Waves, crashing...
I came back from hell today.
Two days of orientation in UW-Stevens Point, realizing now that I want nothing to do with the place nor "dorm life" nor all of these "lovely college students" who "care so much about all of you" - instead, I want to sleep in my own bed in my own room without fucking trains waking me up at 4 AM and horribly uncomfortable plastic mattresses and cold showers and really, really stupid people.
No, it is not for me.
I believe another semester of Nicolet awaits me, as I love Nicolet and yet have to figure out what will earn me the most money in the least amount of work. I had considered astronomy, but apparently jobs are limited and it takes like 16 more years of school and you only get like $45,000/yr - FUCK THAT, SRSLY.
I can feel an amassing of a breakdown, the past month descending upon me like a wave upon an unsuspecting sea critter, ready only to be swept away at the sea's leisure -
A floating weed in the tide, only to be forgotten and carried by the undertow into the depths, left to rot.
I fear what awaits me and I fear what doesn't.
I loathe what I am and what I possibly will be. But mainly what I am.
I am no one's best friend. Everyone's friend, but... no one's best friend.
Caught in the net of a society where one can either go nowhere or go somewhere, but it is not all in the hands of the traveler; I find myself wanting to, honestly, in all seriousness, go live in the fucking woods. This seems the best alternative to anything right now. Be poor, build a house out of sticks, and live in the fucking woods.
My best chance now.
My heart sinks in my chest at the very thought of the people who get the best jobs based on how much they paid to get into school, rather than their personal talent.
My heart sinks even lower when I realize for the hundredth time that nothing I ever want for myself will I attain. I will never know so much, because only the less-informed think they know of it.
The wind blows outside, pushes against the glass, and fades again... taking with it the last shreds of hope, whatever hope, I had for myself, whatever dreams and aspirations and loves that remained, and leave me, again, a mess, wandering in my own mindlessness. I feel nauseous.
A lovely, lovely mess of depression and stupidity and ignorance of the world. This is me. I want to go lay in my bed and not get up for a month, not move, not do anything.
I recognize this; the plunge. Finally. I wondered where it had been lurking all of these weeks. How long has it been? Awhile; twice as long as it usually takes. Then again, it is random. All over the calendar.
My mind is boggled with subjects and majors and jobs and seeing the world as it is. There is a difference between a negative view and being realistic. However, the reality of things are sometimes quite negative... which is why people have faith. They always have something to hold onto then, like a teddy bear one never grows out of. A comfort object. No matter what happens, it will be there to hold them together.
Too bad I am too well-informed to realize that their teddy bear is just that, a teddy bear. And they can hold it in their arms or just by the paw or drag it by the leg, but they always have that teddy bear when they need it.
Well, fuck. There is no exceptional future like I'd always dreamed of, there is no exceptional anything to liberate me from the masses of the rest. I am stuck, always, to be one of them, destined to never really change anything, destined to be born, live, consume, manufacture, die, rot, like the rest of them. I am nothing special; I should not delude myself into believing so. I cannot accomplish anything. This is all for nothing. Hard work, stress, tears, laughter, love, hate, money, sleep, travel, knowledge, information - what for?
Nothing at all.
James' mother mentioned the impossibility of peace in atheism. I don't think peace would be the word. I think tranquility better describes it. Tranquility and sadness.
I am Atlas, the burden of the world on my shoulders. But I realize it doesn't really matter if I held it up or dropped it. What does it matter?
It doesn't.
Minds wasting themselves in places and on people that have no appreciation or understanding for them - that saddens me greatly. The realization that death is inevitable and no matter how one achieves it or at what time, it is still there and a part of life - this is tranquility. Once death is accepted, I believe someone can do anything they'd like without fear, without reservations, without upholding social mores and following the rest of them.
Tranquility. Sadness.
Death, and waste.
James knew this. James felt this. James realized, and accepted. He was not afraid. He faced that makeshift noose with a straight face and an even brow, a sober mind and an unclouded perception. He knew. He accepted.
Tranquility.
James was also stressed, unsure, and saw the waste that was going on around him. He saw minds being put to waste and lives being wasted as well. He saw, and he knew.
Sadness.
I don't care about getting help anymore, and I don't care about life anymore. I don't care about what happens to the world. People have brought this upon themselves. There is nothing here for me; I only wish to see the fjords before my eyes close in finality. I only live for the places, the places where my heart feels it needs to be. Places like my woods, my lakes, my forests - and yet, they are not mine. They are no one's property, no matter the name on the deed nor the "nature is for everyone" rule. They cannot be owned. They simply are, and if they instill a sense of being and belonging, then they are your friends. Not those people who will sell you for a hundred bucks, the people who are too superficial to look past the surface despite the inside, or the people who are using you to their own ends, paying you, profiting from you.
The silence that is not really silence, the silence of the wind and the insects and the frogs and the creaking language of trees, the soothing silent noise that combines into one song that sings to your heart and fills your soul with its unconditional sort of earthly love that is still alien to us, as a world of people and people-made things, a world I do not belong in.
The good times, the bad, what does it all add up to, in the end? Apocalypse? I can only hope so.
But in the meantime, instead of anger and disapproval, the words will be sadness and tranquility.
