Like Woa
So I've been thinking for a while now, in the way that certain philosophy can make one, about solipsism. That's where you think that you're the only real person. Only you and your body and your mind are real. Everything and everyone else is just a figment of your, the only real, imagination. At least, that's one kind. There are others, but this is the fun one.
So here's what I've been thinking about it: (and yes, I pretty much have to jump straight back into this. right now, there will be no commenting on this sudden, perhaps temporary return) I don't really buy it. I recently started to understand that old joke-cliche about how nothing exists. I mean, we've got no way to prove that we're anything more than video game characters for some vastly superior intelligence. People can't prove they exist because we have no external referance point from which to observe our own condition (that's what makes history so hard, if you're bothering to try to do it right).
But here's where solipsism comes in: I feel pretty immutable. I don't really change. I've said this to people before; I don't have epiphanies, and I don't have life-defining, or life-changing, experiences. Where other people are changed by some event, or by some other person they meet, or whatever, I just ripple on the surface, but my habits don't change. It doesn
I'm too tired to write about that. And hot. Always, always, always too hot.
I'm frustrated. . . a lot? Or just frequently for really short little episodes? I can't even explain the frustration. It's like I feel crazy from holding myself so tight and straight for so long. I try to only be angry at people when I SHOULD be; anger without a real reason is something I try to put away, to dissipate, or to swallow. Mostly I swallow it. Repression. I repress my frustration, which I'm pretty sure comes from repressing things!
aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Apparently, and to my surprise, one of these little bouts of clenched frustration and bitterness is not condusive to writing about the recurring problem of said fits.
I could sure go for some real problems. Or, at least, I say that right now. Should real problems ever arrive, I will no doubt rue them. Rue them and this post hard. Hell, tomorrow morning when I wake up, or sometime soon, when this passes, I'll snicker a little to myself over it. Except for a little part of me that will stay a little worried, 'cause I know this won't be the last. It doesn't seem that they're getting worse, which is worse than if they were. Then, at least, we might be approaching some kind of resolution. But we're not. I just bop along, really happy most of the time, having little episodes of frustration, the reasons for and the nature of which I can't begin to know or conceptualize.
"Bottoms up boys, this is the last call!"
See, if I were getting MORE desperate, then I could relish that lyric appropriately. Look out, world, people! I'm going to snap soon! I'm going to cut loose and kick ass and completely change! I'll have a self-destructive phase! I'll drop out of school and do drugs! I'll learn something in the process, even if it kills me and even if I'd have been better off not knowing it.
I saw "Adaptation" last night. It was really cool. Mara was there, and she was cool. There's a part where they mess of a screenwriter-genius, played by Nicholas Cage, is talking to this other screenwriter. And he talks about how he wants to make a movie about plants, and not people. Where people don't change, or learn something, or grow. Where they start off mediocre and confused and frustrated (my new favorite word) and they STAY that way, "like in real life". The other screenwriter yells at him. He asks Cage if he's even paying attention to the world. People die and kill each other and are born and overcome terrible hardship and are infinitely cruel and endlessly kind and forgiving. Brothers fight over women (guess I've seen that one), familys destroy themselves and reform. People have drug problems and drinking problems and gambling problems. Politics and wars and revolutions and so on.
I was not impressed. I've never seen any of those things. I'm Nicholas Cage's counter-argument (which he didn't make; he appeared convinced, or at least to consider this new idea that people do grow and change like in the movies). He grew, and changed (I'm pretty sure).
I haven't. Maybe I will sometime, but I bet not, at least right now I do. I'm just stable enough not to, but not stable enough to actually avoid fits of what, I guess, is some kind of lack of self-acutalization.
"Ah, we gotta move!"
Pffffff. Someone come have an impact on me. I wish I could be a machine. I wish bolsheviks were right, that we were all just math to be plotted and balanced. I'm just a broken equation, and I won't ever make sense or be at peace.
