-Deep Breath-
--- Just fucking do it already, I thought. Go ahead...make another attempt to draw attention to yourself; that way you can have someone feel obligated to cheer you on so you'll do it. Pathetic. We as humans leech off each other. We can't go or do something we want, if no one is watching. It's not that people don't know what they want...in fact, they know exactly what the fuck they want. They just hesitate; they want to be reassured by someone, they want to be noticed doing it, they want the look of approval, the "okay, I'm watching" look...so they don't feel guilty following through. They want attention. ---
I wrote this snippet as the opening paragraph for my book that I --- plan on writing. The more I read it, the more I realize that I am a hypocrite; the venom and disgust I had when I first wrote it towards certain people...also applies to me.
"I don't see myself as a person who is in this situation. I just don't. I don't see myself this way ---
...well this is how it is."
I want attention. Everyone does. That is what we are searching for in life. Acceptance. A reason and justification of our own fucking being.
And as I live, as I experience life, the more I learn. Ideas change, thoughts change, opinions change, perceptions change, accepted morals change---Facts change.
But sometimes...we can't distinguish "fact" from casted shadows. Sometimes we get lost in the haze, the confusion, the day-dream.
We get lost in thought...in search of the answers.
And do you know what the scariest part is? Is that we don't know that we went anywhere...until we wake up. "Fact is", we lose control of thought.
We know we sleep. We know that we wake. But we Don't know or have any remembrance of the time in-between.
If it wasn't for the habit of waking up every morning...being on a time schedule...what is stopping us for sleeping forever? NOT being able to wake? What if that is death...the inability to wake. What if? Why not?
Obviously we dream...and sometimes we can remember what happened in the dream. You wake up, the dream is fresh in your mind. You try and try to hold onto it--- and then uncontrollably we start to lose it. The dream decays in our mind. We grow ignorant. We seem to just forget. And me personally I know it feels almost like self-betrayal.
Fact is...I had no control over losing the dream in my mind...but yet - I- forgot it.
Or is that just perception?
I can't see my mind not remembering something that it has experienced. I don't see why it couldn't have just condensed it...changed it around a little to "save some space." I may have forgotten it, maybe I have lost the ability to conjure the memory on the spot...but for my mind to erase something completely? I think not.
Maybe us "dreaming", or day-dreaming for that matter, are just those forgotten memories trying to resurface. Why not?
It's not until we wake up that we realize that anything was going on...
In our dream, everything going on was Completely real to us. Then we wake. I'm just saying, Maybe it IS still real, that our dreams are real somewhere, something we have experienced at one point.
Just food for thought:
Why can't life itself be a dream?...one that we simply forgot when we "awoke". Maybe I'm dreaming right now. Does it make what I'm experience any less real? No.
Why can't us getting lost in thought, be our search for that slight remembrance of life that we have somewhere inside our minds that we just forgot?
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Ignorance...is only based on perception. One man's first breath, is someone's last.
Just because I am not aware of something...doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. It just doesn't exist to ME, the individual. Just because something isn't significant to me, doesn't mean that it ITSELF isn't significant.
There are over 9 billion people on this earth...and only .000000001% of those people know of me. To the other 99.9 etc % people, I don't exist. But I DO exist. Take that example to any paradox you can think of...and think, "is it really a paradox Or is it just perception?" I'll leave that to you....but to me: They are one in the same.
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Whether or not you matter...
You have lived...
And even though you will die, you will leave ~something~ behind. Whether you know it or not
That is fact.
"...there is no such thing as spotless. It just ends up somewhere else. Just being pushed around...
Work is endless, that is what I've found. Maybe this earth is just a ball of fluff. Some great big cleaner out there said, "enough"...and that's how we all survived.
Why not? We are just the parasites and that God has forgot. the point is, is that we never disappear, despite it being what we almost fear. Certainly not finished when we die. However hard the Undertakers try. Every single creature feeds another. Everybody is everyone's mother, or at the very least a kind of host. Perhaps when we expire, we change at most...but never vanish.
No, we leave a stain, a fingerprint, some mess. Perhaps some pain. Some fear or doubt in someone else's heart. We leave a mess in fact when we depart.
