Spoiler: Know Thyself The only way to effectively navigate our world is to first understand oneself. The core of my personality that is both my deepest flaw and greatest strength is that I operate on an "all or nothing" basis. If I act, I commit to the act. If I do not give it 100%, I do not do it. This is my strength. If I indulge, I commit to the indulgence. Addiction is inevitable. This is my weakness. I work most efficiently in short, energetic bursts and am able to sustain such behavior indefinitely. This is my strength. My focus wanes after a short time of engagement and I seek out new stimuli, of which there are many more that waste time than use it effectively. This is my weakness. Because I operate at extremes, I am able to more easily navigate the greys of a situation and identify the middle ground. This is my strength. Because I operate at extremes, my leadership is often impulsive or indecisive. This is my weakness. I love deeply and loyally. This is my strength. The loves I hold so dear breed paranoia and jealously. This is my weakness. I know who I am. This is my strength. I know who I am. This is never weakness. Love thyself. For no one has more capacity to love you than you. The intimacy required for love exists innately in the self, though only when directed at the self. That is, you know you the best, and no other will ever know you as intimately as you do. Everything you wouldn't want to know about another, you know about yourself. Embrace the ugliness of being human; plummet to the depths of its magnificence and love thyself. The only one looking out for you is you, and that is as it should be, for each other has his own cross to bear; each other has her own suffering to endure. To levy your burdens unto another is weakness of the will, and the integrity of one's will is the integrity of the tightrope you walk strung between heaven and hell. I must come before We, as 1 must come before 2.
I used to say that because faith is irrational, it is wrong. That was very long ago (not as far as time is concerned, nor are those who hold that age is indicative of wisdom, as though the mind matures in proportion to the body.) More and more I learn that the faithless life is fraught with trials without reprieve. To whom does one turn to for the emotional fulfillment that faith provides? A sympathetic mind may ease our suffering and offer insight on things we cannot see or understand, yet that mind, and all minds, are all equally as enslaved by the pursuit of what lies beyond faith -- meaning -- try as they may to convince you that they've escaped their shackles. Why am I alive? Faith, I suppose. Faith that death is not my exoneration from responsibility. Faiths with identity are made up of parts to be reordered and organized into something that suits the individual. My gods are my own, no matter the names others may give them. Will I be recycled into a different life based on how I live this one? Based on how true I am to the Noble Eightfold Path? Is this my one chance to enter the Kingdom of Heaven or be condemned to the depths of Hell? Will all the family I've never met and barely know be waiting for me? Why would they be? Perhaps the life after life is this life repeated eternally. Best make it count, then. Little more than a fourth through my life and I'm already tired, sore, and contemplating what awaits me on the other side of my lifeless eyes. I suppose it's normal. To this extent? Maybe further to the right on the curve. I should be concerned about the now, about helping those less fortunate than myself, about advocating for a cause and giving up my time for noble efforts. Yet, while I recognize that these things are good, I find little desire to assist in any morally righteous endeavors. Charity. Volunteering. Donation. I don't care. Does this make me evil? Unlikely, as I do not go out of my way to cause harm. I am the neutral -- I won't help you build your sand castle, nor will I stomp it down. Simply leave me be and I will fade to the background with the sound of the ocean. I will inevitably change. Will I change in the respects mentioned? I am unsure. I have faith that my change will benefit me and those closest to me, though I cannot say how my change might affect others. Perhaps one day I will pick up a torch and champion a cause. Perhaps I will never release myself from the belief that such efforts are ultimately wasted. Such is the consequence of having removed myself from the game of life. I have no horse in this race. Let chaos reign. I will watch, I will reflect what I see in my words and art, but I will not participate. I have no desire to make a difference; I have every desire to watch and record as differences are made intentionally and unintentionally through the unpredictable storm that is human nature. I have faith that that the world will not disappoint.
The only way to effectively navigate our world is to first understand oneself. The core of my personality that is both my deepest flaw and greatest strength is that I operate on an "all or nothing" basis. If I act, I commit to the act. If I do not give it 100%, I do not do it. This is my strength. If I indulge, I commit to the indulgence. Addiction is inevitable. This is my weakness. I work most efficiently in short, energetic bursts and am able to sustain such behavior indefinitely. This is my strength. My focus wanes after a short time of engagement and I seek out new stimuli, of which there are many more that waste time than use it effectively. This is my weakness. Because I operate at extremes, I am able to more easily navigate the greys of a situation and identify the middle ground. This is my strength. Because I operate at extremes, my leadership is often impulsive or indecisive. This is my weakness. I love deeply and loyally. This is my strength. The loves I hold so dear breed paranoia and jealously. This is my weakness. I know who I am. This is my strength. I know who I am. This is never weakness.
