What is this this existential anxiety that I appear to be experiencing at the mere prospect of going to a fundamentally unfamiliar space. Perhaps it stems from my desire to always return to the point of my origin. Which is not some fanciful Mecca based on my birth. Rather a place that I have marked a safe haven. Namely my apartment. It is my place, my space.
I don’t own it, but it is the place where I can exist without anxiety or worry (or at least my neurosis is minimized). This is likely why i’m not inclined to have others enter this space. It is where I exist and can be a real raw being of emotion and feeling without the responsibilities of society at large. So the idea of not having the option to return to this cultivated space is absolutely terrifying.
The worst of this is that it is all an illusion. An illusory scaffolding applied to a physical space calling itself safety. But this is all wrong. Which is even more dangerous. I should not just be anxious of new places. I should be anxious anywhere I feel it is okay to let my guard down.
When I was a decided existentialist (based on some Sartre specifically) I could have been an artist. I cared to create an image of man, for man, in how man should conduct itself. Which is rather pompous.
As a nihilist such a trifle if absurd. I can appreciate art but the idea of influencing anyone now makes me sick. I may be damaged but what is relevant is I have made this decision to stay in the void.
I spend my time trying to dismantle institutions. Why would I bother playing along just because I am told that is the way it is.
Though, however, it is not my place to force my misery on others. That is something they can discover within the bounds of the institution they subscribe to.
So I am returning home. I cannot say LA had an impact on me that any other temporary location from my domicile would have. So perhaps the real merit in simply taking a break from my surroundings. I suppose more experimenting could be in order. Though there are variables such as seeing friends, staying in location where I am not responsible for its upkeep. Also the intrigue of adapting to a slightly different environment. Oh and Food.
Though the most beneficial thing was probably the rest and not being reminded of my normal day to day anxieties.
Definitely arrived full of fire and neurosis. Currently returning home with some new memories and some refreshed desires.
Earlier I claimed my nihilism, unlike my previous existential nature, does not afford me to do art. But perhaps it would be beneficial to look more into the post modern. It seems to be a space where as much as nothing had any meaning, there is still some kind of production. Perhaps that and the Absurd are where I belong.