Same old same old. Thinking about when to start thinking instead of actually thinking about things. 

Ideologies clashing with one another in a dramatic and violent fashion. Belief mistaken for an irrefutable truth. Seeing such abstract concepts domineer over humans on such an inexplicably large scale is staggering. Reality yielding to the abstract;a prime example of dualism. The motive forces behind these extraordinary actions resonate amongst people with a constant undying stubborn persistence. Even as a physically removed observer I can’t help but be influenced by these forces.  I can’t help but wonder what I should believe in and be willingly enslaved to. 

Should I give in to physicality alone when ‘choosing’ a girlfriend ? Should I give in? Can I even tell physicality and that which pertains to the mind apart? Silly me. It is a clouded feeling but somehow results in a  seemingly clear decision. I have to try. I do believe that I will know poison when I see it. I do believe that I can transcend social barriers to prevent a breach of morality. I have to believe. I  am human. Slave to the flesh. Interestingly a willing one.

I had forgotten about the relief and clarity that writing provides. It is a soothing salve to the tear that is threatening to bleed everything out of me. Feels as if my heart is trying to cringe into its center (doesn’t it know it can’t really do that?). weird. Not all is bad. I do feel smarter, more alert, less withdrawed (at ‘critical’ times). All-nighters are a disease.  ugh there is no flow. just a collection of stagnated thoughts.  

Anxious runaway trains of  thoughts finally meet and crashed catastrophically. Emptiness of life, cruelty of death and the apparent lack of concern about them. Fear. I have to read more. My thoughts have long since stagnated.  

starting is always awkward. For most things, anything associated with starts are probably ephemeral in existence. I can’t remember why i started to type this post. It probably has to do with my absence of understanding of the functionalities and processes of the Brain. I am going to start capitalising first letters of words that tie in concepts from various intellectual pursuits with differing magnification levels. I think I make sense. 

What do I actually write about. I could simulate a pen friend relationship thing. Though I wouldn’t be successful in formulating and being another entity of personality. I have limited understanding of psychology, the actual circumstances  imposed by the world. I don’t know the function (can it be defined as one?) or its inputs. Does eloquence matter? i don’t think the word eloquence is eloquent. What the fuck is the ‘qua’ doing in the middle. elowen is probably a better form. I think I should analyse rap flow and apply any insights in writing. It is intimately related but I think that rap would probably be easier to analyse because of the juxtaposition of type of flows even when discussing similar content/contentions ; they also tend to be short. I guess short stories would fit some of this criteria and would cover a wider variety of content. Rap seems to be one of the most restricted pursuits. It is changing/improving but the Professional Society of Rappers and Flow Artists (PSRFA) ain’t very accepting. This organization includes the audience (of course). 

Against the oft course.

Some things don’t deserve recognition or functional immortality

Tools that force discontinuity exist everywhere. I will do well to remember that they are a convenience rather than a rule.

My self-esteem is zero. My intelligence is non-existent. the vagaries of life are tugging at my mind, forcibly making it explode almost as if it started within. I hate how I write. I hate how I am. I am decadant. Stagnant.

Why am i not dead ?

Why is it so hard to learn, improve, do something that I feel is going to be somehow worthwhile? Should I trust that feeling or discard my desires, wants into the pit of pointlessness. If I do that I would be in effect discarding myself. Why isn’t that okay?

 

It is OKay.

I guess I got  a very subtle yet incredibly bitter (weird huh) taste of unfairness of life. I don’t know fully understand why its unfair or at least am not capable of expressing it well. I am going to treat the first line of my previous post as a promise and I intend to keep it. 

Details can take up some other space. Here’s my general plan. Keep shit separate. I am going to be a schizophrenic. I will seek to get an understanding of how shit works/doesn’t work and perhaps the relationships between separate shit. I have been thrust into the capitalistic ‘real’ world and if i don’t keep up with my understanding or choose to ignore the hell oh so nearby, I would be a disgrace to myself. 

Funny how the second attack of culture shock is way more prominent than the first. Having gone from being around one culture to another I am faced with problems. The most pressing is whether I should change myself to fit a particular culture or just have a completely rigid identity, behaviour, language. The optimal solution probably going to be a balance as most things are (irritatingly). Now that I think about it the second problem might be the one that’s more fundamental. I should stop ranking stuff prematurely. Now the second problem (unranked in terms of umm importance?) is that I am increasingly distant from the world. Receding back into my confused, messy, anxious mind. Why? I have no idea. I actually do but it takes me sometime to recall them. hmm. There this general depression about my life or lack thereof, existential shit, not knowing enough things, my tired, sick self. I guess i shouldn’t have stopped when I was on thin ice. My weak constructs were just not capable of supporting long periods of idle isolation. My prose is horrible. My skills are non-existent. HOLY FUCK. WHY CAN’T I  ACCEPT THE ANSWER.

Urgh. Fuck.

So I just got reminded that all that I had done were just incomplete failures. Somehow despite this unbelievably visibly blatant fact I feel happy sometimes because of otherwise minor products of these experiences. E.g. being a bit more fit, being a little bit more knowledgeable about something. This is just absolutely disgusting. I trying for the umpteenth time to be more productive. To be less depressed. To do away with things that are so very obviously distracting me and slowing me down. Urgh. fuck.

 

Why is it so hard to do anything?