(no subject)
its a steady pain and its a comfort.
its a lot of things at a lot of times but the only thing its ever really been is a catalyst to me.
I've been reading Nichomachean Ethics all night.
Aristotle would conclude that my incontinence is due to perhaps a false inference, due to ignorance of the facts. Or maybe I'm just reading too much. Fuck Philosophy.
The best relationships or friendships come out of love of good character. It is best to love a person for their character, as it best to love oneself for good character. Strange to me... self love being discussed as the best way to maintain happiness and friendship. The completely self loving and self sufficient person has no need of friendship, yet genuine happiness cannot be achieved without friendship...
But, obviously, friendships dissolve. Friendships based solely on pleasure cannot last. The dissolving of such a relationship is the most complicated, the most painful...we are misled. We are misled into thinking that we are loved for our character and not for our circumstantial attributes, that the other benefits from.
I've considered this.
I've also entertained myself with the idea of the artist complex...the creator loves his creation more than the creation loves his creator. The benefactor is responsible for "making" the beneficiary. Self admiration of the achievment of the creation...
that can't be it.
No, that isn't it at all. It will always be something beyond my capabilities of evaluation, always beyond my own introspection...and I hate it for that. Nothing has ever been too far beyond my comprehension as this, and the thought that I will never in my life, no matter how hard i try, be able to pick this apart scares me. Scares and frustrates me.
This is so far entwined into my being that I can't even...
It's my catalyst.
And the pain is always worth the comfort in the end...
is the pain worth it?
is the comfort worth it?
Am I worth this?
The questions don't matter, the answers don't matter. Nothing matters because it will always be there, and that has to mean something.
I'm looking at another long night, staying up, reading with my headphones on, and thinking about...
I think I'll drop out and sleep in the commons, be a starving artist and know each squirrel by their tails.
its a lot of things at a lot of times but the only thing its ever really been is a catalyst to me.
I've been reading Nichomachean Ethics all night.
Aristotle would conclude that my incontinence is due to perhaps a false inference, due to ignorance of the facts. Or maybe I'm just reading too much. Fuck Philosophy.
The best relationships or friendships come out of love of good character. It is best to love a person for their character, as it best to love oneself for good character. Strange to me... self love being discussed as the best way to maintain happiness and friendship. The completely self loving and self sufficient person has no need of friendship, yet genuine happiness cannot be achieved without friendship...
But, obviously, friendships dissolve. Friendships based solely on pleasure cannot last. The dissolving of such a relationship is the most complicated, the most painful...we are misled. We are misled into thinking that we are loved for our character and not for our circumstantial attributes, that the other benefits from.
I've considered this.
I've also entertained myself with the idea of the artist complex...the creator loves his creation more than the creation loves his creator. The benefactor is responsible for "making" the beneficiary. Self admiration of the achievment of the creation...
that can't be it.
No, that isn't it at all. It will always be something beyond my capabilities of evaluation, always beyond my own introspection...and I hate it for that. Nothing has ever been too far beyond my comprehension as this, and the thought that I will never in my life, no matter how hard i try, be able to pick this apart scares me. Scares and frustrates me.
This is so far entwined into my being that I can't even...
It's my catalyst.
And the pain is always worth the comfort in the end...
is the pain worth it?
is the comfort worth it?
Am I worth this?
The questions don't matter, the answers don't matter. Nothing matters because it will always be there, and that has to mean something.
I'm looking at another long night, staying up, reading with my headphones on, and thinking about...
I think I'll drop out and sleep in the commons, be a starving artist and know each squirrel by their tails.