Lately I find it hard/exhausting to justify writing things. It’s befuddling.
But not really. I’ve written over 180000 words over the course of a few years. If that isn’t neurotic I’m not sure what is.
And when you frame it this way – instead of hiding these things, hiding all remnants and instances of any past at all – what else can one write after so much?
In a therapy session perhaps a question would float in: how has writing so much changed you?
When I read my earlier entries, there was a flavour of earnestness and determination. Toward the later it’s all mellowed out. Toward the end it’s veering back into a sinkhole. In conclusion, maybe it mellowed me out.
It also helped with expressing thoughts in a pleasant manner. Even if it’s all purple some sentences read pleasantly and that’s the pleasure I get from this mostly.
It wouldn’t be a lie that some of what I’ve written here I still carry today as a way to deal with things.
I decided to leave it all up because by writing so many words may as well have it stay somewhere. Maybe one entry will help someone else, if they can even navigate all the links.
Work is more meaningful to me at this point than writing things. Writing too much gives the same despair as watching too much anime, so maybe I’m done.
Earlier today I had another enjoyable experience contemplating the zen of suburban living. I would’ve titled the entry something like “zen spots” since it was also found in the hillside park. Where – though to some, a despair – where the car in the driveway just frozen there, and its trees, mailboxes all aligned and asphalt mirages: it’s just inviting you to enjoy the absolute nothingness most days pass with.
The virtual world and the virtual worries fade away against the spaciousness. How liberating: all you need to do is go walk around and see the stillness all around you. You can’t help but wonder where you were all this time between all the still-nothing days.
But that’s all I got to say about it.
What do you look forward to?
What do you want?
I don’t know anymore, really.
Thus, desires are more like hauntings – something rarely grasped, and even if grasped, turned to ash.
One desires that which they cannot acquire even when it’s right there. To feel nostalgic for something happening right in front of you. Missing people even when they’re around. Everything marches toward ashes.
One could look for some themes to impose uncomfortable conclusions however off-the-mark. One such conclusion could be how desires come from a deeper wish of permanence in an impermanent world.
By residing in the immaterial, one gladly washes it all away.
It’s amusing how commercialized rebellion can be.
Isn’t the ultimate rebel one who denies everything?
It seems the only way to contentment is to let go of everything.
All of this chasing around and there’s a phrase which struck me the other day.
It’s common to be afraid of commitment, whether in relationships or in goals, aspirations. But you know what’s nice about commitment, if it does work out?
It solves all the other hours.
See, it’s strange to mistake the freedom to browse as 自由 at all. Whatever video you select shall only fill in 20 minutes, and then you’re back on searching for another way to pass the next 20 minutes more.
The life of a non-committal type isn’t free at all. It is plagued with desires and an uncomfortableness which needs satiation constantly – it is the opposite of freedom. It is entering into chains.
Funny how it works out in the end. Here I am, the epitome of noncommitment, but maybe you’ll heed these words seeing as I’ve thought myself above them so long.
There is no non-committal “freedom” which will ever match judiciously rising and giving one’s all to one’s task, people, life itself. Presence and a life of presence is found in committing oneself to the present, not shapeshifting between moments.
There is no more anxiety. There is nothing more to seek. There is nothing more missing.
Everything you ever wanted is found in that silence and life thereof.
There’s something calming about the two-stroke motor.
All you have to do is keep on repeating why. If you are trying to entertain yourself rather than be entertained then you’re still caught in the miasma of existence.
The 確實 is that nothing will entertain you. Everything else is a lie.
Flail and flail about so you may, but unproductive and it’s all the same.
The null space is so fascinating if you get glimmers of it. Observing its mountain peaks through this living ripped fabric.
Abandoning the notion that there’s anything to do renders living as a… 油畫.
There’s so much between the 靜默。Words are plumes of essence.
Maybe that’s why it makes more sense to speak, rather than write. As voices make a bouquet.
I’m always quite convinced that I won’t bother to write 這邊又，可是必然我找到 it to be the same 水龍頭。
Do you think it’s a 【病】disease?
Under the cathedral’s shadow we understand the rapidity of our demise.
Hidden handshakes and a camaraderie guarded may lend us some comfort, but so it is deafened against our timely waves. Timely passings. Timely endings.
In the high-rise burning one must wonder whether you had any decisions left at all, if you could collect yourself in the panic.
Without our ideals so the graveyard taunts us. Lest you recede into your imaginary ways. Slip back into your inner world.
