I have a lot on my mind right now, so much so that it seems to finally be taking its toll on my body. Or maybe I'm just a masochist. I've been doing really long planks and going on exceptionally long walks, which I thought was healthy, but when I woke up this morning my body no longer seemed to cooperate with my will. This first instance in recent memory that I've spent almost the whole day in bed feeling nauseous and I'm fairly confident that it has more to do with my mental state than just some physical "inflammation." Anyways, like I said, I have a lot on my mind right now and the long walks haven't really been helping me to sort things out - and talking to myself has made me feel schizophrenic recently - so I decided to write a letter, and then thought twice about it, and now I'm thinking thrice about it. If I'm going to write a letter to hash out all of the intricacies of my current convoluted state I suppose it might as well be to you since we have become so intertwined and I have been so pent up and distant from you these last weeks. So here's a letter, one that I desperately need to write, originally for only my own consideration, that I am now extending to you.

By the way, I'm sorry for not responding to the lengthy and emotional letter you sent me during our time apart at christmas. I suppose I didn't think it garnered a reply, that my role was mostly to serve as witness to your own untangling of a rather complex personal knot. Perhaps that's what this exercise will be also, not an apology or a confession so much as an extension of trust for you to serve as witness to what I'm dealing with. Please don't thank me, I don't want any thanks.

During one of your last ventilations you said that being with me was beginning to make you feel lonely. I can really relate to that sentiment as being with you also made me feel lonely, due to the lack of attention more than affection. That is, I think you made yourself available to me physically and emotionally (which is inextricably bound up with your life experience, as we have already discussed on numerous occasions), but I encountered real difficulty receiving this affection as real and profound empathy. I have this thing I say about illusion and delusion, I'm sure you remember. My fear is twofold, different possibilities with the same horrific result: to live in an illusion of my own making or to play a role in the delusion of another. In a way, I think this is always the case and I could wax poetic for countless pages on the hallucinatory or holographic basis of "reality." We have also swirled around some psychological ideas concerning the construction of a durable self (as image, or soul, or physical vessel) and how our image flickers in relation to an other so that from a certain perspective our "self" changes according to who we are orienting towards. There's other ideas involved also, of course, but I don't know how clear I was with you concerning my intention to focus on the ideological foundations of this point when I bring it up. Individuals cultivating a relationship enter into a kind of unspoken contractual agreement to determine their roles-in-relation, but they also necessarily engage themselves - intentionally, consciously, or not - into a role of their own self-making (or autopoiesis as it's called). It's deceivingly simple to sketch out in a few vague sentences, but you can affirm for yourself how complex any relationship scenario can be (or necessarily is) as we negotiate our own sifting desires with the shifting territories of a dynamic relation unfolding under both our feet.

Anyways, the reason I bring it up is that now that I am alone (with my lonliness) I have been meditating on my own intentions and self-manifesting illusions, observing my own obstinance before the delusions you presented me with, and trying to sort out my own plethora of default and inherited selves from the future ideal I aim to become. I can see what they were, can remember what I was thinking going in to this, can observe how we transpired, and can see myself sitting here now wondering where it all went wrong. The trouble I'm having is that I don't think it was wrong - my intentions I mean - not a series of bad decisions or inattentiveness (at least speaking for myself) but love which has brought me here, and that's fucking me up even more. Our meeting was intense, totally based in irrational feeling and projections of profundity which we both brought with us - as you know - and that's why it was so magical. The ideal situation I was putting myself in was inspired by my past, by my activated presence, by my willingness to be transparent with my feelings and giving of my mind... in a word, it was based in pure love, rooted in real experience and oriented towards what I was willing myself to become. If you think about it, we always had misunderstandings. Every video conversation proved to be an exercise of my scathing observation to slice and scintillate your atmospheric cloud of impressions and epiphanies, getting close without pushing too far. I remember charting your limits and observing your discomfort with my probing. I think you know this also and it was sincerely fun, exciting, even fulfilling and motivating for both of us. I remember leaving those early conversations feeling refreshed and motivated to learn and do more. When you came to the US for our road trip I felt so completely relaxed in our dynamic, utterly trusting of your mind and presence. This was often against my better judgment as I could already identify some possible points of contention in how you acted in relation to my thoughts and actions, yet they seemed to be petty differences, even essential to the dynamic I wanted to nurture based on a productive tension, and most importantly I was able to receive each awkward discourse or behavior as an opportunity for me to observe myself, modify my behavior, and dismantle the inhibitions I had accumulated. This tension felt constructive. It served us. It was a useful tool, to use your phrase, which fit my own feeling of purpose and propelled me forward.