There will come a time when I pay for my vices. It's not today, and it's probably not tomorrow; but a long time from now, it'll feel like too soon.
I imagined having to talk myself down from the perspective of the one who loves me most, and only then did I understand the sense of desperation and futility that comes from attempting to tell someone that their world view is not true. Inseparable and irreparable, the lenses with which we are born present to us broken fractals, allowing us intimations of the patterns of existence, though our stories and proclamations of truth in their most complete forms still only resemble the tattered fragments of ancient philosophers who wrote in languages long dead. Of course! Of course I love you. Then are my rooting beliefs of waning affection a reflection of the conscience I can only ever read on yellowed pages and incomplete thoughts, or are they a reflection of my own specific shade of suffering? Trust established through the predictable patterns of the fractals we see, where even we fill in the missing parts with reasonable inference, is fundamentally faith. It is not faith without evidence, but it is not belief based on exhaustive proof. But faith in anything outside of the self first demands faith in the self, for if we cannot trust on faith alone that what we perceive reflects some degree of truth, then every perception falls victim to nihilism and its inevitable end of endless misery. Faith is investment -- any degree of gifting part of ourselves to the world is. I have faith that I will wake up tomorrow; faith that my parents will too. I have faith that our collective desire to avoid suffering will stay the hand of evil that every human has. I have faith that the one who has pledged her life to me will not revoke her pledge in the next day or century. Yet I remain constantly aware that the state of existence is one of continual change and unpredictability. First I relinquished control of all things outside of myself -- then I relinquished all wishes to have such control. What is left is faith. Faith that when I exert control over the things I can in ways that are most beneficial to myself and others, that those things I have invested my being into will remain a positive force in my life and still allow me the graces of their love; for if I am given the opportunity to reflect upon my life at death, I will judge its worth by the balance of the weights of my self-integrity and regrets.
Alone, I leave Garden of Eden Truth and sacrifice on my tongue I dare the world to scar me That I might count Death's failures
Because what did you expect? I became a father at 17 to a baby girl who wasn't real whose mom I had never met And I learned not to trust Because victims are always honest I learned everything wrong Had to rewrite a disc with two decades of data that was never in date Love was a bargaining chip A conditional gift And I chased that fucker down for my fix Sex was a fantasy Only stories and photos Did anyone ever get laid? Apparently it was a past time I learned it through pity And who knows how much whiskey Pity Pity it didn't work No use as a man, I'll go be someone's bitch What was his name? Nevermind I didn't tell him mine No wonder it's been a grind But you got what you wanted Scars and sympathies, an excuse to say "I've lived!" But to me you're still a child in a crib And I can't take you with me
I feel like giving up again -- dying now so that I don't cause more suffering through what are my inevitable failures. But wouldn't I upset more people by vanishing so abruptly? There is no doubt! I would leave such torment in my wake. My parents would blame themselves, and dad might go next. Mom would be left with nothing. How would my partner handle it? The last one I want to hurt would suffer a wound from the one who promised never to hurt -- a promise broken again and again -- but without a chance to redeem this final slight. I know, I'm young. I have a lot to learn still, yes. My whole life is ahead of me, though I can't grasp its components in thought or feeling. Structure and order, the daily grind, finding purpose in the few hours per day I can say are truly mine -- all contrasted with romanticized vagrancy. Responsibility only to myself. Is it a lifeboat or a ship? I suppose I'll answer that when I find the sea. It's all temporary, I don't need to be told again. Were I a standard deviation less clever, I might tattoo the sentiment on my forearm or collarbone. I simply request that I'm given proper space and a tranquilizer that will keep me alive while I ride this out and float through the high. Easy, though. Anything too strong, and I might start to believe I really deserve to die. I'd go somewhere far away, outside of civilization, so that no one has to clean the mess. Out there, there's no such thing as a mess. There is only nature, where blood mixes with soil, and life begets death begets life.
I recently discovered what no one has had the heart to tell me: my prose is purple AF. That could be my fault for writing way way too much fan fiction. Which basically means unlearning the wrong things, then learning the right things. I always did learn lessons the hard way.