【一些討論是必然。】And when they come, sometimes all you can do is 【坐】sit in【默】silence.
I look forward to being swallowed with the hillside while the Eastern breeze blows. In such 苦風 one can only smile. Do you know? 找到你的嘴角。
Everything is cherries. That’s all. As long as you see it’s all cherries, then it’s all just fine. When you don’t – trying to make sundae’s out of sindels – then you’re all clouded. 做 明白。
Even in cherries one may wonder which cherry to shoot for. Who knows. The one between, maybe.
One delusion I often struggle with is believing that, by supplicating or rendering oneself as the mannequin, or keeping a sizable distance – believing that this somehow reduces suffering on the other end.
And if you just keep being pleasant enough, not too probing or whatever else, a pure silence for those who feel “vulnerable” enough to dig into their inadequacies as though it’s a confession – that maybe you really could be the priest, and that maybe you really could render some water holy if you persist long enough.
But it’s just a delusion. Whether one goes along in the play or not doesn’t have tangible effects. Misery or levity, whichever has its strangle, won’t loosen the grip on whoever you’re talking to. And you may get swept up into their play however nightmarish it’d be.
It is these sort of thoughts – the ones that peer behind the curtains into our hamster wheel existence laced in irony – which could make one avoidant.
It’s no longer about wanting to avoid suffering: it’s wanting to avoid feeling inhumane for too long.
It’s funny how all you have to do is show up.
All you have to do is show up every day. That’s it.
If somehow a【無為】leads to writing mindless, so it’ll be.
But if we’re marching into our 結束 then may as well 擁抱。
友情。
Hello again. Well, hard to say what sort of era this all is. But that’s okay.
When I write things sometimes I think about how what you think about is what you become, so “telling it like it is” is in fact a way to enshrine yourself in your “failures” if there are any.
In addition, detailing these “failures” don’t really add anything other than more words. Couple this with discussing “one’s self” too much – where it doesn’t at least connect to a larger point – is functionally useless. Curious how people feel better after saying so many things which work against them.
This vanguard against all less savoury thoughts feels like a bungee-cord. You can try to go into the “depths” – melancholy masqueraded – but nevertheless so one is slingshot right back up to reality: the reality that, such things aren’t functional, such things aren’t practical, such things aren’t even emotionally helpful.
Oh well.
又是清晨走 and onward we march to 學習。 The word substitution helps with flashcard blindness – where you only know the 言 while doing flashcards. It’s a way to remind oneself too, one could 希望.
誰知道 if it actually helps, it’s just a language game. All languages are games by the end of it – do you know the 正 sounds/marks which label everything?
Some may worry that such games makes it so you don’t learn it properly. But there’s no leaderboard here, and it’s not like any of the 語言 I’ll learn will ever accept me. Soy la awkward 外國人 y eso もいいよ。In fact, it’s a good reminder.
quizas es ayuda a estudiar, probablemente. Even if the grammar is all wrong.
Not that I’m studying all of them at once. That’d be a lot. Not sure why bother talking about it though.
You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if the 下知覺 can’t differentiate between subject and object. That is, if you have some spite directed somewhere it’s not directed at all, it’s absorbed by you regardless. Hate others, hate yourself. Love others, love yourself. What do you think?
I’ve been so disillusioned that I’m finally kicking the habit of idle thinking to whoever passes by on my excursions. There’s no point thinking about the lives of those who pass you on your walks. You can think about anything you want, people or not. If they spark the thought, sometimes those thoughts are smaller than the ones made in isolation. Most thoughts of interactions are small thoughts it seems. This place is a place of 小思想。 Don’t you agree?
Went on the r/nosurf subreddit and read a depresso talk about a life wasted. The same as that Kaiji scene just through words instead of pictures.
It only makes me want to double down on my boredom and nausea. That I will be 極無聊。 But at least with spite I could say I lived somewhat differently than the typical 21st schizoid man.
One quote that I’ve been thinking about is – well it keeps resurfacing. 大家 is a reflection of your own self. 大家是自已的明鏡。 You cannot change people, you can only change yourself. 知己。
Taking the thought further, who you attract in your life is just a reflection of your inner core. I wonder what that means in the context of avoiding everyone. Maybe that you’re empty. I don’t really live in a cultural center of any sort. It could be construed that way, but it feels more like an outlet.
Do you think this counts as a cultural artifact? I guess everything would be when you’re gone. Though one ought to wonder who’ll throw away all your junk. Maybe your grandkids if you ever have them. Too bad families don’t exist anymore.
