I would say, are just scraping by—just making it, constantly nervous about the next few months. On the other hand, around the