so i am going to you let you into a deep secret corner of my existence. as if the degree of entertainment here wasn’t blatantly slapstick enough. i wonder sometimes why i open myself up so much in my own therpay sessions but i know partly why. it’s for myself not for you. when i read it 20 years from now, i hope to be able to gauge the level of my growth. writing as a record of personal exploration is the essence of this diary. there are a few friends that have known me for a long time but what i write here have reveal me more than i will have discuss in any conversation. it is not i am not open to these sort of discussions but i find them tiresome because things either just go in a circle or you’re trying to convince somebody or some crappy human interaction shit like that. the gut of the matter is you need to get the shit striaght in your head. to be able to discern for yourself the “truth” on a level untouchable by conversation. doors are left open here and there but at the end of the night, you either need to walk through the door or close it. for the seeker doesn’t not need more opportunties but simply louder signals.
at any rate, the title of the journal refers to the obvious. the devoution to my cult heros, the cocteau twins. but on a more surreal level it reflects the nature of these writings. the conversation of a high monkey monk with himself. for the mind has been compared to the monkey. and the monkey is differently high in this realm of existence. so don’t be frustrated if you’re bored after 5 minutes because it isn’t about you. you have to write your own interesting story. it’s about the lost kid that never knew his mother. if i wanted everyone to understand what i have been writing, i would have used spellcheck. but the reality that i am lost in, spell check only reenforces the notion that life has an order that makes sense.