Parts still seem right.
But then, my views are always changing, aren't they.
I wish I knew something, but I'm not sure what it is that I wish that I knew.
Always just an expression of the moment, and never an expression of anything constant.
If I were constant, …
But I'm not, I don't think.
Now, it seems, I don't quite know what love is.
I know that the phrase "know what" has two w's in a row.
I know that the pronunciation of every letter ought to be spelled out in writing,
like we do for numbers. One, two, three. Ei, be, see, dee. Like that, sort of. But double-u just seems strange looking. double-ewe? Double-you, I guess.
But again, I don't know what love is.
I know what standing in the shower and writing words in the condensation is.
"ridiculous" on the curtain, because it was ridiculous to feel that way. "emily" on the window, but backwards, because you always write backwards when you're writing on glass, so that it will be readable from the outside. but then, it's a second story bathroom, and I never intended it to be read. then I also wrote backwards, "love is a part of life". I don't know. but I know how it felt then. I just don't know what love is.
then I think I could just go get a regular girlfriend. and I think, it might be nice to eat food with a pretty girl for fun. it wouldn't be like writing words in the condensation. it might be stable, I might be content. but then I thought, "two roads diverged in a wood…" and I also thought, I'd really rather just sit and wait and see if perhaps at some point she forgives me for being so tactlessly romantic, and wants to be friends, really friends, and get coffee and talk about things. and see if my envisioning was not wholly incorrect, if perhaps we could get along really well, in a really interesting and worthwhile way.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Want and not want
In my experience, there is nothing to which I can point and say, "This is good, and this is evil."
No, rather, there is want and not want. And if good and evil exist, they exist outside of this, and if I am to believe that there is a god, and that he is a good god, then I must believe that the good and evil are not really any of my concern.
So, how do I approach life? It is a creative process. You see, to accept that there is a good and an evil somewhere within the grasp of my understanding and experience, is to deny that I can create my own destiny. And to deny that I can create, denies me any feeling of personal worth. And, if there is a god, and if he is a good god, then he must wish me to feel that I am worth something.
I seem to need to work within the confines of my own heavily emotional biases. But I think that I can, that I must, seek to succeed, or I will not have anything at all to do, and will feel sorely depressed.
So, I supposed that I might be wrong on many accounts, as to how the world outside my dreams actually works. And I have been proven this to be true to an extent, that I truly am sort of lost in the world. This has caused a sore spot to develop on my heart, but I have remembered the science of my heart, such that I feel that I can and should do something about it.
So what do we have? Animal desire, complex emotional contingencies, the if-this-then-this of romance.
And I find myself faced with a very real choice, realer and more directly accessible than the choice between belief or disbelief in a god: should I be hopelessly in love, or should I attempt a more rational approach?
I have found that my desire for this girl is rather stable, indeed, I have found that any time I fall in love, I cannot cease to care until I have found that there is a better love to be found someplace else. Also, that every time I fall in love, I mean fall hard, it is very nearly impossible to consider that there might be any possibility of a better love someplace else. Because when I fall in love, I mean fall hard, my whole heart moves to a new position, to where suddenly the girl can do no wrong, none, absolutely none.
So, being that I cannot cease to care, I feel that to try to be rational about the whole thing, to question my desire, and to seek a more "reasonable" goal, denies my very nature. I would be fighting against the tide of my own heart, and with what? With what? With my brain. This might seem acceptable to some, but for me, this is unsatisfactory. Depressing. Detrimental to my health. Hah. But no, I know myself too well to try to do this. I do not want to do this, and so I simply can't, can't do it right, so I shouldn't try.
But I know what this decision sets me up for. Let downs. Heartache. Totally worth it, though. Because it also sets me up for the possibility of love. And that possibility frees me to move, to move with sincere creativity. And it's such a difficult goal— sincerity is no simple thing. How can I be creative, while at the same time taking in mind every single thing that I want? It's always this, this huge challenge, trying to find some way to explain myself to others, to not speak counter to my reality, while also satisfying their need for continuity in explanation. To be honest, my reality is not, by nature, continuous, not spotlessly clean. It's complex, highly so. And it's a bit messy at the moment, but I'm trying to clear that up; although I wish that I could just experience it, and be trusted, and say strange things all the time, and be loved for that. A million wishes. A million. I trudge through them all day and night.