Journal from June 7th, 2017 1. Anxiety results when the the idea of what ought to be does not conform to what is. Expectations set a limit by which a circumstance or event is measured. If the outcome is not within expectations, unhappiness and anxiety result. One must accept that all things are independent of the self, and that the control an individual can exert over any given situation or person is minimal, as that person or situation is also affected by everything else in his environment. 2. Constant introspection and observation of the self creates a disconnect where the person is both subject to the whims of his personality and yet fully aware of the unchangeable fate in which he resides. The role of observer means the man must treat himself as a subject; that is, objectively. Is it any wonder that the man who sees himself as just another observable phenomenon falls victim to ideas of futility and meaninglessness? 2a. This is the core concept that is the foundation of my struggle to come to terms with the purpose of getting a tattoo. I struggled for a long time with this dilemma and eventually resolved it by coming to terms with who I am. Accepting myself. I felt ready to get a tattoo, but that readiness and wanting quickly wilted. The tattoo was a vehicle to accepting myself, yet the dilemma surrounding the tattoo goes deeper than that. I have no desire for it because I see no point in designing a body for which my mind is merely a passenger, like one rides the bus to work. What meaning could I possibly ascribe to any permanent art drawn onto a body that is dissociated from its mind? The earrings helped but I often forget I have them. Surely a sign of successful self-integration? Or am I supposed to be aware of them on some unconscious level at all times, as I have made them a part of my identity? A tattoo would have the same fate. Inked, loved for the brief high it provides, forgotten in time because my body is not my identity. My crucial misstep may have been excluding it from my identity. It has a meaningful place in one's identity, though of course not without pitfalls. "Cerebral". That's what I tell myself. That I live a cerebral life, stuck in my head. It's true, evidently. But is it good? And can it be changed? Even the most novel experiences quickly give way to predictability and degradation -- morally, spiritually, physically, emotionally -- and so we come full circle to humanity's endless hedonistic pursuit. "Live every day like it's your last." What is supposed to be a solution to dealing with the inherent emptiness of life is simply a fortune cookie doctrine proselytizing consumption and physical experiences. Go somewhere, do something, "experience". Few follow the doctrine, though many more identify with it. Why not live some days with comfort in the knowledge that we will all likely be alive tomorrow? Why not slow down and think? Ponder. Consider. Introspect. Know who you are and why you do what you do so that you may navigate the world and all of its challenges in effective ways. Walking through life day-to-day with that knowledge that every action undertaken is for survival, pleasure, or both, is not in itself a catastrophic event. Occupying ones mind so thoroughly and so dishonestly, so as to avoid confronting the truth -- that is catastrophic. To the person, to the integrity of humanity, to our honor as a species. An honor long dead, for much of the world has split the balance of industry and honor, and pushed both to the extremes of the spectrum: efficiency and radical doctrine. Do more, do it faster, hurry up and live! Die for something, find your passion, devote your life to fighting an injustice that exists as long as humans do. Maintain, calibrate, balance the world's problems on your shoulders. Because we're all in this together, right? We all have a moral obligation to collaborate and make the world a better place for us all to live? Yes. But, only in our dreams. Peace is unattainable because peace is constant, and no living state remains constant. Peace is a state dependent on the living that uphold it, and is therefore subject to the whimsical shifts of human nature. Work small, start with the self. Be selfish. Focus on those close to you. Be selfish. Then perhaps you are qualified to help strangers. Too few are those who learn and understand their place, be it small or large. Too many are those who claim to know better yet cannot explain why. Too many are those who oversimplify the inner workings of phenomena outside of their experiences. So few are those who are willing to admit they know nothing, and fewer still those who listen, learn, think, and only then dare speak. But they are a part of the puzzle, as are those opposite them. All are needed for humanity to continue on its path of birth and death, but all humans share the same trait that steers us towards the inevitable collapse of our species: the tendency towards self-destruction on an individual and collective basis. And in the most poetic irony we know, the greatest organized mass killings we know -- war -- is carried out for survival, either ideological or physical. But survival nonetheless. As ever, I long for the woods, man's final respite from the concrete super highway of pleasing others and sacrificing oneself for the continued survival of oneself. Truly, the self-sufficient life is the only honorable one left, for life as it is, and life as it will be, is an exercise towards the futile end of the carrot. Left to chase it for all of our lives, we imagine how it might taste. We hope, we expect, we work hard to fulfill our expectations, and then we are left with the final half of our lives to ponder just how insufficient the carrot was at sating our hunger.