(no subject)
It seems as though when I’m utterly physically exhausted I write better, when I’m feeling healthy well rested I have nothing to say.
When I spend the majority of my free time reading academic literature and writing academically I stop desiring to write for pleasure. And as is the conflict with other artistic endeavors I participate in, I put too much weight on the spiritual meaning of creating and ego that more times than not it is just creates increased mental clutter and dissatisfaction with inadequacy.
Mina dying has brought up a series of various emotions and thoughts that have had difficulty articulate. I’ve realized that death is the final moment, the life is over, and the ego, the person the stories the person lived the things they did are not important in that final moment when the body shuts down. So than why live at all in the first place? What is the point if we’re going to die anyway? It’s one of those paradoxes that everyone must think about at some point and the people who aren’t religious or spiritual don’t have an immediate explanation, and regardless of what we believe it is a still a difficult question to answer. The good thing about it is that it has increased my appreciation for reality, for the world as I know it. There is so much beauty sometimes that I can’t stand it.
The last time I ate mushrooms the residual effects of the psychosis I experienced made me realize that there was a whole other dimension to loving life. The bad thing is that now I find myself wishing that I could go back to that level of euphoria and I don’t know how to reach it by traditional means, in a way I guess it was cheating.
When I spend the majority of my free time reading academic literature and writing academically I stop desiring to write for pleasure. And as is the conflict with other artistic endeavors I participate in, I put too much weight on the spiritual meaning of creating and ego that more times than not it is just creates increased mental clutter and dissatisfaction with inadequacy.
Mina dying has brought up a series of various emotions and thoughts that have had difficulty articulate. I’ve realized that death is the final moment, the life is over, and the ego, the person the stories the person lived the things they did are not important in that final moment when the body shuts down. So than why live at all in the first place? What is the point if we’re going to die anyway? It’s one of those paradoxes that everyone must think about at some point and the people who aren’t religious or spiritual don’t have an immediate explanation, and regardless of what we believe it is a still a difficult question to answer. The good thing about it is that it has increased my appreciation for reality, for the world as I know it. There is so much beauty sometimes that I can’t stand it.
The last time I ate mushrooms the residual effects of the psychosis I experienced made me realize that there was a whole other dimension to loving life. The bad thing is that now I find myself wishing that I could go back to that level of euphoria and I don’t know how to reach it by traditional means, in a way I guess it was cheating.