For the moment, ah, for the moment, I am forced to continue to love the girl. It is an animal thing. And I think that she can appreciate that. And I can see that appreciation remaining stable, in some sense, such that we might not need to be at odds, though her current trajectory appears to be a plane away. And then, it isn't impossible to think that a stable appreciation might become something different. Stability is nice.
But I don't know, again, I could be wrong about her appreciation. I just hope that it is so. I've always hoped things such as this. Yes, even against commonly accepted rationality.
And if all these hopes are capable of being satisfied, some day, though I swim through an ocean to get there, there is the possibility that life is not meaningless. And if life is not meaningless, then there must be a god. And if there is a god, then my approach should work. And if there isn't. Then I've gone down fighting.
No, rather, there is want and not want. And if good and evil exist, they exist outside of this, and if I am to believe that there is a god, and that he is a good god, then I must believe that the good and evil are not really any of my concern.
So, how do I approach life? It is a creative process. You see, to accept that there is a good and an evil somewhere within the grasp of my understanding and experience, is to deny that I can create my own destiny. And to deny that I can create, denies me any feeling of personal worth. And, if there is a god, and if he is a good god, then he must wish me to feel that I am worth something.
I seem to need to work within the confines of my own heavily emotional biases. But I think that I can, that I must, seek to succeed, or I will not have anything at all to do, and will feel sorely depressed.
So, I supposed that I might be wrong on many accounts, as to how the world outside my dreams actually works. And I have been proven this to be true to an extent, that I truly am sort of lost in the world. This has caused a sore spot to develop on my heart, but I have remembered the science of my heart, such that I feel that I can and should do something about it.
So what do we have? Animal desire, complex emotional contingencies, the if-this-then-this of romance.
And I find myself faced with a very real choice, realer and more directly accessible than the choice between belief or disbelief in a god: should I be hopelessly in love, or should I attempt a more rational approach?
I have found that my desire for this girl is rather stable, indeed, I have found that any time I fall in love, I cannot cease to care until I have found that there is a better love to be found someplace else. Also, that every time I fall in love, I mean fall hard, it is very nearly impossible to consider that there might be any possibility of a better love someplace else. Because when I fall in love, I mean fall hard, my whole heart moves to a new position, to where suddenly the girl can do no wrong, none, absolutely none.
So, being that I cannot cease to care, I feel that to try to be rational about the whole thing, to question my desire, and to seek a more "reasonable" goal, denies my very nature. I would be fighting against the tide of my own heart, and with what? With what? With my brain. This might seem acceptable to some, but for me, this is unsatisfactory. Depressing. Detrimental to my health. Hah. But no, I know myself too well to try to do this. I do not want to do this, and so I simply can't, can't do it right, so I shouldn't try.
But I know what this decision sets me up for. Let downs. Heartache. Totally worth it, though. Because it also sets me up for the possibility of love. And that possibility frees me to move, to move with sincere creativity. And it's such a difficult goal— sincerity is no simple thing. How can I be creative, while at the same time taking in mind every single thing that I want? It's always this, this huge challenge, trying to find some way to explain myself to others, to not speak counter to my reality, while also satisfying their need for continuity in explanation. To be honest, my reality is not, by nature, continuous, not spotlessly clean. It's complex, highly so. And it's a bit messy at the moment, but I'm trying to clear that up; although I wish that I could just experience it, and be trusted, and say strange things all the time, and be loved for that. A million wishes. A million. I trudge through them all day and night.
For the moment, ah, for the moment, I am forced to continue to love the girl. It is an animal thing. And I think that she can appreciate that. And I can see that appreciation remaining stable, in some sense, such that we might not need to be at odds, though her current trajectory appears to be a plane away. And then, it isn't impossible to think that a stable appreciation might become something different. Stability is nice.
But I don't know, again, I could be wrong about her appreciation. I just hope that it is so. I've always hoped things such as this. Yes, even against commonly accepted rationality.
