Originally posted by drewnogalThat's beautiful. I really mean that. Today I was in a meadow. Blue sky and clouds. If I had been alone I would have had no distractions.
I lose myself in daydreams when I'm gardening. I can spend hours digging out blackberry roots and weeds on a small piece of scrubland I have where I imagine that I am living on a smallholding in sunny France.
I am a pathological daydreamer, and it goes in 2 very dangerous
directions. Either I dream about crazy ventures, which I end up plotting
in reality, planning, and developing for weeks or months, until
someone close to me tells me that they're nuts and shows me how
they wouldn't work.
The other path is less dangerous. I daydream about ways of starting
revolutions, executing rich people, creating a bloodbath and
scandalizing the good consciences of the media puppets of the 1%.
And I turn angry, bitter and resentful for months after I realize nobody
will follow me into anarchism.
Originally posted by drewnogalI think mine is too, but it may be that I'm only just beginning to realise it, at 63 years old.
In spite of being the fifth of six children I spent a lot of time alone in the large garden of an isolated house at the top of a long hill as a small child. My imagination was my best friend. 🙂
Nostalgic memories are powerful don't you think?
Originally posted by SeitseI'm with you. It's as if the real thing has no meaning. So I imagine the way I think it should be. Then I'm caught in the dilemma that I'm not the author of reality, only a player.
I am a pathological daydreamer, and it goes in 2 very dangerous
directions. Either I dream about crazy ventures, which I end up plotting
in reality, planning, and developing for weeks or months, until
someone close to me tells me that they're nuts and shows me how
they wouldn't work.
The other path is less dangerous. I daydream about ways of starting ...[text shortened]... rn angry, bitter and resentful for months after I realize nobody
will follow me into anarchism.
