Knowing

We often feel justified in our actions as people, especially in doing what we feel will make us happy, and think we know all that may come of our actions. We feel we can accept the ramifications of said actions and cannot possibly be worse off because of them.

It is only when you wake up at 3 AM and everything in your life hits you that you understand that you do not really understand anything. It is only at that time that the conscious and subconscious decisions of your life hit you in such a way that you start to unravel and your existence is turtoure that you understand what it means to be alive.

Writing this, I feel the need to block out suicidal thoughts. There is no one here but me and all my problems. There is no one here but me and my problems. Everything in my mind is in turmoil with, certain parts of working to make me happy while, others conspire against that happiness. What is this nonsense? What does it all mean? Would it be easier if I had some kind of faith of a happy ending or higher entity?

Again, I cannot know. I can only speculate on what it is all pointing to. My back is against that wall and I’m running out of options. Major changes have to arise in my life at this point because I just can’t live my life like this. I’m strangled by all my own indiscretions, some individual, some not so individual.

Emotionally, I’m out of it. Logically, my head is in a mist. For I cannot see truth, I cannot see what right is amiss and, seeing no options, I’m open to making mistakes about the path I should take. I see the pretentious happiness we cultivate, I see the pain in people’s eyes because of their respective mistakes. I see the pain of uncontrollable scenarios, the fear of the unknown that can never be outgrown and, the fear that fear is something you’ll never be able to run through.

So courage is necessary. It is necessary at every point in life. I can see very many point where I’ve lacked it, and of course it’s that tunnel vision so I can’t see the times when I’ve had it. It’s just the occasion.

I know how I want to feel. I know how I want to continue my life. I do not want to be depressed, anxious, unsure of what should be my own sexuality, my own place in the world. I want to define myself within my own paradigm, one in which the meaning of life is success. Success in terms of the material. Success in terms of the immaterial. Success in terms of courage.

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Bachelor

The only problem is, what is it about now? I went from contemplating a whole life spent as a bachelor just to spite biology to thinking about the events of a weekend filled with vices and a subconscious need to match it all to my idealism.

So the life as a bachelor thing. I was just thinking how, for the last few months, I have been hell-bent on scraping together some kind of cash flow to supplement a philanderous lifestyle when it occured to me that I suddenly was no different from most young men I have met or had as friends. Most seemed hell-bent on gaining some measure of access in life if only to draw materialistic women into their beds like one would use a light for moths. It only really hit me at that point that i was not so different. Obviously I see myself as a romantic idealist and therefore thought that that could justify the life I had in mind, that of constantly being in transit to see women and live life, while juggling the requirement of my studies that I be a nerd fixated on solutions concerning software.

For some sort of justification I looked to nature and more specifically biology to answer the question of why we so wanted to achieve for the other sex within our species. It seems that we instinctively know like the animals we claim to be so advanced from that what we have determines our mating habits and whether we are well liked. So the whole motive for most of our actions is an innate need for the approval of others? Interesting.

What an interesting conclusion I would say, even though since all knowledge is already existing, this may have just been my own overdue (or maybe surfaced) epiphany about it all, since we know things yet we don’t.

Still animal.

Working class

The working class
The fruits of your labour,
Product of trees,
You been working all your life,
Just to buy back your own peace.

Rest is a worthless commodity,
You’re up at odd hours.
Clock into the factory,
To make more money for those powers.

It’s the man.
And the man will have it so.
You’re rich in energy,
Yet financially, you owe more than you own.

Compensation a mere calculation,
You’re time is worth nothing.
Ideas to find your own peace,
At least it’s better than your little function.
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Enraptured by a goddes

GODDESS (2).pngI’d think the world, no, the universe of you if I knew how big it was. Since I don’t, I’ll put it down to being as big as yours. So innocent. This world doesn’t deserve your beauty. You look like you are contrary to nature really, like you were the mother of beauty , goddess of creation or merely just a depiction of the moon the wolf howls to at night. How outrageous to compare you! You radiate like the sun really, a panoply of creation and an expression of infiniteness. What could be said against you really, except for that one triviality concerning your reality. How did it come to pass? I can’t even write anything more about it because your being really touches my soul, the intangible parts of me and everything else we’re yet to find the words to describe. How redundant but really, upon conception of divinity would you not drown yourself in beautiful fantasies that are too fantastical to be real? You elude my reality and my mind, a rare feat and still I utter defeat because could you really see me the way I see you? Or more importantly, see yourself the way I see you?