And if all these hopes are capable of being satisfied, some day, though I swim through an ocean to get there, there is the possibility that life is not meaningless. And if life is not meaningless, then there must be a god. And if there is a god, then my approach should work. And if there isn't. Then I've gone down fighting.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
A place of balanced hopefulness
I've reached a place of balanced hopefulness,
that words can scarcely explain…
acceptance of the state of things,
and love without explanation.
I'm quite okay with being refused,
even as the offer was never made,
absurdities, they seem to rule
my thoughts… I really can't explain.
I've reached a place of balanced hopefulness.
And I'm a terrible poet.
But it feels poetic.
So I've tried to capture it.
Yes, I do, I do want to live. Very much so.
Like maybe it needs to become apparent that I've determined what I'm trying to say...
… before anything will become worth reading, or hearing, or anything like that.
But I know. I mean, I really think I do, naturally. I know what I'm trying to say.
But, how do I say it well?
Am I beating around the bush?
What is life?
Is my wondering merely escapism?
So many things it could be…
I could be the bad guy. I could be the crazy homeless person begging for change to go buy drugs. That could be the state of my internal affairs. I'm driven to figure it out, because I want to be the good guy. But sometimes I just wanna throw in the towel and accept that I'm probably less than great.
I'm driven around in circles.. but then I get back to wondering what I'm worth without a second opinion. I've got myself. I've had myself for all my life. But it doesn't make me happy. I want someone else. I want someone else inside here, in this corner, in my thoughts. I want to open up and be loved and accepted. But, to open up, does not necessarily entail being loved nor accepted. BUT—
in which possible scenario might it be possible— in which possible scenario might it be probable— in which possible scenario might it be a definite FACT… oh, dear lord.
So I found a possible scenario, where I thought the chances might be decent, and I proceeded into it as best I could.
I can't know the facts until I enter the realm of real people.
I mean enter into the realm of real people, with my real self.
A self, as convoluted and ridiculous as anything or anyone ever really was.
Perhaps, to open myself up for acceptance, and for scorn.
To lay myself out on the concrete, to be either hated or loved…
Maybe just for a moment, and then to beat a hasty retreat?
Maybe for a little while, and then to be hated so much that I'm murdered?
And then maybe, just maybe, if I lie there just long enough, though I'm hated by some large number, I will be loved by a precious few…
and these few might stand up for me and defend me from the murderous many.
Where am I? in thought… where in thought?
And how can I get to the center, or, to the part or thing that really matters…
and, can I really ever anyway?
I must believe that I can. I must, or I've no reason to be, I'm not worth anything.
It IS a strange existence. It's a strange life. And it seems the wondering never ends, or is unending, because there are so many different ways to say a thing, and to view a thing… and which one is best? And which one matters? Do any of them matter?
What matters to me? It's so simple. It's the simplest thing.
"To love and to be loved"
But although it is simple, it is so very hard to realise.
Because it was born in a make believe world.
How can it ever grow into a living creature, in this world, this world I enter by beginning to write?
[and by opening my eyes, awakening from this dream, as it were, and saying things and befriending people and making plans to go get coffee]
Requires concerted effort. Directional thought. Purposeful words. Things that don't come easy.
Don't suppose anything good ever came easy. Or, so I've been told.
And so, I suppose, ends this current stream of thought, this current attempt at living: for now, incomplete, insufficient perhaps, but an effort all the same.
But I know. I mean, I really think I do, naturally. I know what I'm trying to say.
But, how do I say it well?
Am I beating around the bush?
What is life?
Is my wondering merely escapism?
So many things it could be…
I could be the bad guy. I could be the crazy homeless person begging for change to go buy drugs. That could be the state of my internal affairs. I'm driven to figure it out, because I want to be the good guy. But sometimes I just wanna throw in the towel and accept that I'm probably less than great.
I'm driven around in circles.. but then I get back to wondering what I'm worth without a second opinion. I've got myself. I've had myself for all my life. But it doesn't make me happy. I want someone else. I want someone else inside here, in this corner, in my thoughts. I want to open up and be loved and accepted. But, to open up, does not necessarily entail being loved nor accepted. BUT—
in which possible scenario might it be possible— in which possible scenario might it be probable— in which possible scenario might it be a definite FACT… oh, dear lord.
