This hasn't been resolved. We're both not in a great state of mind. She represents a world I don't ever want to be a part of. She represents the known, the shallow, the ones who are not deep nor great nor grateful. The ones who do not respect one another or care for ones emotions above one's physical characteristics. The ones who see everything for face value. The ones who do not reach deeper. The ones who are unfeeling and say "I told you so" when you are hurt. The ones who are vicious. The ones who do not apologize. The ones who are so self-seeking that the best way to show them is to have passion for something that will harm them, which is being weak in the longest run. But they do not know. They do not see things for more than monetary value. They do not love one another. They do not know one another. They do not care. They are indifferent and selfish. If an issue does not affect them, they do not even have the time to listen. If an issue does not invoke thoughts of shallow, selfish desires and wants and needs, they are unimportant. This is foul. Only foul. Yet so fair a face, behind the makeup and the things. Behind the success. Behind the cars and the houses and the big swingsets on the expensive property somewhere else in the world, there is something there. There is something there that hates itself and everyone else. There is something there that wishes to kill all that is fun and good. There is something there. Yet behind that something else there is a soul. A soul who has been hurt. A soul who is the way she is because of her history. There is a soul that has been mistreated, a soul who lived so passively that she never knew "no" or pain or hurt. And this soul has begun to devour herself.
This is not resolved. I hope the best for this country.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
~Lord Byron
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
~Lord Byron
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I was asked to answer a series of questions by a friend because I feel the drenching dregs of winter and that the marrow of life has been sucked from my bones as of late. The first of the questions was, "What made me happy before?" Happiness being not yet defined, I think I shall seek the help of a dictionary. Because what exactly is happiness anyway?! I think the best the dictionary did was "Enjoying, showing, or marked by pleasure, satisfaction, or joy." Pleasure is something I used to get from a good cup of coffee; participating in a long, meaningful conversation; reading a good book; listening to and making music of all kinds; petting, walking or brushing the dog; baking things or simply going for a long walk. I used to find satisfaction upon the completion of things which gave me pleasure, and also upon the completion of things like cleaning, helping someone, or running. I found profound joy in worship, friendship, and the love of my family.
The second question I was asked to answer was "What good and bad things happened this year" This year I met the love of my life, I composed three new songs, I wrote endless poems and blogged and did things in books. I learned to think differently. I learned what it means to be there for people who are truly suffering. But to ask what good things happened perhaps means more, what things of good fortune happened this year to me. And to answer that question: not alot. I am not one to complain about things though. That's the problem. It isn't as if I live in third world country and everyone I know is dying of aids. It isn't as if I am likely to starve to death. I am getting an incredible education at a fantastic school. I have a plethora of people who love me. I am a white American in her late teens, meaning I am young, rich and powerful. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason except when I was born and when I had my wisdom teeth out, but neither of those experieces were illness or injury and I'm not even sure that the wisdom teeth thing was in a hospital. My life is f***ing fantastic. Who the hell am I to complain about it?
Still, I'm trying to wrack my brain for events which have happened this past year that have been particularly fortunate and I'm still not coming up with anything. The best I can do is come up with bad things that didn't happen. This is not good. I just haven't had a particularly fortunate year. Bleh. No. I won't take it for granted. That's wrong.
But what bad things happened this year?! I don't mind complaining I guess...bleh. bleh bleh bleh.
My best friend almost died, my parents are facing financial lows they've never faced before as well as the ensuing maritial problems, I found out one of my deepest crushes has had a much more troubled life than I could possibly imagine, I found out my other best friend was abused as a child, as well as someone else I've bonded with alot. A certain family member of mine is severely depressed and has been cutting. Actually...you know..that's all that comes to mind. Dad broke his wrist. It's really not all that bad. Amanda pulled out of her illness, Kevin continues to deal with life, as do Amber and Dawn, I think Melissa is doing better too. I can't say much for my parents though. I don't quite know how to stomach it because I don't live with them anymore.
"How did/do I feel about life?" was the third question. How did I feel about life before? I wasn't always happy, but I felt that life was ultimately about doing what God wants and not what I want. I was rather ambitious, I would have ups and downs, rants and raves, times where I could laugh until I cried, and times I would cry, but then feel better. I've always feared failure, I've always considered independence to be important. I wrote in my journal a mission statement, once, when I was much younger:
"I am a positive young woman with a bright future, with talent and spirit. I refuse to complain, I refuse to control, I refuse to give up. I will try my hardest at everything I do..."
