Capit Nusquam Facio Nusquam.
It's been difficult, as of late, to convince myself that I have any worth, that existence is something else than pointless, that it's possible to rise above the status of stardust.
The moments between the witching hour and first light have become my only solace, giving me a rare and brief clarity, a lucid introspection into the machinations of my soul.
My conclusion is that I don't particularly care for the person I've become. I don't relish the idea of being blackhearted and acidic and bitter as the template for my remaining years on this piece of dirt.
At the same time I also seem to have painted myself into a corner with the paradigm that it's too late to change some things, that some things are too ingrained and embedded to shake loose, that my brain has hardened over like a dried-out kitchen sponge and is incapable of taking in any new information.
The calendar I bought last month is still turned to February, as if I don't change it, I won't have to deal with the future; I can just stay in an stagnant, artificial, toxic feedback loop indefinitely. The Zen theme I purposely chose is stale and contrived, (so much for being a better Buddhist) the plain line drawings too two-dimensional, too sticky and clingy to the past, the old ways, the first ways, the simple ways.
When I get this way, I can't help but get all turned around and wonder why things can't be simple.
And it's because nothing in this world is simple.
⎋
The moments between the witching hour and first light have become my only solace, giving me a rare and brief clarity, a lucid introspection into the machinations of my soul.
My conclusion is that I don't particularly care for the person I've become. I don't relish the idea of being blackhearted and acidic and bitter as the template for my remaining years on this piece of dirt.
At the same time I also seem to have painted myself into a corner with the paradigm that it's too late to change some things, that some things are too ingrained and embedded to shake loose, that my brain has hardened over like a dried-out kitchen sponge and is incapable of taking in any new information.
The calendar I bought last month is still turned to February, as if I don't change it, I won't have to deal with the future; I can just stay in an stagnant, artificial, toxic feedback loop indefinitely. The Zen theme I purposely chose is stale and contrived, (so much for being a better Buddhist) the plain line drawings too two-dimensional, too sticky and clingy to the past, the old ways, the first ways, the simple ways.
When I get this way, I can't help but get all turned around and wonder why things can't be simple.
And it's because nothing in this world is simple.
⎋