Totally completely and utterly. I have no idea what I am doing and why I allow myself to be disrespected the way that I am. Reduced to a mere toy, and uncaring due to the desire that blinds me. Aren't I supposed to be smarter than that? All of my moral and ethical values protect my self worth and dignity, with these kinds of stupid actions I will have little of either left. Whether or not this path will continue, it is shameful... and eventually that embarrassment will become impossible to ignore.
How stupid it all is. My head and what's inside it.
“Men who are unhappy, like men who sleep badly, are always proud of the fact.” Bertrand Russell
“There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. If you make up your mind not to be happy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a fairly good time.” Edith Wharton
“One of the indictments of civilizations is that happiness and intelligence are so rarely found in the same person.” William Feather
“A lifetime of happiness! No man alive could bear it: it would be hell on earth.” George Bernard Shaw
“Happiness isn't something you experience; it's something you remember.” Oscar Levant
“To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.” Gustave Flaubert
“No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities.” Christian Nestell Bovee
“What is good? All that heightens the feeling of power in man, the will to power, power itself. What is bad? All that is born of weakness. What is happiness? The feeling that power is growing, that resistance is overcome.” Friedrich Nietzsche
“The ideals which have always shone before me and filled me with the joy of living are goodness, beauty, and truth. To make a goal of comfort or happiness has never appealed to me; a system of ethics built on this basis would be sufficient only for a herd of cattle.” Albert Einstein
Just some inspirational thoughts to keep me and my dear readers in good spirits.
I do not wait for it anymore. I do not expect its gentle sound to grace my ears. I do not reach out blindly, expecting to envelop it with my aching fingers.
It is so hard... this agony - being without a part of your soul. But you must say goodbye to the things that become part of your life and accept their passing. You must be strong and get through the pain of the loss.
I will be strong. I will not let a lost cell phone bring me down. No matter how attached I was to the freaking thing as well as the 100+ phone numbers that were in it. I will start with a clean slate.
I have just been blown away by the movie "pi". I finished watching it 48 minutes ago and I can honestly say that I am rendered speechless. The absurdity of the human mind that this movie explores is one of the most deep and honest - it is ultimate film noir.
The movie is about a Jewish mathematician Maximilian Cohen who is trying to find the significance of the number pi. In that number is a 216 digit that is being hunted by a Stock Market representative and a Jewish cult (of sorts). The representative believes that this number can be used to predict the Stock Market (a theory that is grounded by Max's earlier research) and the Jewish religious group draws parallels to the numerology of the Torah (finding this same number they believe will earn them the key to the Kingdom of Heaven and God). Before long Max realizes to what length each is willing to go to find this number.
At first glance the movie appears to suggest a parallel between the universe and mathematics. It depicts how everything is a pattern of sorts that can be described and transcripted in the world of math and pi. This 216 digit number especially - it can be interconnected to just about anything. By the end of the movie you realize that the single point that it tries to make (and many surprisingly miss it) that there really is no *point*. The number does not mean anything because anything can mean something when a human mind compulsively obsesses over it - that obsession becomes that person's world. It really is more about a person, an idea rather then unlocking the door to the world's secrets. It shows that in life there is no certain pattern (even though it may appear to be otherwise at first) and that any pattern that is found is a coincidence (life is spontaneous). Any pattern that may be found it created by your own head and the desire to find meaning in something that ceases to exist.
I think I am going to obsess about this movie and draw parallels to it with everything that I perceive
I had a very argumentative conversation today with a poor soul that believed herself to be an individual that does not follow trends and forms her own personal opinion on things. It was almost humorous how convinced she was of being different from others - unique.
"What defines your individuality?" I inquired. The response might as well have been copied and pasted from a self-help book that helps people maintain a personal belief that they mean something, that they are not ordinary. "Well, I do not like mainstream things... I choose to like things that are less common." Disliking something mainstream for the reason of it being labeled as mainstream is even more pathetic than liking something for the sake of it being popular. It is known by most as "anti-conformist" a condition in which a deluded human being avoids things in order to achieve individuality which they obviously will never possess. "Well, I like things that are more unusual." Do those things appeal to you because they are unusual and unaccepted by the general public or do you like them because they appeal to your taste? Despite the sputtering and outrage involved in denying the former option, rest be assured she is haunted by the desire to be something other than a plaster mold.
Does anyone really have their own opinions and judgments though? I do not believe they do. It is impossible to grow up in a society that channels you from birth to think and act a certain way and still maintain individuality. If we were individuals we would have no problem annihilating someone that rubbed us the wrong way - it is in human nature (since humans are like animals) to destroy our fellow beings. In fact, we are probably more individual in our first hour of existence than we ever will be later on in life.
