Bella

The following was written on 17DEC2016 at 7:35pm on 20 mg of Adderall in a Starbucks:

I made a mental note to write these things immediately. The sleep deprived, overstressed, and drug-twisted haze which I common refer to as my memory often fails me some of the most vital and interesting details. What is left of these events is my absorption of the feeling into my nature, which satisfies my mental filing processes though leaves some pretty sizable gaps in the reader's ability to follow the reflected emotional hurdling at play.

She's been cut. That was made very clear upon her arrival. She has a penchant for inviting chaos into her world. Whether it was of her doing or simply the power to will these matters into her life, this much was certain: she has the capacity to open the door to extreme experiences and she exercises this ability regularly.

Our bond in this industry is very clear, we are the result of internalizations of the perceived depths of human misery, whether it is of our own or of others. Upon hearing of these tragedies my reaction is to focus on the source of pain, but if life has taught me anything worthwhile, it is that once these details are addressed they become blurred distractions.

The engineer in me wants to algorithmize the response of mental fracturing using frequency, intensity, and duration of traumatically stressful events as inputs. Ironically, this is a response of my own: disconnection.

I cannot speak for others, only myself; I am not looking for healing, I am looking for universal consciousness and understanding, healing is incidental. It is the evolution of this empathetic talent with which we were gifted that can be our saving grace in this existence of disconnection.

The navigation of my journey is now stranger than any fiction I can concoct. I'm driving, the destination already written and submitted into my phone, following GPS orders, the turns preordained, individuals and groups alike awaiting my arrival. I forget of the predestined expected world which was graciously handed to me as I cruise empty backroads through rural NJ. My window is down, oh shit, cows, 4 fucking cows, mellow as fuck, oblivious, grazing and gazing back, not smiling. I think in pictures, I don't remember the road names, only how the roads looked and felt driving through them. I have taken this route before, I have passed this road many times, the system passively forced me to ignore it and go straight in the past. The road seems rougher, the entrance is wider and more rugged than most I've seen and there is no curb. Small houses exist, houses which you would think twice about walking up to if your car taps out. At this point the car has slowed to a stop. There are no other people around, it is only me. I am driving, it is me familiarly accelerating and decelerating this monstrosity. Ease up on the brakes, drive smooth and steady, check the oil and tire pressure from time to time. My phone is awaiting my next move to ensure I stay on track and arrive to my destination in a reasonable amount of time. Time cannot be wasted.

I sit with my seatbelt on in solitude and pure reflection. I'm terrified and I will never admit that to anyone. But...there is no one here, just the cows, my phone, and my indecision. The voices echoing in my head seem distant and foreign. They are not my own but they persist. All angles and possibilities considered, I am not calculating, I am stalling.

Here I sit, for 19 years. I have sat and watched this entrance and mulled over all possibilities to avoid making a decision.

I roll down the window and a breeze carrying the truth, my truth, sweeps through, appropriately enough it smells like cow. There is no decision to be made. All decisions are illusory. There is only the perceived continuous reality that cannot be anticipated, controlled, avoided, destroyed, or manipulated in any way. It must be confronted with each passing moment by the entity through which the live event is being processed.

My disconnection is my savior. It is who I am and it is my attempt to temper my inability to confront my perceived reality. But my life is no longer sustainable through its current cycling of defense mechanisms. I have far less energy to fabricate these rationalities and aversions, they are eating my ability to connect.

My disconnection is my handicap.

I recognized the distinct shifting glaze in Bella's eyes. She's been cut. I can feel her pain and I am drawn to it. We dance and she incites conflict through dominance. Alright, alright, I get the message, do NOT get too close, you will regret this. But she already knows her powers, she uses the sharp tools at her disposal to a surgical degree of accuracy. Does she know who I am though? Does she know my pain, my depths, my uncertainties and anxieties, and does she know I want her more than anything at this moment.

Just keep driving past that road, son, this is business.

I am an animal, a beast in nature; I am a primal beast. I like the sound of that. It bites and it's raw and it's true. It sounds slightly poignant in its defeating succinctness.

She came downstairs in a towel after showering and I shook her hand for the first time to introduce myself. My hand is frigid but I have nothing to hide, we are about to embark on a 4 hour journey together and I need to make sure she is comfortable through establishment of trust, plus I get to touch this creature. I get to touch this phenomenal specimen, oh my, I think she's German too. The familiar curves of my ex girlfriend begin to slip back into the forefront of my mind. The familiar comfort and satisfaction of connecting with such a visually appealing woman, look at me, I am validated.

It is several seconds after she burns a permanent warm moist impression into my mind with her hand that I realize her hands are likely warm and moist because she just showered. I don't care, her touch has lifted my soul, it is what I am so desperately craving. At this moment, time ceases to exist. There is only pure presence. There are no decisions to be made, it is an appropriate gesture on my behalf. There is comfort in knowing we existed together for a split moment. Her fingers are skinny, for a brief moment she is slightly vulnerable.

History is written by the winners and nature is undefeated. Nature doesn't care about my connection, nature doesn't approve or disapprove of these passing moments, they will be lost in a massive flood, but I do care, too much. This obsession is my...it's...me.

Bella allows me access to some of her recollections. I know better than to immediately interpret her intimate details as a genuine method to bond. We disconnectors have a habit of expressing historical details which most people hold for those they fully trust. We separate from the emotional burden to extract that which is most important, so relaying these experiences to others is a nice, cheap way of engaging someone's attention and driving home a point.

This is getting too intense, let's step back for a second and disconnect. Alright, what scenes are we shooting first? What outfit should she put on? Let's test camera, lights, and sound.

The shoot has begun but I am already forever changed. It doesn't usually happen this quickly.

The next 4 hours are spent doing my best not to show her that I fell hard, hoping that she can't pick up on the longing fixated outreach of my eyes. I stumble to make her laugh or fill silent voids of transitioning scenes. She reaches out to me, but I am now guarded. I must stay professional. I sense dissatisfaction on her behalf, but I can't detect whether it is because I turned down the opportunity to bond or because I turned down her advances to control the situation through hyperrationalizing an emotionally induced chaotic situation. These tactics are for lesser minds, so I defensively recoil and remove myself from the situation. The passive nature of my demeanor probably didn't do me any favors with her.

I used to be good at this, I used to be able to manipulate the room to my favor. What has happened? I never realized how much effort it takes to try to control the world around you. It's exhausting. Step 1: control what you can through any rationalities necessary and avoid those you cannot. Step 2: perpetuate your own miserable existence. I don't know whether I don't have the energy or the interest. This road has bumps, they should put up a sign.

I am an all or nothing kind of guy, while stepping out of my body and watching my actions I have maintained that philosophy as something inherently true. Never did I think that it was out of necessity. You can't half-heartedly try to manipulate the world.

Each of my deliveries is met with laughter, awkward silence, or a complete rejection at the source. My former life was unsustainable, no wonder I'm half-dead. Mental note: be yourself, it's healthier. People won't like me, a lot of people won't like me. I don't know if I'm prepared for that much hate when all I've ever wanted was acceptance. I don't know if I care anymore, we will have to see.

There are no decisions, there is nothing left to decide. I am Rishi, I will always be Rishi for as long as I allow myself to be Rishi.

I feel my visions must be shared, and there is nothing wrong with that. Seek to understand, then to be understood.

Destinations are things of the past. There are no roads. There are only timeless states of being which I hope the people who I interact with can feel just as much as I. There are only portraits of cows that once grazed.

There is only Bella's perfectly warm, moist hand, still outstretched and feeding my addiction.