The Annoying Quality of Now

I know my thoughts are powerful. They're the reason I keep getting mixed results. My mind runs like an express train on drugs (or, more appropriately, a manic, compulsive teleporter hopping from one time-space dimension to another at random), always meandering, always bored, always in search of something to hook itself on to, always finding it, always losing it, always taking this all in stride.

So, knowing this, that thoughts create worlds, that theories spawn universes, that mental energies can take down an empire, scares me. I find it too easy, and then too hard to let go of anger, regret, joy, beauty, bliss; I am unwilling to express judgment on what is okay to hold on to and what isn't -- these are all reactions to the outside so something in me tells me not to fall in love with them.

What I'd like, is the assurance, like the hunger Grenouille (in Perfume, in that cave, sniffing himself) had for significance. The security of knowing that dressed down, in my rawness, without all these external baggages, without all these intellectually snobbery, without all these walls and freedoms and choices, that the multiple universes think I'm okay.

My thoughts right now are creating my future, I recognize this with a smugness so typical of me and my years spent in angst. I can force happiness out my throat, for the world to hear, but it's the subtitles that are hard to get rid of.