Yet all of this has changed now. I am too old to keep the attitude I had and too young to merit hopelessness so I am stuck in a limbo of not being allowed to think anything, to feel anything or to be anything anymore. I am not a positive young woman anymore. I am rather a pessimistic old buffoon. My immediate future is far from bright, my talents are far inferior to those around me. My refusal to complain hasn't made me stronger in the least, refusing to control...I don't even know what I meant by that now, and I've given up on so many people at so many times about so many things that even that seems to be a complete and total fantasy of my past. Erg. What is this? How do I feel about life now? I think I pretty well summed it up. Lathargic, even to the point at which cynical humor is just mildly entertaining. I am beginning to feel as if the only real joys I'm getting from life are coming from Amanda and Kevin. This is not good. Oh, no, I know that this is not good. But what exactly can I do about this?
How do I feel about myself? I don't think I'm all that horrible of a person or anything. I merely realize that I'm not worth as much as I thought I had been. Human worth is immeasurable, and regardless of how worthless I may feel, I retain some worth by merely living. I realize that. I also realize that my life isn't mine to take, that this wave of dispair can and will pass and that if I was faced with my own mortality, there are alot of things about this life that I would miss. I feel that the best things about myself are things that I have allowed to die, and the worst things about myself: my obnoxiousness, my selfishness, my inherant ability to hurt the feelings of the people I care about, and the fact that I'm completely irresponsible and incapable of accomplishing anything important, and the fact that I was completely full of myself and my perfect f***ing life and my perfect f***ing abilities and friends and likes and how when it all fell apart I had little to no integrity about it and allowed it to drag me into the current state of my being, those things are the things that prevail in my life now.
What am I passionate about now? Sleep. Kevin and Amanda. God. Probably in that order, which I know is completely disjointed, twisted and perverse. Music doesn't matter. Classes don't really matter. It is one in the morning...nearing two. I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to wake up tomorrow. So what have I to do?
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
The second question I was asked to answer was "What good and bad things happened this year" This year I met the love of my life, I composed three new songs, I wrote endless poems and blogged and did things in books. I learned to think differently. I learned what it means to be there for people who are truly suffering. But to ask what good things happened perhaps means more, what things of good fortune happened this year to me. And to answer that question: not alot. I am not one to complain about things though. That's the problem. It isn't as if I live in third world country and everyone I know is dying of aids. It isn't as if I am likely to starve to death. I am getting an incredible education at a fantastic school. I have a plethora of people who love me. I am a white American in her late teens, meaning I am young, rich and powerful. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason except when I was born and when I had my wisdom teeth out, but neither of those experieces were illness or injury and I'm not even sure that the wisdom teeth thing was in a hospital. My life is f***ing fantastic. Who the hell am I to complain about it?
Still, I'm trying to wrack my brain for events which have happened this past year that have been particularly fortunate and I'm still not coming up with anything. The best I can do is come up with bad things that didn't happen. This is not good. I just haven't had a particularly fortunate year. Bleh. No. I won't take it for granted. That's wrong.
But what bad things happened this year?! I don't mind complaining I guess...bleh. bleh bleh bleh.
My best friend almost died, my parents are facing financial lows they've never faced before as well as the ensuing maritial problems, I found out one of my deepest crushes has had a much more troubled life than I could possibly imagine, I found out my other best friend was abused as a child, as well as someone else I've bonded with alot. A certain family member of mine is severely depressed and has been cutting. Actually...you know..that's all that comes to mind. Dad broke his wrist. It's really not all that bad. Amanda pulled out of her illness, Kevin continues to deal with life, as do Amber and Dawn, I think Melissa is doing better too. I can't say much for my parents though. I don't quite know how to stomach it because I don't live with them anymore.
"How did/do I feel about life?" was the third question. How did I feel about life before? I wasn't always happy, but I felt that life was ultimately about doing what God wants and not what I want. I was rather ambitious, I would have ups and downs, rants and raves, times where I could laugh until I cried, and times I would cry, but then feel better. I've always feared failure, I've always considered independence to be important. I wrote in my journal a mission statement, once, when I was much younger:
"I am a positive young woman with a bright future, with talent and spirit. I refuse to complain, I refuse to control, I refuse to give up. I will try my hardest at everything I do..."
