Introspective Self-Satisfied Twaddle, hand typed in a badly lit room on a Tuesday.
Once when young I was spiritual, what ever that means? I was convinced that there was something off kilter with reality and you only needed to catch it in a slanticular gaze and something profound would be revealed. Foolish child!
I approached the universe intuitively, which works okay but the other kids think you're weird. I can still switch that part of myself on and off at will. I think that’s where I draw many of my words from, this “me” that used to be.
But very little survived my judgmental adult scrutiny, the truth in all its ugliness always seemed more important to me then feeling safe in any belief system. I was disappointed once too often.
Life hasn’t been kind to me in many ways and I carry a lot of resentment and anger, which I take great pains to stifle, it’s not anyone else’s problem except mine.
I remember that line I wrote: “rage is now my craze.” But bitterness can wear you out and my better nature always overpowers my desire to vent my evil soul.
I guess I’m a domesticated ScaryMonster?
The problem I have is that I’m a cynic that wants to be proven wrong, the more I’m disappointed with the world the deeper I find myself reaching into the gnarly branches of my experience so that I can find meaning. My mind is an abundant resource.
And I need to touch that wonderment I felt as a child occasionally just to keep sane.
It’s sad when you come to realize that the ultimate truth of the universe is that there is no ultimate truth, only love, loss and how we deal with them.
Intermixed with a lot of eating and defecation until you get old and your heart stops. Sometimes not even that.
Every whore has a sad story and yet everyone with a sad story is not a whore, a tragic life is not an excuse for weakness.
It seems that Nietzsche’s quote: “To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” Is only true if one has a reason to live.
Suffer? I think I’ll give up my suffering, it’s your turn now anyway?
Joy is fleeting and can be found in a lover’s flesh or a dose of heroin; these are thing’s you can lose yourself in but I wouldn’t recommend that latter.
You also can lose yourself in words or art or the Kardashians! Insane love can be as toxic as any other obsession. But lameness is universally irritating.
It’s our projects and plans that keep us going. Human beings are different to any other creature on Earth in this respect. For us it’s not good enough just to survive and reproduce or it shouldn’t be.
That is unless survival is the only point. Is it? I’d really like to know.
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