So I found a possible scenario, where I thought the chances might be decent, and I proceeded into it as best I could.
I can't know the facts until I enter the realm of real people.
I mean enter into the realm of real people, with my real self.
A self, as convoluted and ridiculous as anything or anyone ever really was.
Perhaps, to open myself up for acceptance, and for scorn.
To lay myself out on the concrete, to be either hated or loved…
Maybe just for a moment, and then to beat a hasty retreat?
Maybe for a little while, and then to be hated so much that I'm murdered?
And then maybe, just maybe, if I lie there just long enough, though I'm hated by some large number, I will be loved by a precious few…
and these few might stand up for me and defend me from the murderous many.
Where am I? in thought… where in thought?
And how can I get to the center, or, to the part or thing that really matters…
and, can I really ever anyway?
I must believe that I can. I must, or I've no reason to be, I'm not worth anything.
It IS a strange existence. It's a strange life. And it seems the wondering never ends, or is unending, because there are so many different ways to say a thing, and to view a thing… and which one is best? And which one matters? Do any of them matter?
What matters to me? It's so simple. It's the simplest thing.
"To love and to be loved"
But although it is simple, it is so very hard to realise.
Because it was born in a make believe world.
How can it ever grow into a living creature, in this world, this world I enter by beginning to write?
[and by opening my eyes, awakening from this dream, as it were, and saying things and befriending people and making plans to go get coffee]
Requires concerted effort. Directional thought. Purposeful words. Things that don't come easy.
Don't suppose anything good ever came easy. Or, so I've been told.
And so, I suppose, ends this current stream of thought, this current attempt at living: for now, incomplete, insufficient perhaps, but an effort all the same.
I don't suppose I actually necessarily need you to read any of this
[Well, my coffee turned into honey, but I can explain.
But then, now I have Sunkist instead anyway, so I may not explain.
But then perhaps, perhaps to say something and not to explain,
perhaps this is an unkind thing to do to a person such as yourself.
In theory, the purpose of this blog is to work through the purpose of its existence.
Kind of like how I feel that the purpose of my life is to figure out why I'm alive.
Most of the time, I just have "ideas" running around in my head, directionlessly.
When I sit down to write, it's because some idea has come up, and feels more important, like it needs to be understood in a certain light.
In a major way, though, I've observed a certain fact of my existence:
If I do not allow myself the freedom to express any and every thought that I have,
then I'll feel unhappy, and unmotivated, and I'll never express anything.
I do truly want to say things that people will understand,
but, something in me refuses to cooperate, demands to be in charge of the whole process.
And then on the other hand,
what about other things that might keep me from expressing myself?
And is self-expression really such a big deal, that it should be worthy of devoting my every effort towards it?
I think that it sort of must be, otherwise I would never have... "lain in this grave of a body", or something like that.
But I'm alright with being pushed to the side, out of the limelight, out of focus, out of anyone's field of vision I mean. I can live over here, in this blog, if I can just sit here and figure out what I'm doing anyhow. If I can just express myself, and allow it to be seen, but not to force anyone to read it.
Maybe I can reach the end of this train of thought, and figure out what I'm doing, and why; and then maybe I'll have a good idea of how to proceed.]
I can find reasons to regret having said anything at all. To "learn from my mistakes". To change my outlook, my perspective.
And it's really all the same, if I'm just over here in the corner anyhow.
BUT—
if I allow another person into this corner, and especially if I invite them…
then it suddenly matters what I say.
And that's sort of what makes life exciting.
But it can also make life a bit overwhelming at times.
But then, now I have Sunkist instead anyway, so I may not explain.
But then perhaps, perhaps to say something and not to explain,
perhaps this is an unkind thing to do to a person such as yourself.
In theory, the purpose of this blog is to work through the purpose of its existence.
Kind of like how I feel that the purpose of my life is to figure out why I'm alive.
Most of the time, I just have "ideas" running around in my head, directionlessly.
When I sit down to write, it's because some idea has come up, and feels more important, like it needs to be understood in a certain light.
In a major way, though, I've observed a certain fact of my existence:
If I do not allow myself the freedom to express any and every thought that I have,
then I'll feel unhappy, and unmotivated, and I'll never express anything.