When you left the US I was devastated. It signaled the end of the first phase of the year, rooted in love and sharing and vulnerability, and ushered in the dark and ominous second half. Things did not go well in New Mexico - time will be the true test of course, but it certainly didn't feel beautiful and wonderful all butterflies and chocolate bars. I wasn't strong enough to overcome some of my adolescent demons forged in the blinding cauldrons of my parents dulled blades. I attempted to confront myself, to become vulnerable, to cultivate a culture of openness and reciprocation, but I fear that my attempts backfired and may have increased the distance between my father and I. It haunts me. The environment itself was also traumatizing. The architecture, the empty artifacts, the sterilized countertops, and the incessant clicking of all the goddamn clocks and calculators drove me mad. It broke my spirit and completely derailed my energy while also serving as a reminder of why I left and what I have been searching for. My project was a failure and I feel foolish, naive, presumptuous, and pretentious for having even attempted it. The whole summer (since you left) feels like a dark cold fog even though everyday was 38° and sunny. I wanted my experience there to be a gift for them, to make their happiness and well-being my focus, and to crack myself out of the brooding shell of resentment that had been built up over the years, but I can now see that they certainly view me to be completely self-centered, negligent, inconsiderate, focused only on my own emotions and desires with little sympathy for theirs. I wonder if that's their delusion, or my own... There's probably some new resentment sprinkled on top as well, being a 33 year old failure that has returned home to make some idiotic abstract video project on my iphone and clear out their refrigerator. Yes, I processed a lot of this before coming to Norway, but as I said it haunts me and I don't think I will soon be able to repair my own impressions of the encounter.

The whole time I was in New Mexico... while working on my "opera," staying physically and mentally centered on my creative tasks, and trying to process my experiences in Iceland... well, they feel like a delusion, like I was deluding myself. Much of this has to do with the delusion my parents choose to keep themselves comfortably contained within, to protect themselves from the evils of the outside world, but I can recognize that I have also been entertaining my own - about love and transparency and all my idealism for seeking out a better way to live in this corrupted world - so that my own refusal to back down on these key points caused an uncomfortable, unhealthy, and unwelcomed dissonance. My parents could see it coming.... and they accepted it with a surprising amount of patience and grace (at least my mother did) and I owe them credit for that. What I thought was going to be a time of healing and productivity turned out to be the most painful and destructive moments of the year.

I felt a wave of calmness and relief flood over me as soon as I stepped away from their car at the airport. I knew I was coming to you and I knew I was getting out of that boiling consumerist wasteland and suddenly all the strife seemed perfect, as though containing some glowing seed of a lesson that I could patiently attend to without fear. The whole trip I felt energized, focused, sharp... remembering our conversations and our dynamic and your beauty and tapping my foot with impatience to return to our loving cocoon. I had so much hope for our untarnished connection and felt completely prepared to be attentive to all my past mistakes - including the recent experience with my parents - in order to give in to our wellspring with my whole being. After that everything is a bit of a blur... I remember witnessing you becoming flushed with stress for the first time, and then again, and then again. I tried to observe myself to see how I might be responsible and grappled with the familiar discomfort of witnessing someone wrestling with their own fragmented history. I tried to stay present with you and serve your interests however I could. All of my own aspirations, concepts, and projects seemed completely safe, untouched by the interference we were experiencing, and for weeks I continued to feel confident that the emotional vapors would dissipate and we could return to the idyllic loving state I fondly remember in Iceland. You know the rest....

It wasn't until I had to begin focusing on these tasks that I really began to feel a separation taking place between us. I felt like I wasted a lot of time in New Mexico... yes yes, I processed some things, but I really achieved very little in my work. Once I honed in upon the quick succession of epiphanies that led me to start making the found footage videos in preparation for school and job applications, I suddenly felt a new surge of inspiration to make up for lost time and push this information out into the world. I could also see you struggling to figure out the direction of your project, so feeling that we were in similar situations I made the push to complete my goals. Looking back now, I feel like I chose to prioritize my own interests over yours, and even though I feel I remained focused on our shared dynamic, this resulted in the eventual destruction of our bond... although I don't really understand the depth of your need to be recognized. Of course I can't blame you for anything because honestly - all metaphors of "tables" and haunted "boxes" and "rooms" aside - I don't really know what you went through or are still going through. I only see the unpleasant results and hear the stories you tell yourself to stay calm. What I do know is that I wasn't able to handle the intensity of my own projects while immersed in your turmoil. I feel responsible for it, but what's worse is that I'm sitting here now doubting the decisions I have made. My phD application, the jobs, even the videos for the opera... all of it seems so insignificant in hindsight. Being with you felt like the most important thing and in a way I regret not choosing to sacrifice myself completely for your benefit. This is what I believe I am looking for in life, from a certain point of view: total self annihilation in service to another. In the end, my pride and my will couldn't overcome the neglect I felt, the loneliness of not being able to discuss what I was making or writing - of not being understood by my love - or the absurdity of the existential reality I was continuously facing.