Society is like the Matrix - it programs you to think, feel, see, believe... in a way that is convenient for maintaining a world in which we are manipulated like the pawns in a chess game. Even those of us that are Kings or Queens are still being moved by the player and that player happens to be society. Some of us wake up, some of us die, but we are still puppets when it comes down to it. It should not matter that we are sheep that do not possess a single thought of our own; each one of us, to some degree, is part of the great structure that is humanity. Descartes doubted his thoughts, his actions, his beliefs... but he also proved our existence with the immortal statement "I think, therefore I am". In the end, why can't we all be content in our sheep-like existence? Why not stop inventing labels and discontinue personality profiles? Realizing what you are is the closest you will get to individuality.
Every day I am reminded of how miserable it is to live in America - the lack of cultural life that I crave, the lack of style, and the lack of sophistication. All these things I am addicted to more than cigarettes, and I quench that hunger, that thirst when I step out of a European airport and breath in the pollution and smoke-filled air that is the trademark of a city filled with life and generation upon generation of cultural history.
The hostility of the Europeans to foreigners is charming in a way - it makes them seem even more protective and proud of their culture. Their honesty is heartwarming, a European rarely displays the kind of grin that your dentist usually flashes at you if he is pretending to be happy to see you (all the while thinking "I am about to screw you over with your dental expenses!"). In America it is not so. Every word and gesture is filled with a synthetic quality that is meant to fool others - to create a false feeling of trust and comfort. You never know who is your true friend and who is only the asshole that pretends to be until he can finally take advantage of you. Every time I hear how wonderful it is to see me I want to retch - those people wear the grin of the Cheshire cat and the eyes of a plastic, barbie doll. It is a country filled with secretive people who lie to themselves and to others - they would rather stab you in the back than hear the words "Et tu Brute?" A true friend does not stab you in the back, he stabs you in the front (borrowing thoughts from Mr. Wilde).
It is particularly sad that this signature facade is present in a race that claims to be very concerned with other people, concerned with happiness, making the world a better place, and that does not care for money. Lets not even get into the supposed desire for World Peace. America is possibly the most materialistic country that exists, that has ever existed. But they preach to children that money is not important, and that happiness is... their eyes conveying a different message entirely - like all the people are hiding a great secret, part of some conspiracy. It would be far less shallow to admit your love for money and for beauty, at least you would not be an actor that takes part in the great stage production that is life.
For a country that is full of overweight idiots that claim to be unconcerned with body image and material value it is certainly interesting that most of them do not truly own anything but their debt and their anti-depressants. In Europe people face life - they face the fact that looks, character, and even the way you dress is vital. They all face that without money one cannot exist. However, unlike America, it is considered rude to inquire of people as to what their occupation is and even discuss work for a period of time that is longer than "brief". At least that is the case in St. Petersburg.
I hate lies, and pretenses. If this is a country that claims to be offended by anything other than the truth it surprises me that it has not, at the very least, been admitted that a lie is always preferable to them. Brutal honesty is offensive, and so is the harsh truth. Let us sit here and pretend - cocoon ourselves in a happiness that never has and never will truly exist.
I was told today by a very close friend that I am a clinically, constantly, and probably terminally depressed person. I cannot say that I believe that myself, as I usually associate depression with a person who is deeply absorbed in self pity and sympathy solely for themselves. It is ridiculous to be depressed when there are so may other people in the world who are far worse off and who actually have a valid reason for it. Still I believe that there is no reason to have such a Kafkaesque outlook on life as it is always possible to change what is wrong and make it better, no matter how bad it gets. Or, if not that, at least make an effort and try.
People who are depressed wallow in their condition, drown themselves in it and refuse to believe in a different approach. I wallow in my anger and in my disappointment at the cards that life dealt me. I keep in mind though that even with the worst possible cards a talented poker player can rake in a fortune. I believe that wholeheartedly and am ambitious at coming out on top.
Anger is passionate, it is wild, it keeps you going. It is far from the indifferent and hopeless characteristics that define depression. This is quite possibly why I was so disappointed with my friend's judgment - it seemed like an inappropriate thing to say especially considering the fact that he is one of the few people that, supposedly, knows me really well.
The fact that I think, and tell people, "what the hell is this bullshit that I have to put up with?" when referring to life does not mean anything. It does not mean that I am going to deter from my purpose which will forever be living to the fullest and destroying anything that gets in the way of that.
As time wears down upon my life I realize every day what an exceptionally difficult person I happen to be. Increasingly I become more and more hard as I realize how it is almost impossible to find absolutely anything that I am ever content with. My negative attitude helps me live life greatly - I never expect much and am not disappointed when I do not receive it, actually rather flattered that my expectations rang true as they usually do. It is very taxing on me to be so irritated constantly: wound up like a spring and ready to snap like a particularly dry twig. I do not mean to be but, I imagine that I feed by angry nature like butane does a flame - the fire getting so big that I can barely help exploding.