I do truly want to say things that people will understand,
but, something in me refuses to cooperate, demands to be in charge of the whole process.
And then on the other hand,
what about other things that might keep me from expressing myself?
And is self-expression really such a big deal, that it should be worthy of devoting my every effort towards it?
I think that it sort of must be, otherwise I would never have... "lain in this grave of a body", or something like that.
But I'm alright with being pushed to the side, out of the limelight, out of focus, out of anyone's field of vision I mean. I can live over here, in this blog, if I can just sit here and figure out what I'm doing anyhow. If I can just express myself, and allow it to be seen, but not to force anyone to read it.
Maybe I can reach the end of this train of thought, and figure out what I'm doing, and why; and then maybe I'll have a good idea of how to proceed.]
I can find reasons to regret having said anything at all. To "learn from my mistakes". To change my outlook, my perspective.
And it's really all the same, if I'm just over here in the corner anyhow.
BUT—
if I allow another person into this corner, and especially if I invite them…
then it suddenly matters what I say.
And that's sort of what makes life exciting.
But it can also make life a bit overwhelming at times.
Life as an experiment
So, all these things that I've said have been entirely true.
And yet, being that I'm a paradox, and my life is a paradox,
in many cases it is also possible that the complete opposite is also true.
Sometimes in life, it's just something that some people do,
well they fall in love with someone they know nothing about.
In this particular case, I was attacked rather viciously by these unreasonable feelings.
The point of the matter is, some people, when presented with a lack of information
tend to fill in the gaps with elements from their subconscious dream world.
Welcome to my life.
I rarely have nightmares. So naturally I tend to expect the best in people,
however the worst possible thing that a person can do, it seems, is be silent.
Because silence suggests a lack of interest. Lack of interest suggests lack of care.
And then, beyond this, it gets rather complicated and difficult to describe.
Nonetheless, if I could only reciprocate this lack of care, then everything would return to normal.
I could feel, you know, like maybe I was 35% of a good person.
But, if I care, and the other does not, then I feel much like 0% of a good person.
But then, if I can forget the care that I pretty much invented out of thin air…
and, perhaps I can…
… just seems to necessitate a horrible selfishness.
Although mayhaps that's alright. Sure wish I'd brought my coffee in here.
Do I wish to be sane?
Difficult to decide.
But then, no, it's black and white, really.
I do wish to be sane.
I could paint a lovely picture of a scenario in which I am sane, and also free to pursue happiness,
and it is better, I think, than an image wherein I am insane and free to pursue happiness.
However, insanity is actually bondage, I think, so, perhaps I couldn't paint a picture wherein I am insane and free to pursue happiness. Free to wish for happiness, sure.
BUT. Is sanity the negation of the wish for happiness?
THIS. is the clincher.
Howabout an image wherein I wish for happiness, but allow for unhappiness?
Well, hey, I know that picture. I do my best to live in it.
Sometimes the wish gets so large that the allowance has no real space to breathe.
And then I remind myself, between fits of massively improbable dreams, that the dreams are merely dreams. And I tell myself to stop dreaming, but I don't take myself seriously enough.
But then I do take myself seriously. I do. Because I really do recognise the nature of these dreams, that they are only best-case scenarios. There truly are worse things that could happen. Terrible things, and then not so terrible things. And I remember that the reality generally lies somewhere between terrible and wonderful. But I can never predict where exactly. So I begin to generate worst-case scenarios. I need to go get my coffee.
I would very much like to maintain my sanity.
But I can also imagine a scenario wherein I am insane, and it is perceived in a certain light by the other person, and the end result is a dissolution of insanity, which is really a great story, and I love a good story— but, really how feasible is that?
No great story was ever great if it was never capable of being true.
But, I'm reminded of philosophers, and scientific theorists, and how they're always talking about possible worlds, and all of that, and how no one really knows much about much, save that we seem to exist, and we seem to be conscious. It's a vast world, an essay in and of itself, I mean, were I to explain what any of this has to do with any of the rest of this, it would take paragraphs. At least one paragraph. Perhaps pages.
This is a good time to go get my coffee.
And yet, being that I'm a paradox, and my life is a paradox,
in many cases it is also possible that the complete opposite is also true.
