(no subject)
i'm gonna be frank.*
lately, i like the external me more than the internal me. in fact, i might go so far as to say that internal me is JEALOUS of external me. but aren't there methods of turning jealousy into desire, and desire into possession? but i suppose such things are doomed to be nothing more than subconcious. i gotta get a steering wheel for that shit.
at this point, i'm going to assign names to external me and internal me, because i'm already sick of the way that sounds, so...hm, how about...okay i've got it: external me will be well, and internal me will be hell. overly dramatic/ simplified, sure, but i don't mind if you don't mind.
oh man, if any entry were to earn me a disgruntled annoymous comment, i think this is it. feel free.
okay, i'm gonna go ahead and assign emotion and desire to well, and logic and unattainable peace to hell. see, well gets all the good shit--only indulging in the shit that i think is worth bringing up or mulling over; showing off the kind of existence that i consider wisest for me; puking up over-developed jokes and metaphors; fuck, man, just livin' it up, lacking time, lacking garbage. well is a life worth livin', something that i consider a finished product--because it might as well be.
and then there's old hell. the goddamn stick in the mud. but if the stick were capable of being pulled, well surely woulda yanked that shit by now. well would like nothing more than to be on all the time, but on all the time results in the diminishment of hell, and that just can't be, because as logical as pure lightheartedness is, hell remains the undefeated champion of worthwhile existence, however full of long hours of writing it down and staring at nothing and building a mountain and climbing a mountain and, on occasion (these occasions used to be more frequent, hence the feelings of worthwhileness), a sense of understanding life and being the best version of myself: the version that is satisfied with absolute nothingness.
as related as my insides are to the outsides (i mean, they match and all, cuz it's an honest existence), i just don't think they can ever exist together peacefully. i'm fairly confident that the discontenting parts of existence stem from well--from interaction and want and comparison. and as long as i'm involved in the outside world, i won't be able to find out if i'm right or wrong about that. but i also won't find out whether or not the content world of pure solitude would keep me happy. i have an idea of what it's like, cuz this one summer i didn't have a job or hang out much, but those were different times--there was still much in the outside world that i wanted to understand and overcome. by now i'm down to overcoming the bare desire to be a part of it at all. except i'm not trying to overcome it, because i like it. besides, there's no sense in making any real effort, so long as i'm existing in a society where i need a job and lack the qualifications to get a job that wouldn't require some amount of normal interaction.
and now, the funniest words i heard all day:
"i don't know what their zip code is. i used to, though."
and now, a reason i love living in the city:
because i'm so used to watching my back that i do it no matter where i am--fuckin lookin' over both shoulders at the wal-mart in momville, even on the goddamn beach in jekyll island.
and now, a method for making this health bullshit fun:
drink your stupid water out of a motorcycle coffee mug and dip your stupid spinach in ranch dressing from a shot glass shaped like a little girl's head.
and now, a related but disjointed quote from kickin' kierkegaard:
"the self is a synthesis of elements which are and will always remain in opposition. these elements are "held together" by the person and involve a tension or an anxiety which is a constant temptation to the person to "let it go." this would be a cowardly act, destroying the self in order to escape the anxiety. the forms of "letting go" are the forms of despair."
*okay, can i still be garth?
lately, i like the external me more than the internal me. in fact, i might go so far as to say that internal me is JEALOUS of external me. but aren't there methods of turning jealousy into desire, and desire into possession? but i suppose such things are doomed to be nothing more than subconcious. i gotta get a steering wheel for that shit.
at this point, i'm going to assign names to external me and internal me, because i'm already sick of the way that sounds, so...hm, how about...okay i've got it: external me will be well, and internal me will be hell. overly dramatic/ simplified, sure, but i don't mind if you don't mind.
oh man, if any entry were to earn me a disgruntled annoymous comment, i think this is it. feel free.
okay, i'm gonna go ahead and assign emotion and desire to well, and logic and unattainable peace to hell. see, well gets all the good shit--only indulging in the shit that i think is worth bringing up or mulling over; showing off the kind of existence that i consider wisest for me; puking up over-developed jokes and metaphors; fuck, man, just livin' it up, lacking time, lacking garbage. well is a life worth livin', something that i consider a finished product--because it might as well be.
and then there's old hell. the goddamn stick in the mud. but if the stick were capable of being pulled, well surely woulda yanked that shit by now. well would like nothing more than to be on all the time, but on all the time results in the diminishment of hell, and that just can't be, because as logical as pure lightheartedness is, hell remains the undefeated champion of worthwhile existence, however full of long hours of writing it down and staring at nothing and building a mountain and climbing a mountain and, on occasion (these occasions used to be more frequent, hence the feelings of worthwhileness), a sense of understanding life and being the best version of myself: the version that is satisfied with absolute nothingness.
as related as my insides are to the outsides (i mean, they match and all, cuz it's an honest existence), i just don't think they can ever exist together peacefully. i'm fairly confident that the discontenting parts of existence stem from well--from interaction and want and comparison. and as long as i'm involved in the outside world, i won't be able to find out if i'm right or wrong about that. but i also won't find out whether or not the content world of pure solitude would keep me happy. i have an idea of what it's like, cuz this one summer i didn't have a job or hang out much, but those were different times--there was still much in the outside world that i wanted to understand and overcome. by now i'm down to overcoming the bare desire to be a part of it at all. except i'm not trying to overcome it, because i like it. besides, there's no sense in making any real effort, so long as i'm existing in a society where i need a job and lack the qualifications to get a job that wouldn't require some amount of normal interaction.
and now, the funniest words i heard all day:
"i don't know what their zip code is. i used to, though."
and now, a reason i love living in the city:
because i'm so used to watching my back that i do it no matter where i am--fuckin lookin' over both shoulders at the wal-mart in momville, even on the goddamn beach in jekyll island.
and now, a method for making this health bullshit fun:
drink your stupid water out of a motorcycle coffee mug and dip your stupid spinach in ranch dressing from a shot glass shaped like a little girl's head.
and now, a related but disjointed quote from kickin' kierkegaard:
"the self is a synthesis of elements which are and will always remain in opposition. these elements are "held together" by the person and involve a tension or an anxiety which is a constant temptation to the person to "let it go." this would be a cowardly act, destroying the self in order to escape the anxiety. the forms of "letting go" are the forms of despair."
*okay, can i still be garth?