95 weeks
95 weeks is long enough.
It doesn't even seem like that long since I've written anything here... that's almost two years, but then again my life seems to blur into a fog of interrelated events. Some of these events contain meaning, some of them don't. Some haunt me, some define me.
Coming here again, I don't know, makes me feel depressed and younger. It's hard to say things like "oh, I feel younger blogging, but I'm XX years old." BS, I just feel like a kid.
I really find that people who are excited about things going on in the world are missing something fundamentally wrong with the population in general. I think if anyone truly took a deep introspective into the way the general public thinks, and the way our values and reward structure pertaining to what we in society would classify as "meaningful" occupations, they would find quite a disparity.
It is this primordial flaw in this tiny world we live in that should provoke everyone to question the philosophical question of purpose. Absurdism, at least in my opinion, seems to be the only recourse for such a line of deep cognition.
I am just so thankful that my mom is the person that she is. It's hard to think of the world as a mass of thieves. Everyone is looking for your soul. We're all thieves, as Circa would say.
Turkey, Spain, Amsterdam, they are all the same. Simple pleasures that can ease the pressure of the civilized world to succeed and mate. What is left?
I suppose I should affix my gaze elsewhere. But I don't see how that's possible. While my cohorts in the "young people" population decide to use their spare time to work dead end jobs to finance their liquor and water tobacco "hobbies," and others go to school and remain blissfully unaware to anything other than intercourse and schoolwork, I ask: where are those seeking to answer these questions to the eventual conclusion of these lives? What the fuck is the purpose of it all? Do any of these people think about the meaning derived from what they are doing? It's unreal.
The only thing I seem to want to do is get stronger. This drive to has mental and physical power is the only motivation I have to keep living other than seeing the smiles of a few people. It's important to have goals, after all.
I often wonder what it would be like to live in an isolated area, having being raised with no knowledge of anything outside of my own world. Would one be happier in this setting? Is this what every person seeks in that "solice" of retreating to some remote island, like Figi? Societies label of the "free world" only inspires those who succeed to intentionally limit their freedom. How ironic is that.
But the depressing overtone of my journal entry is becoming apparent to even myself. Not that anyone would take their eyes of fucking facebook to read it anyways.
Sometimes, I don't know, I just feel like there are no real people outside of my world anymore. And while my power grows, my detachment to traditional society and its piss poor "ideals" grows too.
It doesn't even seem like that long since I've written anything here... that's almost two years, but then again my life seems to blur into a fog of interrelated events. Some of these events contain meaning, some of them don't. Some haunt me, some define me.
Coming here again, I don't know, makes me feel depressed and younger. It's hard to say things like "oh, I feel younger blogging, but I'm XX years old." BS, I just feel like a kid.
I really find that people who are excited about things going on in the world are missing something fundamentally wrong with the population in general. I think if anyone truly took a deep introspective into the way the general public thinks, and the way our values and reward structure pertaining to what we in society would classify as "meaningful" occupations, they would find quite a disparity.
It is this primordial flaw in this tiny world we live in that should provoke everyone to question the philosophical question of purpose. Absurdism, at least in my opinion, seems to be the only recourse for such a line of deep cognition.
I am just so thankful that my mom is the person that she is. It's hard to think of the world as a mass of thieves. Everyone is looking for your soul. We're all thieves, as Circa would say.
Turkey, Spain, Amsterdam, they are all the same. Simple pleasures that can ease the pressure of the civilized world to succeed and mate. What is left?
I suppose I should affix my gaze elsewhere. But I don't see how that's possible. While my cohorts in the "young people" population decide to use their spare time to work dead end jobs to finance their liquor and water tobacco "hobbies," and others go to school and remain blissfully unaware to anything other than intercourse and schoolwork, I ask: where are those seeking to answer these questions to the eventual conclusion of these lives? What the fuck is the purpose of it all? Do any of these people think about the meaning derived from what they are doing? It's unreal.
The only thing I seem to want to do is get stronger. This drive to has mental and physical power is the only motivation I have to keep living other than seeing the smiles of a few people. It's important to have goals, after all.
I often wonder what it would be like to live in an isolated area, having being raised with no knowledge of anything outside of my own world. Would one be happier in this setting? Is this what every person seeks in that "solice" of retreating to some remote island, like Figi? Societies label of the "free world" only inspires those who succeed to intentionally limit their freedom. How ironic is that.
But the depressing overtone of my journal entry is becoming apparent to even myself. Not that anyone would take their eyes of fucking facebook to read it anyways.
Sometimes, I don't know, I just feel like there are no real people outside of my world anymore. And while my power grows, my detachment to traditional society and its piss poor "ideals" grows too.