This will seem like silly excess soon, until its time for me to try to dump all this baggage again. At which point this entry will just be another failed attempt behind me on the road. As if I were moving somewhere.
Arg. Fucking fucking fucking fuck I hate everything.
So here's what I've been thinking about it: (and yes, I pretty much have to jump straight back into this. right now, there will be no commenting on this sudden, perhaps temporary return) I don't really buy it. I recently started to understand that old joke-cliche about how nothing exists. I mean, we've got no way to prove that we're anything more than video game characters for some vastly superior intelligence. People can't prove they exist because we have no external referance point from which to observe our own condition (that's what makes history so hard, if you're bothering to try to do it right).
But here's where solipsism comes in: I feel pretty immutable. I don't really change. I've said this to people before; I don't have epiphanies, and I don't have life-defining, or life-changing, experiences. Where other people are changed by some event, or by some other person they meet, or whatever, I just ripple on the surface, but my habits don't change. It doesn
I'm too tired to write about that. And hot. Always, always, always too hot.
I'm frustrated. . . a lot? Or just frequently for really short little episodes? I can't even explain the frustration. It's like I feel crazy from holding myself so tight and straight for so long. I try to only be angry at people when I SHOULD be; anger without a real reason is something I try to put away, to dissipate, or to swallow. Mostly I swallow it. Repression. I repress my frustration, which I'm pretty sure comes from repressing things!
aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Apparently, and to my surprise, one of these little bouts of clenched frustration and bitterness is not condusive to writing about the recurring problem of said fits.
I could sure go for some real problems. Or, at least, I say that right now. Should real problems ever arrive, I will no doubt rue them. Rue them and this post hard. Hell, tomorrow morning when I wake up, or sometime soon, when this passes, I'll snicker a little to myself over it. Except for a little part of me that will stay a little worried, 'cause I know this won't be the last. It doesn't seem that they're getting worse, which is worse than if they were. Then, at least, we might be approaching some kind of resolution. But we're not. I just bop along, really happy most of the time, having little episodes of frustration, the reasons for and the nature of which I can't begin to know or conceptualize.
"Bottoms up boys, this is the last call!"
See, if I were getting MORE desperate, then I could relish that lyric appropriately. Look out, world, people! I'm going to snap soon! I'm going to cut loose and kick ass and completely change! I'll have a self-destructive phase! I'll drop out of school and do drugs! I'll learn something in the process, even if it kills me and even if I'd have been better off not knowing it.
I saw "Adaptation" last night. It was really cool. Mara was there, and she was cool. There's a part where they mess of a screenwriter-genius, played by Nicholas Cage, is talking to this other screenwriter. And he talks about how he wants to make a movie about plants, and not people. Where people don't change, or learn something, or grow. Where they start off mediocre and confused and frustrated (my new favorite word) and they STAY that way, "like in real life". The other screenwriter yells at him. He asks Cage if he's even paying attention to the world. People die and kill each other and are born and overcome terrible hardship and are infinitely cruel and endlessly kind and forgiving. Brothers fight over women (guess I've seen that one), familys destroy themselves and reform. People have drug problems and drinking problems and gambling problems. Politics and wars and revolutions and so on.
I was not impressed. I've never seen any of those things. I'm Nicholas Cage's counter-argument (which he didn't make; he appeared convinced, or at least to consider this new idea that people do grow and change like in the movies). He grew, and changed (I'm pretty sure).
I haven't. Maybe I will sometime, but I bet not, at least right now I do. I'm just stable enough not to, but not stable enough to actually avoid fits of what, I guess, is some kind of lack of self-acutalization.
"Ah, we gotta move!"
Pffffff. Someone come have an impact on me. I wish I could be a machine. I wish bolsheviks were right, that we were all just math to be plotted and balanced. I'm just a broken equation, and I won't ever make sense or be at peace.
This will seem like silly excess soon, until its time for me to try to dump all this baggage again. At which point this entry will just be another failed attempt behind me on the road. As if I were moving somewhere.
Arg. Fucking fucking fucking fuck I hate everything.