Ozymandias
Look upon thy works, ye mighty. They are as much yours as they are mine.
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Plans. Blueprints.
So my room lies in shambles as I attempt to map out the direction of my life. Folded clothes and mismatched socks litter my bed while thoughts of my future processes litter my mind. I want to optimize happiness and fulfillment. I want someone to be there with me. It doesn’t have to be harder than necessary. I want to get by. The next four years of my life will be enjoyable and life changing, as these past four years have been. I’ve learned to understand the power of human emotion, while loving the power of human understanding. Logic is always at my back, a concerned parent.
My room smells like dog.
As Keierkegard would say “life must be lived forward but can only be understood backward”.
Maybe that’s why life seems to get shorter exponentially as we age; we spend too much time living in the future as we are young (although old enough to comprehend the future), and the past when we are old. Never the now. Interesting.
1.78 seconds sure is a lot of time for things to happen. There is no right or wrong choice, but there is an optimal choice for each individual person. The road between logic and emotion is rocky, and the paths cross frequently, as one sometimes justifies another. I got to the highway, and I will pay the toll. My tires will wear, and my engine will eventually sputter to a coughing halt. For now, I cannot comprehend. Anything is possible.
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Investing in the Process.
Michel de Montaigne, teach me how to live. Not why, for I have that all figured out. Contradict yourself, you are large and contain multitudes (as Whitman after you did). I am not quite as large, but I am growing when I let myself. I see my reflection in you and ask ” how do you know such about me?”. The answer comes to me through implication and inference and indiscriminate liveliness which you present me with. It is you who is I and I vis a vie. Teach me how to live, so I can be fulfilled. Answer with a question, my dear renaissance man. In one question, I see 20 attempts at an answer. Oh black legend. Tell me how your mind has hindered herself so that I may know the same. With jean cutoffs and severed legs I realize that it is impossible to escape our own perception. We cannot walk with any legs but our own, we cannot sit on any ass but ours. These thoughts are mine and yours, good sir. We share them as we pass through the ages. We are copies and originals, although the later seems to contain less sense. My life has been lived before and continues to be lived, if only with a separate disposition. We are originals because we come to this conclusion independently. We are copies because we do this as a whole. I see my reflection in you, Michel de Montaigne. Won’t you teach me how to live? Not why, mind you, for I know the reason and the two ways that people use to achieve it. Although our choices are free, we cannot control its outcome. Therefore, I choose not to live for the outcome, but for the process. Teach me your process, my friend, so that I may live and grow and build and challenge them. Emit your radiation.
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well fuck
Severing ties makes me. I imagine everything as if it were written. And I wish it was all written so I wouldn’thave to think of it. On top of that, I’m lazy. I want to not want. Thats it and that’s cool. Nonsense. I promise I will start making it. Sense, that is. And sense, that isn’t. Good luck and thank you!
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Humbert the Harangued doesn’t see your point
Acceptance is key to peace. Do it you fuckers, look me in the eyes and tell what a horrible person I am. I am not the keeper of anyone’s thoughts and feelings but my own and Mr. Vonnegut’s. copypastecopypastecuttapehighlight these faults of mine. I am content in my discontentment. No meaning, but a crescendo to a spectacular finis. You have forgotten to stop and listen. You harlequin fools!
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My brother is. My father is. My mother is.
There is an overwhelming aspect to my own existence which I cannot come to terms with. There is no other diagnosis I can give other than overwhelmed. I meant to explain this earlier but I couldn’t, I still can’t, not in words anyway. It’s one in the morning and I just watched some b rate indie film with two famous actors who like doing that kind of thing on the side, and the same feeling came back to me from last week. Then I sat here. In the darkness I greeted my thoughts to come rushing in and out like a breath. My breath did as thoughts sometimes do, where it seems to flow into one another like a dream. and. oh. mygodam Idreaming?
This theatre of absurdity is getting to me
oh it sure is.
I look at my family and running water and burning electricity and scalding hot frying pans topped with quesodilla’s attached to a plate attached to a hand attached to a loving mother who smiles and reminds me about the future. It’s my aunt’s birthday and I am in the kitchen typing this. My brother is. dead. I almost forgot about Ryan. is it possible to miss someone you never met? My father is. in awe that he barely got to know him before he moved away! out,out—brief candle! Oh ha ha. My mother is. laughing at my father’s jokes and my brother Zachary’s devilish devices of argumentation. I sit back and enjoy. I love Sean and Conor but they are not here. I am not yet there yet I have always been.
The difference between a laptop.
is one of it’s motors is loose.
I stayed up all night trying to fix it. it wasn’t broken. i wondered,
where the sun went,
then it dawned on me.
it had been here all along.
I had a point. I swear.
A lot.
Like a sailor.
Oh life is grand!
And then I went to sleep, neither sad nor anything else but accepting.
[fin.] (dorsal)