Now I have nothing. I want to be here, to be with you, to build a life with you. I haven't been able to think about anything else for months and now, just as suddenly as you came in, it all seems to have vanished. I'm going back to a country that doesn't want me, to no job and few prospects and a jumbled pile of broken relationships that have been festering in neglect and uncertainty for years. For weeks now I have been meditating on what I want my life to look like so how I can manifest myself into that image, but all I keep coming up with is negatives. I know I don't want to live in Los Angeles, New York, or San Francisco, even if that's where all my friends are. I've been heavily researching various freelance and remote employment opportunities so that I could earn money for myself while living wherever I want, but I must admit that the idea of spending all those hours of my life in front of a computer just to insert more meaningless information garbage into the world depresses the shit out of me. Maybe that's what I'm doing with my art also - sometimes I think so - and this is also depressing, or at least demotivating. It's just my low self-esteem right now, but I feel completely unprepared for any teaching jobs and unmotivated to put in the work to make myself appear desirable to the hiring committees. I keep ruminating over what I'm going to do... I can't live with my parents - although I might have to out of desperation and this nightmare constantly. The only thing that feels right is to pursue a position volunteering at an organic farm in rural America, which is probably what I'm going to do, but of course this is temporary, based in a barter system with little hope for making money... but then isn't my whole fantasy of owning a sustainable house out in the middle of nowhere just another diluted fantasy if I don't have someone I love and trust to share it with me, or the "career" that will fund it.... not to mention the horrors of the US political climate and my sincere belief that the world will change dramatically in our lifetime.

I hate that I found myself in the position of articulating the way out all the time in our relationship, because I honestly don't know anything. I don't have a job, sometimes it feels like I hardly have an art practice, and I certainly have only an amateur understanding of philosophical and psychological concepts. I told you once that I want to be the one in the relationship that can say "I don't know," that rolls around kicking and flailing, that can lash out irrationally and then be forgiven when I calm down. This is a sardonic joke of course, the blackest humor, because I know that I'm way too strapped in to be this kind of person. Honestly, I wish I could receive the existential angst of others with open arms and an open heart, to help others recognize their own deficiencies and empower them to overcome. What I lack is purpose. I thought I had found it in you, and in us, but I bowed under the pressure.

I don't know if I would have done anything differently. I don't like to think that way since it doesn't make any difference on where we are now. I think I could have stayed calm, empathetic, full of forgiveness, and saved our relationship at the price of sacrificing my own aspirations, but then again what kind of person would I be if I didn't stand for something and fight for it? I think you also could have acted differently on numerous occasions, adjusted your behavior so simply in order to attend to the needs I was calling attention to.... it's not that I ever wished for you to be a different person, just that I cannot stop wishing for you to be the best possible version of yourself. I desire it for myself as well. It's my lot in life, my own self-defined invisible vessel of autopoiesis. I am Sisyphus. I am the broken pelican of the drunken alchemist. I am the swollen clay becoming dry and brittle to my own internal heat combustion, desperately needing to stay wet and limber.

I don't know if I did everything I could... in the end I sealed off and escaped into my own recesses, as I knew I would, as I tried to warn you about. I became hot and brittle, like my father at his worst, like what I most feared becoming. Maybe I have become this due to fear, most certainly. We all have fear and we all need others to help us heal. I tried to be this for you but seem to have failed. I wanted you to serve me in this way, but for whatever reason - perhaps due to my own faults - you were not able to. In one way, I feel like I've come full circle and I'm back where I started this wild experiment, just before leaving for Iceland in the winter of 2015. I honestly don't know if my dreams of love and nurtured complexity are possible, or desirable, or respectable, as they seem to be continuously failing, and flailing, when I try to put them to use. That's why I'm a fool, so stubborn that I can't let go of my dream. It's also why I may become wise one day, so determined that I refuse to let go of what I know to be right. It's impossible to tell, now or ever, and again it really doesn't matter.

I don't know what to do with myself right now. This state of mourning and self-deprecation is not helping me to find reasons to return to the world and I'm at a loss to do anything about it. I'm stuck in limbo and loneliness and I don't even have a fucking guitar to write songs about it. I have no one and no way to express my frustration, as desperate as I am for a release.

I will try not to blame you. I will also try not to blame myself, even as I continue to hold myself accountable for all of my actions, right or wrong, as I believe we all must if we are not to succumb to the festering deception of the world. Perhaps all this seems dramatic and pointless, and perhaps it is. Time is running out and I don't really have a lot to waste on self-pity because I need to get back to looking for more pointless jobs in more depressing parts of the US, planning more days of a pointless existence with only a pointless end in sight.

Sorry. I don't mean to be so dark about it. I don't know how to talk to you right now and the thought of us hanging out so casually without discussing how we feel makes me nauseous. I want to see you and I also don't want to see you. I want to hate you but can't help but love you, as pathetic as that makes me feel. I want to be in the world and I also don't. I'm sure it will all work itself out with time. I mean, I'm sure I won't die, not anytime soon, and I don't really have much else to lose. I keep telling myself a story about how the greatest epiphanies spawn from the darkest moments of existence... genius sprouts from rock bottom. I don't know why I write this stuff to you now except that maybe I think darkness is better than no contact at all, but maybe that's also foolish. Time will tell all more clearly than I can.

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