Work is endless, that is what I've found. Maybe this earth is just a ball of fluff. Some great big cleaner out there said, "enough"...and that's how we all survived.
Why not? We are just the parasites and that God has forgot. the point is, is that we never disappear, despite it being what we almost fear. Certainly not finished when we die. However hard the Undertakers try. Every single creature feeds another. Everybody is everyone's mother, or at the very least a kind of host. Perhaps when we expire, we change at most...but never vanish.
No, we leave a stain, a fingerprint, some mess. Perhaps some pain. Some fear or doubt in someone else's heart. We leave a mess in fact when we depart.
When you look closer, nothing goes away. It changes, see? Like night becomes day and day the night...but even that's not true...it's really all about your point of view. Depending on where you are standing on the earth. And in the end, it is simply isn't worth your while to clean your life away. You can't.
For everything thing you do and say is there, forever. It leaves evidence. In fact that is only really common sense. There is no such thing as nothing/not at all. It may only be very, very small...but it's is still there. In fact I think I guess that "no" does not exist. There is only Yes."
For everything thing you do and say is there, forever. It leaves evidence. In fact that is only really common sense. There is no such thing as nothing/not at all. It may only be very, very small...but it's is still there. In fact I think I guess that "no" does not exist. There is only Yes."
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You cannot have good, without having the bad. (The rest is mainly quotes I have enjoyed, and picked up here and there. I figured this post was long enough...and that I'd write more on this topic later anyway.)
Like everyone else, I am acutely conscience sometimes of my own isolation...even in the midst of people. And I often give up hope of ever being able to really communicate with them. It is not only the sort of isolation that every writer or artist must experience in the creative mood, if it is to create anything at all. It is like a black cloud, sweeping down on me unexpectedly...cutting me off from others. A sort of death mood-ness.
And into the dream I go.
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Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born.
But while alive, you wait in vain...wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it alright. And it never comes; or it seems to but it doesn't really. So you spend your time in vague regret or vague hope, that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected...something that will make you feel whole...something that will make you feel loved.
And the truth is---I feel so angry.
And the truth is---I feel so fucking sad.
And the truth is---I felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long.
And for just as long have been pretending I am okay...just to get along...just for...
But while alive, you wait in vain...wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it alright. And it never comes; or it seems to but it doesn't really. So you spend your time in vague regret or vague hope, that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected...something that will make you feel whole...something that will make you feel loved.
And the truth is---I feel so angry.
And the truth is---I feel so fucking sad.
And the truth is---I felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long.
And for just as long have been pretending I am okay...just to get along...just for...
I don't know why.
Maybe because...no one wants to hear about my misery. Because they have their own.
Well...fuck everybody.
Amen.
Well...fuck everybody.
Amen.
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Dear diary, I am afraid I am gravely ill. It is perhaps times like these that one reflects on things past. An article of clothing from when I was young, a green jacket. A walk with my father. The game we once played; pretend we are fairies. I'm a girl fairy and my name is Lora Lee. And you are a boy fairy and your name is Titily.
Pretend that when we are fairies, that we fight each other...and I keep telling you, stop hitting more or I'll die.
Pretend that when we are fairies, that we fight each other...and I keep telling you, stop hitting more or I'll die.
And you hit me again and I say, Now I Have to die.
And you say, ...but I'll miss you.
And I'll say,
...but I Have too.
And you will have to wait a million years to see me again. And I'll be put into a box, and all I'll need is a tiny box and a glass of water and lots of tiny pieces of pizza, and the box will have wings like an airplane. And you'll ask, But where will it take you?
Home.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------If and when I die, I want to see you cry. I want to see you tear your hair...hear your howls of anguish fill the air. I want to see you beat your chest, wrinkle you clothes and all the rest. Sob and fall upon my bed...I want to know that I am dead.
I want to know I am a part of you...and that you are going to burn me, being torn away. I want to see you dressed in black, with red-rimmed eyes from all of the sleepless nights of grieving...I want to hear you protest me of leaving. I want to see you in each others arms, wailing. See you kick a chair and punch the wall. See you moan and fall upon the grim and scream.