I don’t know what sort of stuff I’d make if I had 無限時間. Maybe an album. Since I love 音樂 so much. One time talking to a college friend so he disclosed about how it’s all rendered a little melancholic when you know the “tricks” of music. F minor chorus and chords (or major?) and keep the beat mathematical.
But maybe that’s something redeemable – emergent creative patterns conform to a larger 理 however irrational.
I think it’s easy to forget that. How your words do leave an imprint – it’s not idle 群眾 chatter. It’s a contribution however small and furrowed away. 誰知道。 Butterfly effects all around us. 或許你吃些cinnamon今天.
If you plastered your soul on the canvas what colors would you hope to see?
It sort of dawned on me recently that writers probably write from their own experiences. Does this give me a leg up with an urge to write about anything else other than my own experiences?
All of my memories are flushing away from me anyway. I’m not sure what 材料 I’d want to steal for a debut.
Though I do wonder, if I was a 作者, what would I write about? I think in order to be a good writer you need really good observation. Sometimes people emphasize that you need to know the motives of the characters in order to drive them, but I don’t think so. It’s just about who is in your 人生, that’s all. Observe their actions and let the readers figure out the motives.
Sometimes looking at English objectively renders it all absurd. “I think in order to be” – it’s strange how “in order” implies a “transition” since in my mind, “in order to” comes as a whole package which means nothing, and yet “to be” is clearly meant to be tagged onto there as well. If you reframe it as “the correct condition” then it makes more sense.
I wish I took things more seriously. The other day I read a comment about this. You can either make it all mean , or make it all mean everything. The thing is, if I make it mean everything, it is too soul-crushing. It’s easier to 做 it all a 夢 and 隨 it all be.
I actually took the effort to hide my browser extensions which makes it so I can’t even 參觀 a good bunch of 網站 that I like. It’s for the better, 也許。
Is it better to live a thousand lives through all the things you read, or live one real 強烈?
What is your story to tell? 話があるか。 I think the reason why people don’t play these substitution games is because it does 感到 很blasphemous.
Well, it depends on the language. English and Spanish feels okay compatible, but still awkward. Same with Japanese and English because of all their 片仮名 進口 言葉. English and Chinese is the best 雙 thus far, even[甚至] if it’s 仍舊blasphemous.
It may look blasphemous, but it’s satisfying to get 稍 more familiar.
After writing so much, I have an urge to speak. I’m not sure what, or if it’s a song. Maybe it’d be nice to sing.
我猜都神 direct us to speak.
After listening to so many other tunes, I want to hear whatever the gods are forcing out.
I have this weird desire to starve myself more until I am literally a skeleton. It’s purely out of spite. Being skinny in a 肥胖世界 is a pretty hard flex if you think about it. In a world of choice one turns away from even 都飯碗. Time to 縮 the 肚子 even more.
You know, sometimes it’s best to let other people shine. I have this tendency to do everything that I possibly can by myself before going to someone else. But it’s a real pleasure to let other people get the glory. No amount of personal glory would match.
I’m not stuck in here with you. You’re stuck in here with me. I can stay delusional longer than you can stay sanely solvent.
Finales are fun to think about. Maybe because it accentuates the things you take for granted. And the thrill: heightens the last evening.
In the sludge of my mind everything appears the same – “上次” are all walled off. It’s for the better. Playing this game of word substitution is interesting, even if it’s all horrible looking and the meanings are all wonky.
I still acknowledge the powerful effect “上次” has though. 最後的高中日子是難忘的, however muted you’ll let them be. Almost like getting suspended in the middle of the Atlantic after following a jetstream for 幾千 of miles. Dangerously forming whirlpools.
Perhaps this is part of the appeal of any TV drama. You can safely feel the catharsis without it leaving imprints. Though maybe depending on the fan-type they’d still get all emotional just thinking about how it ended: cue any 愛情書.
Writing has the opposite effect, and probably contributes to my wall of sludge. It’s purposely setting foot into the lone pool around the way side, cars passing every 3 days. Suspend and stare up toward the sky to revolve around clouds into imaginative fits of fancy.
The meditative retreat isn’t needed anymore depending how secluded your suburban house of choice may be. Sometimes if the developers dig deep enough into a forest you’ll get a mystic view. Whatever elm spirits waiting.
Usually such developments come with their own pool, and perhaps it’s the most rebellious body of water made by man: purely for floating. Floating in memory.
The birdsong may reveal something often forgotten amongst the rhythms of man.