Two days of orientation in UW-Stevens Point, realizing now that I want nothing to do with the place nor "dorm life" nor all of these "lovely college students" who "care so much about all of you" - instead, I want to sleep in my own bed in my own room without fucking trains waking me up at 4 AM and horribly uncomfortable plastic mattresses and cold showers and really, really stupid people.
No, it is not for me.
I believe another semester of Nicolet awaits me, as I love Nicolet and yet have to figure out what will earn me the most money in the least amount of work. I had considered astronomy, but apparently jobs are limited and it takes like 16 more years of school and you only get like $45,000/yr - FUCK THAT, SRSLY.
I can feel an amassing of a breakdown, the past month descending upon me like a wave upon an unsuspecting sea critter, ready only to be swept away at the sea's leisure -
A floating weed in the tide, only to be forgotten and carried by the undertow into the depths, left to rot.
I fear what awaits me and I fear what doesn't.
I loathe what I am and what I possibly will be. But mainly what I am.
I am no one's best friend. Everyone's friend, but... no one's best friend.
Caught in the net of a society where one can either go nowhere or go somewhere, but it is not all in the hands of the traveler; I find myself wanting to, honestly, in all seriousness, go live in the fucking woods. This seems the best alternative to anything right now. Be poor, build a house out of sticks, and live in the fucking woods.
My best chance now.
My heart sinks in my chest at the very thought of the people who get the best jobs based on how much they paid to get into school, rather than their personal talent.
My heart sinks even lower when I realize for the hundredth time that nothing I ever want for myself will I attain. I will never know so much, because only the less-informed think they know of it.
The wind blows outside, pushes against the glass, and fades again... taking with it the last shreds of hope, whatever hope, I had for myself, whatever dreams and aspirations and loves that remained, and leave me, again, a mess, wandering in my own mindlessness. I feel nauseous.
A lovely, lovely mess of depression and stupidity and ignorance of the world. This is me. I want to go lay in my bed and not get up for a month, not move, not do anything.
I recognize this; the plunge. Finally. I wondered where it had been lurking all of these weeks. How long has it been? Awhile; twice as long as it usually takes. Then again, it is random. All over the calendar.
My mind is boggled with subjects and majors and jobs and seeing the world as it is. There is a difference between a negative view and being realistic. However, the reality of things are sometimes quite negative... which is why people have faith. They always have something to hold onto then, like a teddy bear one never grows out of. A comfort object. No matter what happens, it will be there to hold them together.
Too bad I am too well-informed to realize that their teddy bear is just that, a teddy bear. And they can hold it in their arms or just by the paw or drag it by the leg, but they always have that teddy bear when they need it.
Well, fuck. There is no exceptional future like I'd always dreamed of, there is no exceptional anything to liberate me from the masses of the rest. I am stuck, always, to be one of them, destined to never really change anything, destined to be born, live, consume, manufacture, die, rot, like the rest of them. I am nothing special; I should not delude myself into believing so. I cannot accomplish anything. This is all for nothing. Hard work, stress, tears, laughter, love, hate, money, sleep, travel, knowledge, information - what for?
Nothing at all.
James' mother mentioned the impossibility of peace in atheism. I don't think peace would be the word. I think tranquility better describes it. Tranquility and sadness.
I am Atlas, the burden of the world on my shoulders. But I realize it doesn't really matter if I held it up or dropped it. What does it matter?
It doesn't.
Minds wasting themselves in places and on people that have no appreciation or understanding for them - that saddens me greatly. The realization that death is inevitable and no matter how one achieves it or at what time, it is still there and a part of life - this is tranquility. Once death is accepted, I believe someone can do anything they'd like without fear, without reservations, without upholding social mores and following the rest of them.
Tranquility. Sadness.
Death, and waste.
James knew this. James felt this. James realized, and accepted. He was not afraid. He faced that makeshift noose with a straight face and an even brow, a sober mind and an unclouded perception. He knew. He accepted.
Tranquility.
James was also stressed, unsure, and saw the waste that was going on around him. He saw minds being put to waste and lives being wasted as well. He saw, and he knew.
Sadness.
I don't care about getting help anymore, and I don't care about life anymore. I don't care about what happens to the world. People have brought this upon themselves. There is nothing here for me; I only wish to see the fjords before my eyes close in finality. I only live for the places, the places where my heart feels it needs to be. Places like my woods, my lakes, my forests - and yet, they are not mine. They are no one's property, no matter the name on the deed nor the "nature is for everyone" rule. They cannot be owned. They simply are, and if they instill a sense of being and belonging, then they are your friends. Not those people who will sell you for a hundred bucks, the people who are too superficial to look past the surface despite the inside, or the people who are using you to their own ends, paying you, profiting from you.
The silence that is not really silence, the silence of the wind and the insects and the frogs and the creaking language of trees, the soothing silent noise that combines into one song that sings to your heart and fills your soul with its unconditional sort of earthly love that is still alien to us, as a world of people and people-made things, a world I do not belong in.
The good times, the bad, what does it all add up to, in the end? Apocalypse? I can only hope so.
But in the meantime, instead of anger and disapproval, the words will be sadness and tranquility.