Yet all of this has changed now. I am too old to keep the attitude I had and too young to merit hopelessness so I am stuck in a limbo of not being allowed to think anything, to feel anything or to be anything anymore. I am not a positive young woman anymore. I am rather a pessimistic old buffoon. My immediate future is far from bright, my talents are far inferior to those around me. My refusal to complain hasn't made me stronger in the least, refusing to control...I don't even know what I meant by that now, and I've given up on so many people at so many times about so many things that even that seems to be a complete and total fantasy of my past. Erg. What is this? How do I feel about life now? I think I pretty well summed it up. Lathargic, even to the point at which cynical humor is just mildly entertaining. I am beginning to feel as if the only real joys I'm getting from life are coming from Amanda and Kevin. This is not good. Oh, no, I know that this is not good. But what exactly can I do about this?
How do I feel about myself? I don't think I'm all that horrible of a person or anything. I merely realize that I'm not worth as much as I thought I had been. Human worth is immeasurable, and regardless of how worthless I may feel, I retain some worth by merely living. I realize that. I also realize that my life isn't mine to take, that this wave of dispair can and will pass and that if I was faced with my own mortality, there are alot of things about this life that I would miss. I feel that the best things about myself are things that I have allowed to die, and the worst things about myself: my obnoxiousness, my selfishness, my inherant ability to hurt the feelings of the people I care about, and the fact that I'm completely irresponsible and incapable of accomplishing anything important, and the fact that I was completely full of myself and my perfect f***ing life and my perfect f***ing abilities and friends and likes and how when it all fell apart I had little to no integrity about it and allowed it to drag me into the current state of my being, those things are the things that prevail in my life now.
What am I passionate about now? Sleep. Kevin and Amanda. God. Probably in that order, which I know is completely disjointed, twisted and perverse. Music doesn't matter. Classes don't really matter. It is one in the morning...nearing two. I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to wake up tomorrow. So what have I to do?
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Each time I sit down to write I suppose things that I oughtn't. I have faults I thought not to have. I have become disloyal to myself. I am a cynical person who eats cyanide jellybeans. It is all the fault of the one who lives in my head who is not me. However, whoever it is is not to be blamed. Things happen. It is not the fault of anyone. This incredibly terrible and wonderful world we live in is full of terrors and wonders. Not to be rediculously rhetorical or anything. I'm just blabbing at this point.
I've done it. I played in a Shakespeare production. It was marvelous. I was the good Doctor Pinch, who was less than good by troth, but yet it's interesting to think of the way things are. I've been listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring too much to keep my sanity intact. Yet it's all alright with me.
It's going to be a long time before I'll be able to quiet my digits and desist this contemptuous yammering of my fingers upon the keys. It isn't in the movies he quotes, nor the things he says nor the way I've treated him that bothers me most of all. It is the fact that the subject of our discourse was that he was not religious and that by being religious he feels people are fake. Has he then decieved me for the sake of "truth"?
When he, one day, says that I am incapable of handling the truth. That truth being that worship is entirely incomprehensibly irrational and that all those who worship are obviously fabricating something for their own advancement in society or in some other way, that the Truth is that God does not in fact, exist at all, that Christ's life was entirely pointless and that the comprehension of all religious things are hypocritical...
Then the next he tells me that religion is what he needs in his life, that God is impacting him directly anyway...that prayer does affect him. Is he lying? Is he lying because he feels I am incapable of handling the truth? Is everything a lie?
Men were decievers ever...
I don't quite know what to think. I have two choices, optimism or pessimism and I feel I have come to a crossroads. If I have the courage, I will dare to be optimistic and maybe, just maybe, this will turn out for the better. There's an equal chance that it won't turn out for the better and that will cause my optimism to fail and myself to be rapt in foolishness, finally realizing regretting for the rest of my life the mistake I made in hoping for the best.
If I do not have the courage, I will assume pessimism and break this entire thing off presently, move on with my life and he and I will remain trite aquaintances for the rest of time. Aside from the tragedy of a mere, meagre, trite aquaintance being derived from so passionate a love, and not mentioning the sickness that has often been called dispair, I quite feel that if the pessimist within me o'ertakes my mind, then why not give up on a great many other things, ultimately and namely my life altogether. The only benefit to being pessimistic is the fact that I may avoid falling further...if one is optimistic and proves to be wrong, it's a great deal more of a fall, a hurt, an embarressment than one who is pessimistic about it all along.
In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Nevermind. I'm sick of thinking about all of this. I can hope for the best, and yes, I dare to. I do. Yet the things that really scare me are (1) The point of finding truth of anger and the realities of that truth (2) The idea of creating drama for the sake of drama. I've already screamed at him. What the heck is going to happen next? I am beginning to see our fights escalating and I really don't need to go up a fight escalator right now. I know where that can lead. I know where, statistically speaking, it is likely to lead.
