I don’t know friends, but a hello I’ll start with.
In my usual procrastinating stint so I browsed around until I stumbled onto this post. Of course while reading so one would survey their own situation and thoughts on the matter.
But the aftermath is this perplexing mixture of emotions, distilled in a laughter about it all.
I mean, if you’ve read any of my other neurotica about being chronically online, or the difficulties in submerging into real life when real life isn’t necessarily real anymore either – and especially because there is no Great Position I’m striving for, accolades or recognitions either – all that’s left is a puzzled smile into a chuckle.
The more innocent side of me would inquire, “What should I do from here?” but that’s for me to determine, isn’t it?
Ah, once you just accept it and let the Forces take over – accept my uselessness – it’s quite nice. There is no one waiting on me necessarily. Only a few, and I do what I can, but that’s about it. There are no strong expectations other than the bare minimum, and I won’t be bothered if it ends in shouting matches about it all.
I’m a big fan of doing nothing until the existential dread seeps into everyday actions, which spurs something about. The concerning (if it could be concerning) trend here is that such bile rarely moves me nowadays. It’s idle curiosity which pushes me onward. Strange, isn’t it? Not the best fuel source, I’ll admit.
Well, one thought is that I am getting to the point where I wouldn’t really care to read anything from my usual places.
But seeing as I continue to visit these places which are fundamentally boring anyway, perhaps my hand will be forced to create some sort of replica. Staring at the dolls in the store window, jotting the patterns down, and creating my makeshift homunculus composed of bottle rockets and poprocks.
Yes… it seems my hand is unfortunately forced.
You know, instead of a puzzled outlook, it’d be more fun to hold a fury toward things. Anger is one of those emotions I avoid instinctively, and yet its close cousin Passion seems to share some traits.
I think there’s something satisfying about willing your thoughts into existence. I wonder if a cooled passion could even exist.
Controlled pressure until you meld sand into glass I guess.
One indifferent to any rewards, but will happily work themselves to the grave.
Set thy heart upon thy work, but never on its reward.
Well, as always, the door is open. If you have an idea you think would be amusing enough, let me know.