Emotions are pretty inconvenient, aren’t they? They bubble up in the most inconvenient situations, with the most inconvenient color to hue. Most useless, too.
I probably have this website because all of my life I learned that my emotions are inconvenient. When you have a lot of inconvenient things to lug around, it’s best to drop them somewhere and forget about them.
To be clear, I think it’s preferable this way, in most ways. Typing out “inconvenient” isn’t with a bemoaning tone: it’s a sterile report; sterility is my principle aim, if not morbidness whenever it strikes (I can’t help but indulge in such a conflicting state when it does).
Though surely you’d agree there’s nothing necessarily “sterile” here – at least it’s a little melodramatic. Depending on your mood.
But the drama is divorced from my unanimated face while writing this. All the words were already executed before the first keystroke, in some way. I guess “an attempt of detachedness” would’ve been the better phrase. There’s no delusion here: whatever is written so things shall remain (mostly) the same, other than discarding another emotion, one could hope.
What emotion are we discarding today? Perhaps this is a bold entry: to discard all of them at once. Is ambition an emotion too? It is a state of being; a state of being somewhat foreign.
With each discard you may find something crammed in the back of the shelf. As you strip each emotion away so a forgotten crayon comes in view. With this crayon one can make a most lovely stitch of paper hung over the barren insides. Ceremoniously – with the last lick of tape pressed in – so one fashions their billboard of Lies.
Lies. I love lies. What I love is how they can make things feel so full. To a point where it doesn’t matter what’s behind the pinned-up drawing.
How could you not love them? We spend a lot of our lives repeating lies we hope turn into truth. In some sense, the greatest alchemy isn’t immortality, but within that immortal gaze so one hopes to summon a fantastical outlook – what use is forever in a monotonous stage? Isn’t the most magical trick of them all to furnish a truth from a bedrock of nothingness?
Here’s an interesting four bullet point list ascertaining the truth or state of something. The first two ought to be most familiar to you:
Yet in our magical spun world of superpositions and split-slot-experiments, another two shall arise:
Thus our immortal dance begins: thus our convergence of imagined and reality blend.
That is, ultimately, who is to say what is a truth and what is a lie, when it could be neither or both?
And what is one to do when the lie eclipses the truth, becomes “more real” than the “truth”? Where one, ultimately, convinces oneself of a new reality and we watch it unfold. The same as forcing yourself to love someone.
Most adults today shall wave away the precocious child sharing an imaginary song – and yet the child sings. Indeed we’ll wave away all imaginary reports – and yet is imaginary synonymous with falsity when we have such papers in our hands? Surely these visions aren’t necessarily false, and maybe they’re not necessarily true – the same as memories, seeing as it’s the same view.
Emotions sure are inconvenient, but I think it’s only because there’s no room for such emotions in our scripted world. Even if you live unscripted, it’s difficult to not fall back into one’s expected role(s). And yet the irony flays and flays at you: role(s) of this and that, living this and act, act properly! You should know how to act! Who raised you! It seems truth becomes fiction and fiction becomes truth – such is our immortal dance.
Truth is, I can’t tell which emotions are real and not real anymore. But I don’t mind at all. Just discard the inconvenient ones and keep the good ones to yourself, is what I say. Maybe be bold enough to share them with others, however “real” they may be.
In the conventional view of the world – the steadfast agnostic and the raised eyebrow foot-tapper – it seems many of the things I love are “lies” and their fruits of truth or non-truth and half-truths and unfalsies too.
I guess that’s because it encompasses our world, doesn’t it? Drenched in ambiguity.
I look forward to the next act with you.