I have other things in my life to worry about than this right now. The point of me being in college is to get my degree. It is to become educated. Meeting all the amazing people along the way has been wonderful and fun, traumatic and telling. I've learned more from my friends than from my professors truths of this world.
Yet this is coming to a point where I'm not certain why I am here anymore. I have helped people heal. People have helped me. Yet I feel that I have been sanded down to the bare bone of who I am, and now it is the world : the professors, the friends, the loves, the hates ....there is hardly anything but bone left, and that too they are chipping at. It is a greed in a way, I feel I have been subject to. The only way I have been able to cope with this greed is (1) to chip away at other people, which is something I can hardly abide doing - thereby must do it craftily - and has caused the true retaliation of many if not all the ones whom I love to take a step back and feel only for themselves the harm I have caused them. (I won't pretend to be coherant, but you may pretend that I am)
(2) to chip away at myself, for after all, if you cannot beat them, you may join them. It is an age old lesson taught to children in cartoons throughout all ages. If I build myself up, then I am arrogant, if I work hard silently, I am contemptuous. This and other things bring me to John Lennon's working class hero.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be...
It has alot of truth to it, yet...it can be poisonous to be cynical.
People are of the mindset-these days especially-that being happy/joyous/vivacious/ ... and to be falsely happy is the most dangerous and terrible of ways to be. While this is true, I have found through my own experience, namely those filled with the truth of the cynic I've become, it is equally as dangerous and terrible to be filled with negitivity. It is entirely stupid and silly to forcefeed myself cake in the hopes of my life getting better, it is equally stupid and silly to feed upon the bitterness of life in the hopes of showing people that I do not eat cake. It is entirely rediculous of me to put on a happy face just because people expect me to. It is also entirely rediculous for me to cause myself to constantly feel unduly upset for no real reason. It's better alwithal not to feel anything.
Which is why numbness is so desireable.
Speaking of numbness, one might question the ways in which one may cause damage to onesself. Leaving entirely out the question of why, let us examine more creative and unorthodox ways in which people damage themselves.
Rather, first let us name the normal ones. Drinking is most popular, damage through jollity. Huzzah. Then there is overeating and the occasional smoker. A number of us (college students) decide to draw blood and the masochism of being sleep deprived is enjoyed by all. These are too mainstream, perhaps for the likes of me.
Ergo, I have decided to think of different ways of self-harm. Those of atonal music, those of bad grammer, those of friendless yammerings to onesself. Those of Stravinsky, Lennon...those of Shakespeare, those of the eyes and fingertips. Those of caffeine. Those of ambition. For what better way to harm onesself than feining success and ultimately dying?
I will paint with red paint. I will decieve blue skies. I will pray fervently, and perhaps masochism will turn to optimism and in the light of hope I may reside once more.
I must now ask myself the one question that will have my mind for some time. If there is fear in beauty, is there then, joy in self distruction? Isn't that ultimately what life is about anyway? Death. We all ultimately cause our own demise, whether knowing it or not. We are all to blame for our own deaths because even the "accidents" could have been avoided with some forethought...correct? It doesn't much matter though. I think that part of this problem is that nothing can be entirely erased.
No amount of smiling can change the fact that things are not really good right now. For anyone. This is the end of this incredibly rediculous rant. Anyway. I have a number of things to examine as it be right now.
Listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring if you have the chance. Think of the riots it caused in Vienna when the ballet was first shown.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
I've done it. I played in a Shakespeare production. It was marvelous. I was the good Doctor Pinch, who was less than good by troth, but yet it's interesting to think of the way things are. I've been listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring too much to keep my sanity intact. Yet it's all alright with me.
It's going to be a long time before I'll be able to quiet my digits and desist this contemptuous yammering of my fingers upon the keys. It isn't in the movies he quotes, nor the things he says nor the way I've treated him that bothers me most of all. It is the fact that the subject of our discourse was that he was not religious and that by being religious he feels people are fake. Has he then decieved me for the sake of "truth"?
When he, one day, says that I am incapable of handling the truth. That truth being that worship is entirely incomprehensibly irrational and that all those who worship are obviously fabricating something for their own advancement in society or in some other way, that the Truth is that God does not in fact, exist at all, that Christ's life was entirely pointless and that the comprehension of all religious things are hypocritical...
