guided meditation ASMR — your therapist’s intern calms you down roleplay — monotonous colonial apocalypse comfort ASMR #RoadTo100K

By | 1 May 2021

I know obviously you’ve got stuff going on, but please get up. They don’t really pay me for this, it’s a cadetship.

Okay, well, since you’re gonna lie prostrate on the floor like that I mo’aswell practice. Can I join you? Any objections? Okay, well, um.

Welcome to this, your guided meditation. It is just for you and not for anyone else on Cordite dot org dot au.

Find a comfortable place, somewhere you won’t be disrupted. Like the floor next to my ringing phone, for instance, sure, fine. Okay, unclench your jaw.

Tsk tsk tsk tsk. Sk Sk Sk.

Like that, yes, now your eyebrows. Slacken your shoulders, feel the weight of your body on the lino. Move that relaxation downwards. Like that, like that. Now, inhale. Now, exhale.

Now, if you’re like me and your head spins when you do these things, you might be asking:

How do I stay alive boiling this fury far in me? When these listless, flaccid poems only salt right up my rage? Right? How could I use this bloody and limp tongue to dignify those I love? To offer more than symbols: empty and aware with no end?

We’re all in that ugly, restless chorus shouting our shared fate.

Tk tk tk tk tsk, swoosh.

Hey yeah sorry, just step around them no they’re fine it’s okay — yeah she’s just down the hall waiting for you. Did you bring your Medicare card? Okay, just leave it by the phone. No, I. Just hand it to me then, okay, third door. Remember to subscribe and hit the bell.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll remind yourself — your every yawp of public pain is little more than a boreful background hum to others. The same is true for all among our midst — amidst all vaguely and horribly this.

We are choking on the smoke like our emphasytic parents, only catching little breaths atop our last. I certainly have no measure, that shameful uselessness we feel, except 164/94 and two new pills.

Shhhhh, tk tk tk tk, shhhhhhhh, hmmmmm

Notice without hard judgement, all the baking wrath in you. Every time it bubbles, bump into a new risk group.

Pick an affirmation to return to. There is no pressure. It only matters what it means to you. Anyway, each one is a humiliating gesture to our vast and weird oppression without end.

It is okay to surrender to that impulse. Let go of any tension.

Nothing you say will do anything but embarrass you. Also pretty much no doctor will prescribe benzos anymore. All of us will fail to scale with words the terror that we meet. If only there was something we could do when all around us buckles and dies other than, well, exposition.

Anyway, um, return to the breath. I have to make some calls.


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