An Oblique Journal
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An Oblique Journal

Wednesday April 4 2018

The secret here is for the frame to disappear.

Being in the world. The mad wonderful infuriating mystery of all of it.

The feeling. Not the emotion. Of being in the world.

Saying what cannot be said, by way of saying something else. Meaning that’s inferred, deduced, intuited.

Emotion is a notion. The nominalization of being in the world. Proper naming. Of being in itself. Emoting goes on, is going, happening. Emoting is what we do. Like breathing is done. Emotion is a notion.

Feeling, not a feeling. A feeling is stipulating. Feeling is happening. The birds are flying.

The breathing disappears. It is happening. Are we breathing? Sometimes we are breathing. Sometimes breathing is happening. When it’s happening, it disappears. We are being breathing. Breathing is us going. Are we breathing? Is breathing us? We inspire. We conspire. We aspire. Breathing. Being in the world is breathing. When the breathing disappears.

The spire. To breathe. Breathing. Breathing is a thing that you can do or is doing you, is happening. Not happening to you. Is you happening. You going breathing being. Is there any breath? Who can hold it long enough? When it is expelled it is gone to being everything with all of it.

Do you hear the breath? Do you hear the breathing? When we breath together, that’s conspiring. It is happening. When we make our breathing be some way, that is music, rhythm, being in the world creation.

Breathing isn’t thinking. But it’s just the same. It is happening. It is going doing being. Who is breathing? Who is thinking? Am I? I am writing. Am I? Is writing ever happening? It is happening right now. When writing disappears, it is happening.

When reading disappears, it is happening.

Now I see it know it. I feel it, the rushes of truth. The rush of affirmation. Some call the rush Prana. Some call it Chi. Some call it energy. Calling it whatever you call it is beside the point. It is rushing. You might feel your hair stand on end. You might see what are called goose bumps. I do. That is not important to me. What’s important to me is the rushing through my body. Down my legs. Into my feet. Down my arms. Into the hands. Up my spine. Up into my head. All through my head. Some may call this Kundalini. That is not important to me. I don’t care what it’s called. It is all about the way it feels, and the way it resonates. It is meaningful in a way that I cannot articulate. Or do not care to articulate.

It is funny how I say directions for the feeling in my body. Like it goes in some direction. The rushing. It is like it goes in some direction. But the word like tells you that it is just a way of thinking about it. It is a convention I have defaulted into for describing the rushing. The rushing I think rushes and radiates. It does not go in any direction. It does not come from anywhere. It is being there going.

It is body orgasming in a way. I can either switch it on or tune into it whenever. I’m not sure which entirely is the best way of saying. Switching like electric currents, or tuning like radio stations. It is like breathing. It goes and I can make it go.

After rushing there is often vibrating. Different areas are vibrating after they are rushing. After lots of rushing everywhere, all of me the body is vibrating. Sometimes I feel a certain kind of focus almost sort of pressure in the middle of my forward, in between the area where my eyes are located. Sometimes I feel very “high” — whatever that means. I’m really not entirely sure what that means. Being “high”.

Many things are present to me. Breathing heart beating hearing seeing without zeroing in on anything any object peaceful feeling not talking to myself not dreaming. It feels very good. Sensitive and soft and beautiful. Sublime. I have disappeared by becoming very present.


This won’t last long. When did it start? How long has it been? I didn’t mark the time. Let’s say 3–5 minutes ago. 13:10ish

Intense unanchored joy. Ecstasy. I close my eyes.

This can happen anytime. Feeling of focus in my “centre of gravity” — just below my navel. Vibrating on the souls of my feet. My calves. Languid feeling. Change posture. Loosen up back. Slouch. The feeling is difficult to describe. Sometimes it’s called being light headed, head in the clouds, loose, floppy, intoxicated, but aware, present. Staring into space.

Now starting to have thoughts come in about getting back to practicalities.

Still “high” but feeling it recede a little bit.


Barely ten minutes. But it felt like much longer. That experience of time is like what is typically described by people who take cannabis. But this happens so to speak organically, naturally, happening without taking anything. Not predicated by an outside agent. I still feel a bit “high” — but now I must go run some errands. How long will it linger. Or should I say, how long will I linger?


Friday April 6


Reading this makes it happen. Does it? Does it make it happen? Reading this, it is happening again. Is it again? I am reading. It is happening. That is it.




writing inside out diary

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I am mjboyce, author of 2 novels: Monkey & Anderson (Pedlar Press). Working on my 3rd novel & a book of poetry (sort of). I also make photos & music.

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