Hi thoughts
Hahaha, oh dear. So I'm turning back to this thing, not only as a soundboard but also as one of the only places I can put the voice down so it doesn't harass me all the time. At least this nifty little interface is here to relieve a little of the mental pressure we all deal with from time to time.
I am very, very tired. Not in the aged sense, or in the mature sense, or even in any kind of a worthwhile and wholesome sense; just of propping up a silly idyllic illusion that one day everything would be alright and it just took a little bit of effort on my part for it to happen. That little spark, that tiny catalyst of utter breathtaking uniqueness that only comes once in a generation. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of trying to believe that other people really mean what they say, and that they are working for a greater good. Sure, we lie to ourselves and to others all the time, but why is that such a great excuse for people? How can it be that we never feel utterly and wholly ashamed for trying to do this to ourselves? There aren't personal morals, there never have been. Just nice, comforting, opioid screens to block out the rest of the unfinished details and calculated mistakes that we don't really care for and hope some other computing device can explain away for us. Or, in the event that didn't happen, some other poor hapless shmuck that finds in the goodness of his heart to take on the burden of everyone else. Or, failing in that, maybe it was all negligible and we're all terminal, so the only point is to feel good about everything because being sad would just make you that, sad. Too bad that you can also be pathetic for giving in to it.
Maybe significance isn't in the hands of the society at large, just the demands for solutions to problems that are usually greater than the capacity of an average intelligence. We're raised, just like we have been for thousands of years, and educated, to believe that such intelligence is for the greater benefit of existing on this planet; really it's all been a ploy to weed out the intellectuals that so desperately need their internal worlds propped up, they'll take on any challenge, any promise of any recognition and greatness, so long as they too can keep their worlds and as trade have them codified and respected, remembered, by that relentless horde. The rest don't care, haven't cared; the beasts that walk the earth with us are on about the same wavelength as our majority, just with less fancy wiring and behavioral tricks. I don't know which one is more disparaging; that we're so stuck on form we see meaning where there is none, or that we have such a complete lack of empathy that we can brutalize, harangue, and torture our own biological kin.
It's so funny, looking back on these words; I know them to be just as much a part of the processes of existing that flow in and out as the fleeting snapshots of happiness, satisfaction, pride. We all want to be the centers of those stationed outflows, but that's antithetical to the entire human experience; the one motivated by discovery, playing, chance taking. We only make sense of these ethereal experiences when we run into them, abruptly and without prior conscience; there is no planning for revelation, there is no step-scale to greatness. The platforms and structure are all shifting underneath us and around us. All you can do is trust yourself and what you can do, and move through the fog from there. Everyone makes the mistake of thinking you can do without one or the other: I'm not going to make that mistake anymore.
I am very, very tired. Not in the aged sense, or in the mature sense, or even in any kind of a worthwhile and wholesome sense; just of propping up a silly idyllic illusion that one day everything would be alright and it just took a little bit of effort on my part for it to happen. That little spark, that tiny catalyst of utter breathtaking uniqueness that only comes once in a generation. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of trying to believe that other people really mean what they say, and that they are working for a greater good. Sure, we lie to ourselves and to others all the time, but why is that such a great excuse for people? How can it be that we never feel utterly and wholly ashamed for trying to do this to ourselves? There aren't personal morals, there never have been. Just nice, comforting, opioid screens to block out the rest of the unfinished details and calculated mistakes that we don't really care for and hope some other computing device can explain away for us. Or, in the event that didn't happen, some other poor hapless shmuck that finds in the goodness of his heart to take on the burden of everyone else. Or, failing in that, maybe it was all negligible and we're all terminal, so the only point is to feel good about everything because being sad would just make you that, sad. Too bad that you can also be pathetic for giving in to it.
Maybe significance isn't in the hands of the society at large, just the demands for solutions to problems that are usually greater than the capacity of an average intelligence. We're raised, just like we have been for thousands of years, and educated, to believe that such intelligence is for the greater benefit of existing on this planet; really it's all been a ploy to weed out the intellectuals that so desperately need their internal worlds propped up, they'll take on any challenge, any promise of any recognition and greatness, so long as they too can keep their worlds and as trade have them codified and respected, remembered, by that relentless horde. The rest don't care, haven't cared; the beasts that walk the earth with us are on about the same wavelength as our majority, just with less fancy wiring and behavioral tricks. I don't know which one is more disparaging; that we're so stuck on form we see meaning where there is none, or that we have such a complete lack of empathy that we can brutalize, harangue, and torture our own biological kin.
It's so funny, looking back on these words; I know them to be just as much a part of the processes of existing that flow in and out as the fleeting snapshots of happiness, satisfaction, pride. We all want to be the centers of those stationed outflows, but that's antithetical to the entire human experience; the one motivated by discovery, playing, chance taking. We only make sense of these ethereal experiences when we run into them, abruptly and without prior conscience; there is no planning for revelation, there is no step-scale to greatness. The platforms and structure are all shifting underneath us and around us. All you can do is trust yourself and what you can do, and move through the fog from there. Everyone makes the mistake of thinking you can do without one or the other: I'm not going to make that mistake anymore.