Sometimes in life, it's just something that some people do,
well they fall in love with someone they know nothing about.
In this particular case, I was attacked rather viciously by these unreasonable feelings.
The point of the matter is, some people, when presented with a lack of information
tend to fill in the gaps with elements from their subconscious dream world.
Welcome to my life.
I rarely have nightmares. So naturally I tend to expect the best in people,
however the worst possible thing that a person can do, it seems, is be silent.
Because silence suggests a lack of interest. Lack of interest suggests lack of care.
And then, beyond this, it gets rather complicated and difficult to describe.
Nonetheless, if I could only reciprocate this lack of care, then everything would return to normal.
I could feel, you know, like maybe I was 35% of a good person.
But, if I care, and the other does not, then I feel much like 0% of a good person.
But then, if I can forget the care that I pretty much invented out of thin air…
and, perhaps I can…
… just seems to necessitate a horrible selfishness.
Although mayhaps that's alright. Sure wish I'd brought my coffee in here.
Do I wish to be sane?
Difficult to decide.
But then, no, it's black and white, really.
I do wish to be sane.
I could paint a lovely picture of a scenario in which I am sane, and also free to pursue happiness,
and it is better, I think, than an image wherein I am insane and free to pursue happiness.
However, insanity is actually bondage, I think, so, perhaps I couldn't paint a picture wherein I am insane and free to pursue happiness. Free to wish for happiness, sure.
BUT. Is sanity the negation of the wish for happiness?
THIS. is the clincher.
Howabout an image wherein I wish for happiness, but allow for unhappiness?
Well, hey, I know that picture. I do my best to live in it.
Sometimes the wish gets so large that the allowance has no real space to breathe.
And then I remind myself, between fits of massively improbable dreams, that the dreams are merely dreams. And I tell myself to stop dreaming, but I don't take myself seriously enough.
But then I do take myself seriously. I do. Because I really do recognise the nature of these dreams, that they are only best-case scenarios. There truly are worse things that could happen. Terrible things, and then not so terrible things. And I remember that the reality generally lies somewhere between terrible and wonderful. But I can never predict where exactly. So I begin to generate worst-case scenarios. I need to go get my coffee.
I would very much like to maintain my sanity.
But I can also imagine a scenario wherein I am insane, and it is perceived in a certain light by the other person, and the end result is a dissolution of insanity, which is really a great story, and I love a good story— but, really how feasible is that?
No great story was ever great if it was never capable of being true.
But, I'm reminded of philosophers, and scientific theorists, and how they're always talking about possible worlds, and all of that, and how no one really knows much about much, save that we seem to exist, and we seem to be conscious. It's a vast world, an essay in and of itself, I mean, were I to explain what any of this has to do with any of the rest of this, it would take paragraphs. At least one paragraph. Perhaps pages.
This is a good time to go get my coffee.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Fucking weird idea
I'm never really sorry for anything. It's a ruse. I intend everything.
I intend to go on forever and fuck everything up.
[And then I'll die, eventually, if things remain as they are]
[But I can make believe I'll never die]
But then I'll just be talking to myself…
So be it? Do I really have a choice?
BUT WHY YOU, we all may wonder.
There are reasons, and then there are reasons.
But it's all madness.
I chose to write to you, to think about getting coffee,
because I'm mad. But what is madness?
Why do I exist? Question might plague me, but might mean nothing at all to you.
And there it is, words you might never read.
Still don't feel like I'm wasting my time. Even if I'm insane. Even if you decide that this is ridiculous. Even if it kills me. [especially if it kills me]
I intend to go on forever and fuck everything up.
[And then I'll die, eventually, if things remain as they are]
[But I can make believe I'll never die]
But then I'll just be talking to myself…
So be it? Do I really have a choice?
BUT WHY YOU, we all may wonder.
There are reasons, and then there are reasons.
But it's all madness.
I chose to write to you, to think about getting coffee,
because I'm mad. But what is madness?
Why do I exist? Question might plague me, but might mean nothing at all to you.
And there it is, words you might never read.
Still don't feel like I'm wasting my time. Even if I'm insane. Even if you decide that this is ridiculous. Even if it kills me. [especially if it kills me]
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