Then the next he tells me that religion is what he needs in his life, that God is impacting him directly anyway...that prayer does affect him. Is he lying? Is he lying because he feels I am incapable of handling the truth? Is everything a lie?
Men were decievers ever...
I don't quite know what to think. I have two choices, optimism or pessimism and I feel I have come to a crossroads. If I have the courage, I will dare to be optimistic and maybe, just maybe, this will turn out for the better. There's an equal chance that it won't turn out for the better and that will cause my optimism to fail and myself to be rapt in foolishness, finally realizing regretting for the rest of my life the mistake I made in hoping for the best.
If I do not have the courage, I will assume pessimism and break this entire thing off presently, move on with my life and he and I will remain trite aquaintances for the rest of time. Aside from the tragedy of a mere, meagre, trite aquaintance being derived from so passionate a love, and not mentioning the sickness that has often been called dispair, I quite feel that if the pessimist within me o'ertakes my mind, then why not give up on a great many other things, ultimately and namely my life altogether. The only benefit to being pessimistic is the fact that I may avoid falling further...if one is optimistic and proves to be wrong, it's a great deal more of a fall, a hurt, an embarressment than one who is pessimistic about it all along.
In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Nevermind. I'm sick of thinking about all of this. I can hope for the best, and yes, I dare to. I do. Yet the things that really scare me are (1) The point of finding truth of anger and the realities of that truth (2) The idea of creating drama for the sake of drama. I've already screamed at him. What the heck is going to happen next? I am beginning to see our fights escalating and I really don't need to go up a fight escalator right now. I know where that can lead. I know where, statistically speaking, it is likely to lead.
I have other things in my life to worry about than this right now. The point of me being in college is to get my degree. It is to become educated. Meeting all the amazing people along the way has been wonderful and fun, traumatic and telling. I've learned more from my friends than from my professors truths of this world.
Yet this is coming to a point where I'm not certain why I am here anymore. I have helped people heal. People have helped me. Yet I feel that I have been sanded down to the bare bone of who I am, and now it is the world : the professors, the friends, the loves, the hates ....there is hardly anything but bone left, and that too they are chipping at. It is a greed in a way, I feel I have been subject to. The only way I have been able to cope with this greed is (1) to chip away at other people, which is something I can hardly abide doing - thereby must do it craftily - and has caused the true retaliation of many if not all the ones whom I love to take a step back and feel only for themselves the harm I have caused them. (I won't pretend to be coherant, but you may pretend that I am)
(2) to chip away at myself, for after all, if you cannot beat them, you may join them. It is an age old lesson taught to children in cartoons throughout all ages. If I build myself up, then I am arrogant, if I work hard silently, I am contemptuous. This and other things bring me to John Lennon's working class hero.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be...
It has alot of truth to it, yet...it can be poisonous to be cynical.
People are of the mindset-these days especially-that being happy/joyous/vivacious/
Which is why numbness is so desireable.
Speaking of numbness, one might question the ways in which one may cause damage to onesself. Leaving entirely out the question of why, let us examine more creative and unorthodox ways in which people damage themselves.
Rather, first let us name the normal ones. Drinking is most popular, damage through jollity. Huzzah. Then there is overeating and the occasional smoker. A number of us (college students) decide to draw blood and the masochism of being sleep deprived is enjoyed by all. These are too mainstream, perhaps for the likes of me.
Ergo, I have decided to think of different ways of self-harm. Those of atonal music, those of bad grammer, those of friendless yammerings to onesself. Those of Stravinsky, Lennon...those of Shakespeare, those of the eyes and fingertips. Those of caffeine. Those of ambition. For what better way to harm onesself than feining success and ultimately dying?
I will paint with red paint. I will decieve blue skies. I will pray fervently, and perhaps masochism will turn to optimism and in the light of hope I may reside once more.
I must now ask myself the one question that will have my mind for some time. If there is fear in beauty, is there then, joy in self distruction? Isn't that ultimately what life is about anyway? Death. We all ultimately cause our own demise, whether knowing it or not. We are all to blame for our own deaths because even the "accidents" could have been avoided with some forethought...correct? It doesn't much matter though. I think that part of this problem is that nothing can be entirely erased.
No amount of smiling can change the fact that things are not really good right now. For anyone. This is the end of this incredibly rediculous rant. Anyway. I have a number of things to examine as it be right now.
Listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring if you have the chance. Think of the riots it caused in Vienna when the ballet was first shown.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
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