I want to know that this isn't just a dream...
I want my death to be just like my life. I want the mess, the struggle, and the strife. I want to fight and see you fight for me. I want to hear your last regrets, the things you wish you should have done and said. In fact I'd like that just before I'm dead. Don't let them put you off or make you go. Or say it's bad for me or it makes it hard for me to leave because it won't be true. I want to see you grieve. Don't let me die in silence, all pious and polite. Let's make a lot of noise. A different kind of light will fill the room.
I want my death to wake you up and clean you out. And as I end...I'll hear you breathe,
I want to know I am a part of you...and that you are going to burn me, being torn away. I want to see you dressed in black, with red-rimmed eyes from all of the sleepless nights of grieving...I want to hear you protest me of leaving. I want to see you in each others arms, wailing. See you kick a chair and punch the wall. See you moan and fall upon the grim and scream.
I want to know that this isn't just a dream...
I want my death to be just like my life. I want the mess, the struggle, and the strife. I want to fight and see you fight for me. I want to hear your last regrets, the things you wish you should have done and said. In fact I'd like that just before I'm dead. Don't let them put you off or make you go. Or say it's bad for me or it makes it hard for me to leave because it won't be true. I want to see you grieve. Don't let me die in silence, all pious and polite. Let's make a lot of noise. A different kind of light will fill the room.
I want my death to wake you up and clean you out. And as I end...I'll hear you breathe,
no...
I will hear you say,
No...
I will hear you scream,
NO...
But I will go.
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I will be dying and so will you, and so will everyone here. That's what I want to explore.
We're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't.
I won't settle for anything less than the brutal truth. Brutal. Brutal. Each day I'll hand you a paper, it'll tell you what happened to you that day. You felt a lump in your breast. You looked at your wife and saw a stranger, etcetera.
I'm not excusing myself from this either. I will have someone play me, to delve into the murky, cowardly depths of my lonely, fucked-up being. And he'll get notes too, and those notes will correspond to the notes I truly receive every day from my god! Get to work!
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Look at me. There is nothing to talk about. It's not your fault. I've watched you forever. But You never really looked at anyone other than yourself. So watch me. Watch my heart-break. Watch me jump. Watch me learn that after death there is nothing, there is no more watching, no more following. No love. No more goodbyes. Say goodbye to everyone. Say it for yourself too. None of us have much time.
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As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as they die; as they move on; as you shed them; as you shed your beauty; your youth; as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving - not coming from any place; not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time. Now you are here, at 7:43. Now you are here, at 7:44. Now you are... Gone.
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What was once before you...an exciting and mysterious future...is now behind you. Lived. Understood. Disappointing. You realize that you are not special. You have struggled into existence. And are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone's experience. Every. Single. One. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone is Everyone.
So you are Adel...Hazel...Claire...Olive...you are Ellen, all of her meager sadness's are yours. All of her loneliness. The gray, straw-like hair...her red raw hands. It's yours. It is time for you to understand this.
So you are Adel...Hazel...Claire...Olive...you are Ellen, all of her meager sadness's are yours. All of her loneliness. The gray, straw-like hair...her red raw hands. It's yours. It is time for you to understand this.
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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot.
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.
^--- Basically, "Ignorance is Bliss." And it is so true.
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Although I didn't write some of this material, I think it is fair to say that it Doesn't mean that I couldn't have...and I think that means a lot. I didn't have control over when I was born.
I hope you enjoyed it. Definitely more to come, but I figured I've given you plenty to ponder. Whether or not you believe me on every point I made...moral of the story is: Be open-minded. And to not ask "why?" --- but to ask "why not?"
:)
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.
^--- Basically, "Ignorance is Bliss." And it is so true.
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Although I didn't write some of this material, I think it is fair to say that it Doesn't mean that I couldn't have...and I think that means a lot. I didn't have control over when I was born.
I hope you enjoyed it. Definitely more to come, but I figured I've given you plenty to ponder. Whether or not you believe me on every point I made...moral of the story is: Be open-minded. And to not ask "why?" --- but to ask "why not?"
:)
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