It is the bird’s nature to share its tune, however impulsively and unconsciously. Yet as we observe each man we assume an intention in each movement. How far from the truth!
These writings are my birdsongs I’d like to think. Since I couldn’t tell you why it’s done, or how, but words appear here. If the function of a birdsong is to, from a search, “defend territories and attract mates” – I could at least submit the former. The territory is the mind, and if you silence your mind enough, then other birdsongs take over.
I wonder what’d that mean for the mockingbird I wouldn’t mind being. Guess that files into the concept of how the fake can become more real through its imitation; spin a tale of its own, reverb a melody that better matches a taste worth percolating around, fan a twain feather for a contrast unbound.
On this morning walk so came a birdcall orchestra lain about pockets of forest between suburban homes. It was a fine melody to start the day with a storm mist aftermath. Pavement here comes the same as fry pans until a burst into lukewarm sauna trails from the rain patter. Dodging puddles with all your might lest you want your sandals soggy smeared – sand still trickles in anyway.
With words as birdsongs so the walk was too, surely undisputed and implicit.
Maybe you ought to wonder what melody you’re making if you’d want to bother, whether in movement or words. Taking each movement as a stanza maybe you’d hope you’re making the soliloquy suited for the perpetual Act IV. Suspended with a bitterness to still grimace a smile through: maybe that’d be the tone to capture your white petal fall right before a curtain closing.
Seeing others as melodies may offer a hidden discernment. To wonder which best matches your call. Or disarms tense shoulders safely, how much you’d love to hear more. Swirling in different suspended tones into a tune unknown but hopefully something new to sink into, if it could be something to get used to.
In this sense the birdsong is the best label about it all: it’s only for a moment you’ll hear another’s before the wind swallows them once more.
Birdsongs used to come in pairs, amongst those you’ve spent a few cicada-season lifetimes together. Do you like the melody amongst your own pairings, however many left?
It’s best to sink into your own when you have the courage, maybe.
After writing the above and getting to work the second clause of the birdsong cause: “to attract mates” started to dig into me more.
Seeing as I can’t handle any social interactions, it seems wrong to have a neocities profile. It would be a waste of your time to “advertise” this site, if nothing more comes of it other than idle thoughts.
And even those thoughts aren’t so valuable while roaming the bountiful library.
I honestly think this site is pretty useless – a way to past the time before the important things in your life come to pass.
It’s useful to be useless, but it’s still useless.
So, in order to stay true to form – to embody that uselessness – it makes sense to no longer have a neocities profile.
This has been an ongoing theme for a long time, frankly. There’s probably more in the archive that touches this point.
At least I finally found an answer.
I’m curious how much longer I’ll write here all things considered. It definitely embodies an act of uselessness, meandering thoughtlessness.
Nevertheless it is nice to finally solve something that’s bothered me for so long. Understanding that any sort of connection whatsoever – if it’s not in reality – causes too much pain and melancholy.
It’s nice to keep it honest: the honest truth is that I’m here, and you’re there – if you even exist anymore – and that’s how it is.
No amount of words exchanged will give either of us comfort in the end; it only delays the inevitable pain from negligence, the same as skipping a week of running.
Maybe this’ll encourage you to consider who truly is in your life, and make sure to devote your attention to them. Because they’re adding more value to your life than any sort of stray words ever could.
One song I come back to is this one – probably motivated the favicon.
It’s a real romantic thought to be the devoted friend, bodyguard, something. I always imagine the chorus talking to a friend moreso than a lover, I don’t know why. Platonic bonds tend to be beautiful, romantic bonds are illusory mostly.
Anyway, I guess it’s almost a declaration toward beauty, devoting oneself to beauty. There’s something beautiful about strong bonds which function correctly – dysfunctional bonds of the norm, the co-dependent ones, is anathema to the soul.
Today a thought came across, browsing all the photos on unsplash.com for the index: photos have something other mediums can’t steal. Which is that, if it really is a camera-based 照片, then it means you’re showing others what type of vibe you could live in.
Like you could actually go there or function that way and live that way. Take this 照片 for example. It conveys an alternative lifestyle.
Photos can uniquely infiltrate our internal tendency to homogenize everything.
Scrolling through most of the 照片 I can see how one could easily integrate it into one’s own world. But sometimes a 照片 stands defiantly: it states to you that this is an alternative existence. One that you could try, if you want.
