R. Brockey
an open life
Latest posts
Your only motivation is money?
If the best motivation you can come up with for working is money and the accumulation of wealth, that’s a failure of vision, not a reflection of reality. If the only reason you work hard is to have a bigger slice than the next person, you’re a rube. You’re exactly the mark that is being […]
A Moment of Existence
What is it about this experience that you find appealing? I’m trying to talk directly to the brain here. Not the consciousness it projects. Even joy, anymore, is so tedious for so little. The experience of joy and the involuntary transition from one feeling, one experience to another is all so jarring. I forget that […]
Notes for therapy
I don’t know how to receive people’s gratitude. I have a student who expresses so much gratitude to me and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t really want it. Don’t feel grateful to me. Raise your standards for other people. I’m not going above-and-beyond. I’m treating people exactly as my internal […]
🐢
My wheels are spinning, I just need traction.I’m so out of practice, but still ready for action
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It’s so loudand crowded I am the only commonality to all of my unhappiness Why is maximization the only acceptable path to value?
Notes for therapy
I’m questioning whether emotions actually exist. Or maybe I just don’t understand how they are actually defined. The same emotion in different people leads to different behaviors. Different emotions lead to the same behaviors. The stimuli of emotions differs between people. So, how can we ever say two people are experiencing the same emotion? What […]
No safety
The world is dangerous, causticI’m not wanted here and,Friend, you’re not either Retreating inside is no less fraughtThere is no happy place,Just shame’s endless thorny vines Illness of mind, a euphemismFor an ill-fitting person,Not vicious nor greedy enough An ill-fitting world I won’t, I can’tExpose my heart to any longer.Inside, an enemy mind A self […]
kill the brain
No one ever asks why I hate myself.
They just insist that I don’t. Maybe I’m a monster I keep hidden. Maybe I’m the end kept at bay. Maybe I’m worse than what I show to you. Maybe I am made of filth, filled and overrun by putrescence. And I just don’t insist that I’m not.