I find almost everyone boring. The people with whom I might have had a decent conversation not a day ago can rapidly become the objects of utter aggravation the very next. I was sitting a couple of minutes ago next to a friend of mine - trying to establish an internet connection (with little success) and listening to the most incessantly boring blabber that I have had to tolerate today. My friend had decided to write a poem - and I, thinking that it was a generally silly idea was under the impression that the opinion was shared and the idea of writing poetry was a thought that he decided to entertain as a general joke. Not the case, as I unfortunately realized after aspects of the poem were pointed out and praised by the author as if he had just contrived one of Shakespeares sonnets. It went on for so long... this gibber, jabber, and blabber. I had to restrain myself from snapping for I realized how quickly I was approaching the breaking point. This self opinion that he has - this utter high regard for his brain and person is intolerable to me, especially because I happen to disagree. I do not believe that he is a genius or anything all that special and these ego feeding rituals that I often have to endure with him, to put it lightly, rub me the wrong way.
It is not normal to be so moody. Things like this would mildly annoy a normal person not cause rage like they do with me. I wonder if perhaps I really do require a professional who is willing to trudge through all the mud in my brain and figure out what in the seven hells is going on in there.
As time wears down upon my life I realize every day what an exceptionally difficult person I happen to be. Increasingly I become more and more hard as I realize how it is almost impossible to find absolutely anything that I am ever content with. My negative attitude helps me live life greatly - I never expect much and am not disappointed when I do not receive it, actually rather flattered that my expectations rang true as they usually do. It is very taxing on me to be so irritated constantly: wound up like a spring and ready to snap like a particularly dry twig. I do not mean to be but, I imagine that I feed by angry nature like butane does a flame - the fire getting so big that I can barely help exploding.
I find almost everyone boring. The people with whom I might have had a decent conversation not a day ago can rapidly become the objects of utter aggravation the very next. I was sitting a couple of minutes ago next to a friend of mine - trying to establish an internet connection (with little success) and listening to the most incessantly boring blabber that I have had to tolerate today. My friend had decided to write a poem - and I, thinking that it was a generally silly idea was under the impression that the opinion was shared and the idea of writing poetry was a thought that he decided to entertain as a general joke. Not the case, as I unfortunately realized after aspects of the poem were pointed out and praised by the author as if he had just contrived one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. It went on for so long... this gibber, jabber, and blabber. I had to restrain myself from snapping for I realized how quickly I was approaching the breaking point. This self opinion that he has - this utter high regard for his brain and person is intolerable to me, especially because I happen to disagree. I do not believe that he is a genius or anything all that special and these ego feeding rituals that I often have to endure with him, to put it lightly, rub me the wrong way.
It is not normal to be so moody. Things like this would mildly annoy a normal person not cause rage like they do with me. I wonder if perhaps I really do require a professional who is willing to trudge through all the mud in my brain and figure out what in the seven hells is going on in there.
God cannot exist. I refuse to entertain the notion that there is a supreme being that I am powerless against. I do not believe in fate, I do not believe in destiny, and I certainly do not believe in bowing down in worship to something that is akin to a parental guardian. God is for those who are weak - they are protected by parents from their birth but thrown out from those protective seclusions as soon as they reach the age of a legal adult. Some adopt society as a protector and some adopt God. If God did not exist, it would be necessary for us to invent him. I believe Voltaire is entirely correct in saying that. Human beings are too weak to acknowledge that they were put on this planet only to live, and then to die. They cannot bear the thought of meaning nothing and being forgotten. Every religion clings to the hope of some sort of an interpretation of immortality - whether it is a memory after death, an afterlife, a reincarnation, or heaven. It kills us to think that emotions are illusions fabricated by a manipulative society to which each of us contribute and that in life, the only certainty is death.
God has not come to me. There is no proof that he was ever here let alone proof that he will come back. The Bible says that he will return but, what fool will believe that when the Bible was written by human hands? How can trust be put into something whose existence has never been proven by science but only by the eyes of deranged individuals? It baffles me that people have the nerve to throw miracles into my face as proof of his existence and quote stories from the Bible - it conveys to me an ignorance of life. A simple ratio - a statistic is enough to disprove anything. For every miracle - a supposed act of mercy of God (in my opinion a coincidence that masses cling to, to build foundation on blind devotion) how many unwarranted tragedies have there been? Death is real; none can argue that death happens. Death is constantly in your face - tainting you from the day that you are born and seducing you into surrendering to it. It is the only guarantee that life does provide: no matter what, you will die.
Do emotions exist? I doubt that too. Humans are so bored with life that they fabricate feelings in order to keep themselves occupied. National Geographic published an article that explored the similarities of love affecting the brain and how similar its effect was to a psychologically unstable person who has a severe case of obsessive compulsive disorder. All other feelings must be the same - chemical imbalances and a Romanization of what should be accepted as pure human instinct.
You start out life struggling uphill - you reach the top, your full potential, and then plummet down it to the welcoming arms of the end. Life is beautiful - accept it for what it is, don't manipulate it into what it is not. Love life for what it is - that love is probably the only true one we as human beings can ever feel.
calm
crushed
enthralled
apathetic
cold
blah