Took a chance

Took a chance

after a glance

and now we’re better off as people,

Together forever, we’re lying it’s evil

but its whatever.

 

You can’t always see it happen,

but you know it’s all life.

All the same process with the

pain and pleasure and still somehow

we get back to being alright.

 

Who we are my favorite mystery,

We’re always so stuck on presently making history.

Of course it makes sense to lose ourselves because our

innate biology is senseless but,

Still we believe in that first purity of our often corruptible

Intentions.

 

Still Alive, I said it like a reminder on some days.

Who we are

A true mystery in my eyes. I find  myself wistfully wondering about it, trying to find a reason for it all or maybe just a reason for my being.

We live in a world with plentiful egos, trapped chasing material goods and a lifestyle that kills us. I’d love to believe there is more to us than just the rat race, the mundane cycle and death. Maybe I’m just a young romantic stuck in childish ways fleeing from the need to act my age. If i need to act my age, doesn’t that mean I’m pretending?

We have many a theory underpinning our existence and, I constantly find myself asking how we could ever know if all theories are truly correct. Do we believe in something because we find it makes sense and therefore gives quality to our lives or do we seek for perfection in the turbulent universe?

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Thoughts by a younger me

Written sometime in 2016…

Knowledge is enduring, to an extent like everything else, while feelings are of a more fleeting nature. Therefore, knowing you love someone even as the doubts cloud the clear skies of your intellect is more important than merely feeling as if you love someone because that wanes. Knowing you love someone despite the knowledge of their flaws therefore means that you might navigate the fluctuations in feeling more successfully than someone who merely relies upon feelings. Of course, one might say that logic and sentiment are dependent on each other and that whole argument is, rather futile in its attempts to assert which of either sentiment or knowledge are more conducive for the survival of a relationship. This begs the question of whether one would say the feeling of happiness is more important than the knowledge or vice versa. Of course effort trumps both logic and sentimentality for it is with effort that the salmon makes it upriver.

Futility is what powers this vessel called life. Nature institutes inequality. Of course if I had to say this to someone who is economically marginalized and does not necessarily live a comfortable life, this statement would be met with hostility. It is said that the truth hurts. I wouldn’t say this in a situation of hostility. Looking at animals, one sees that certain animals are stronger and faster than other, thereby allowing them to live off the others. At times, life feels like a merciless game, played out for a mysterious entity. But then this begs the question of where this entity cane from and we’re back where we started. Buddhism says that everything emanates from nothingness, emptiness, and that this emptiness is the liberation we seek. Paradoxical, because this further begs the question of where this emptiness itself emanated from…

Change and the cycle

It’ s so much harder to translate feelings inside to actual words because, is our vocabulary really as advanced as our feelings? We can’t really explain ourselves as people, all we have are theories we occasionally throw out as we discover more and more about ourselves. One wonders if we’ll really ever know ourselves…

I feel the need to say more because, are we really ever satisfied with everything? I’ve often thought about how, you could have it all, and still want more, like the plentiful in sight just wasn’t matching the design inside your mind’s eye. I wonder about it as times even as i feel a connection to another side. It’s been said that matter is corrupt, and we’ll all self-destruct, as if death was something we brought unto ourselves to free the soul from the symphonies of pain.

You can only romanticize it so much, especially in a world so crude and materialistic. Our own advancement is akin to bring about our own destruction, swift in our own demise, lost to being of forgotten times because, are we not just minuscule beings on a rock in outer space?

These are just the thoughts of what could be thought of as a spiritual young man in a cold world. I still seem to romanticize it so much, it’s just the child that is still inside.