我很無聊 ヽ(´ー｀)ノ
Purposely avoiding entertaining myself – beyond typing here – so I can fetch some “初次” whether that’d be through making music, new cultures, anything at all. Not sure if it’ll work, but I actually checked out the front page of YouTube for five minutes and just felt dead about it.
When you finally see how boring time wasters are, it’s like being thrown into a pit you’ll have to dig yourself out of.
If you never written it out, did you really have anything to say about it? There’s a lot of things I don’t have much of a say in; whether of opinion or transgression.
When I first came across the essays of Montaigne and flipped through a bit so it really did strike me – maybe for essays you need some sort of optimism. Because all the trial in shaping up the thought for presentation seems like a lot of work.
In this venue you can meet me in the halfway house of pessimism sickly – if you’d ever want to wander around such dingy waters. You could honestly slap me if you’d want: I’m just too convinced it doesn’t matter, and so I won’t write essays, because I got nothing to sell you.
There’s a movie that talks about this embedded selling in all walks of life. If you aren’t selling merch then you’re selling beliefs, conversions and missionaries abound in all cults walking about. Even the cults you and I share, like money or our modern melody of stressing with pharmaceutical enforced anxiety.
So in this way almost all conversation has something to sell embedded. Even word choice, comrade. Not sure what’s up for sale here, though perhaps the transaction is completed before you even read these words: a faucet so referenced above, and a faucet it’ll continue to be. Whether you want to stay around the tar it’ll become, well that’s on you.
Still, despite this inability to iron out any thought for presentation, nevertheless I’ll disclose some admiration for those with the gumption to do so. One could certainly paint this all as a yielding of The Currents abound, but it’s probably a little cowardly to never bother. Never bother putting what you believe in on the line.
Well, maybe that’s the joke: I don’t really believe anything. At least, enough to put it up for potential auction. There aren’t any storefront displays with the proper crowds to enlist me in their selection anyway. Proper crowds don’t need neurotic dressings.
The more refined joke is that all that I believe in are found between lines, within implicits: if you don’t see it then you’re free from it, and if you happen upon it, then it means your affinity revealed it. In this way, there’s a continual filter; in this way, there’s always a filter for all written word. That is, it’s upon the reader to get whatever they want out of it.
Some say the magicians of the modern age are programmers; how conveniently we forget our wordsmiths prior! Though perhaps it’s all in tandem; fact is you could bother to influence the Mongolian province with some satellite finesse.
The thing about having your own faucet is that there aren’t anymore build ups necessarily. It’s in that uncomfortable silence do things get done. Sharing it all, or letting it flay around however incomplete means there’s nothing more to it.
But you know, I think these things are only reserved for those who have a reputation to defend. That’s the real requisite, and so here’s the tar-dump that’ll forever be. Nothing to defend, nothing that this needs to be.
Hello again.
Typing here as an intermission. There is more studying to do, and work as always. But may as well rest and listen to music. One thing I notice about writing daily is that it lowers the bar significantly. Right now there’s nothing to necessarily write about.
It could turn into a descriptive of what happened today. No thanks though. If I had a full day to describe I’d probably not have this site.
Ended up adding a table of contents and a favicon instead.
Hello friends. Today marks a new era. You’re welcome to guess how long this new era shall last. In this new era I’ve removed everything that leads to unhappiness. This means there’s no more idle browsing, youtubing, chattering. No TV shows (unless learning a language).
The only exception is music as a tool to shimmy into these boredomous waters.
Of course there’s a short term unhappiness of no longer having these time wasters, but that’s just an offset.
With music and neurotic tangents (this site) equipped, this time is going to be different, I think.
When you internalize the pointlessness, it makes this real easy. There’s genuinely nothing more “out there” one needs when you think about it long enough.
When I attempted this in the past I didn’t change my mind. Really did believe that there was something to miss out on, even though for the years after the listlessness underlined the uselessness.
But now I know there’s nothing there, so it’s not really a big deal to do this.
So far it’s nice to have the extra time that’d be deleted with the time wasters. So much so that I can afford to write here between the studying and the work.
If for some reason you’re reading this, I really do hope you give serious thought to what makes you unhappy, and then cut it out. However dejected you feel now, imagine a year from now. I got at least ~5 years of neglecting this simple task. It’s so simple, but yes it’s deceptive too.
You’ll need to find some sort of faucet, and maybe it isn’t a website, but a vlog, bike riding, podcasting, whatever. Once you have a faucet for all the writhing and you really select which ones make you miserable, then you just drop it. You drop it and cling tightly onto whatever happens next.
