(no subject)
my head hurts from all this thinking. i brood too much.
it really is overwhelming, this world. it's too much for anyone. i open my ears, eyes, and mouth and i try to consume it all. too many things. but if you think about it, isn't it the same thing as consuming nothing? everything is temporary. a transient flow of feelings and experiences and materials rushing through my head. this computer won't last when your nation's newly advanced missile cleans it from the earth. this world is too dirty, it needs cleaning.
and it's all too much. i sit here in one area. i live in this one city, in this one county, this ugly country. there are millions and millions and millions and billions of places where i could live, all offering different people, with different feelings, a different setting. different ways of life that won't be fully understood unless i live them. if i don't move to cambodia and drape myself in orange cloth then i will never experience that time and place of being a monk. or the life of a businessman who lives in a loft high above the pulsating streets of new york city. what does he experience? on sunday afternoons does the orange sun glow through the blinds of his apartment also? i don't know. i'll never know. it's annoying and there's this weight pushing my chest in. that overwhelming feeling. it won't go away.
it really is overwhelming, this world. it's too much for anyone. i open my ears, eyes, and mouth and i try to consume it all. too many things. but if you think about it, isn't it the same thing as consuming nothing? everything is temporary. a transient flow of feelings and experiences and materials rushing through my head. this computer won't last when your nation's newly advanced missile cleans it from the earth. this world is too dirty, it needs cleaning.
and it's all too much. i sit here in one area. i live in this one city, in this one county, this ugly country. there are millions and millions and millions and billions of places where i could live, all offering different people, with different feelings, a different setting. different ways of life that won't be fully understood unless i live them. if i don't move to cambodia and drape myself in orange cloth then i will never experience that time and place of being a monk. or the life of a businessman who lives in a loft high above the pulsating streets of new york city. what does he experience? on sunday afternoons does the orange sun glow through the blinds of his apartment also? i don't know. i'll never know. it's annoying and there's this weight pushing my chest in. that overwhelming feeling. it won't go away.