I know it’s typical to say that intentions don’t mean anything, but recently I found an error in that logic. Lately I notice a “lag” between a commitment and actually following through. Like it takes a few days to register that, yes, “I’m doing this” and so you proceed. Even just thinking about something for a bit turns the gears ever so slightly to the new windtower.
Coming across the abandoned church sure flickers a story of its own.
I’d love to trace those bedsets of righteousness laced in. Light reddened wickers all about for our communion.
The pews at my church were a walnut with a washed out generic green holding plush. All the participants were washed out faces – to this day it’s all face blindness.
Could you find any respect in it?
Respect needs a fierceness to it you know – otherwise it’s not much of anything at all. It’s precisely in the ability to crush which garners a respect: whether in emotion or in skull. Just as one prays for God’s favour, so one may pray for a little love after much labour.
Churchgoing turned into a pitter-putter obligation. Maybe if you’d be the priest it’d be an angry sermon most certainly. We’d talk about Job all day.
Videogames always have a priest class. Was it your favourite?
The holy water rinses off the same as rain.
The more left written here so the more may one picture a disillusionment. Some of the previous legacy essays have a fire to them now extinguished: is it bitter, annoying, or nothing at all?
Just as one may wonder about the set of words which strike the right chord, so one can wonder which set of words would shutter our unsaid connection.
Before the local Blockbuster closed there were only two aisles worth going to: the Nintendo 64 lineup and later the GameCube. Then it was all swallowed. Would’ve been fun to been a Blockbuster employee. Giving clandestine movie recommendations as though donning the yellow block badge made you a connoisseur most ceremoniously.
It’s funny to have all of these virtual worlds a memory away. Maybe you could hope it’d give you an “in” the same way you’d name drop bands. But there are some videogame moments which have no function and you’ll learn to live with it.
If we had to do a Let’s Play, which game would you choose?
Lately I’ve been starting my day with a bowl of soybeans in a quest to be the soyest – though it seems to have the opposite effect in the colloquial lens. Do you think you are what you eat after all?
There are things I’m doing but not really doing: I am there but not really there. I’m not sure where I am half the time. Maybe that’s a marker for losing my mind, which is a good thing: the mind is worthless against driven spirits.
When you stay in your head long enough sometimes you incidentally visit places you could fashion some nostalgia out of.
One thing to love about anyone’s college years was their unbridled optimism and stilted waters to calm in graduation. Do you think you screamed enough before filing into a quiet despair?
It may be interesting – but it’s also a strange artifact. When was the first college created anyway? A quick search says around the 11th century. Just to think that such a strange pilgrimage was instead supplemented by a genuine religious retreat: ironic how it’s all flipped though. Most who come out of college are all the more sure God is dead now.
Sure, college is interesting, but not as much as what happens after. It’s the first culture process, before the many to follow.
Still, I don’t mind the more gentle disposition the word college imparts. When you first hear it, you think you’re going into the place of greats, but it’s more of an overgrown playground, or a containment. One could bemoan not going to the Big Colleges, but doesn’t it seem more of the same?
After enduring the “real world” in a larger capacity, the academic tower, though foreboding and definitely grueling to stay within (I’m not sure how anyone endures writing theses or doing things for professors, the last years were so languid and dejected my grades started to fall before the grace of leaving) – just really seems like a world unto itself.
Guess I got to learn big words to capture small thoughts in a lacklustre finale.
I would’ve loved to run into more personalities though. When you keep your head down and whisper constantly how this will only last a few years before you never see anyone again, it results in not the utmost conducive reach.
Of the personalities, even then they feel like a doll to break with graduation’s advent. Then the next batch stringing in contorts into the same, only to break again – a necessary cycle.
When you ever come across those personalities you can hear the faint residual from their more mellow modernized plushy demeanor.
I love how all of those lofty discussions flattened in the face of our concrete jungle. It seems like beauty and strength are one and the same. Maybe that’s just the bloodlust you need to keep on going.
Would be nice to have some commitment toward things. Waiting for despair to hit more and drive such thoughts, or maybe they’ll be eaten with enough silence.
It’s interesting how blind-sided perspectives can all get – not to imply pointing such things out is a sign of conscientiousness: that our world is draped with consuming one another.
Hello friends. Slept in pretty late today.
I think what I love the most is music, when I think about it. Books are great, and so are TV shows or whatever else.
But it is music which eclipses one’s world. Depending on how you stumble, whether in Mars dunes or Venus in her blinds – whatever and wherever it is the music which asserts the entire scenery.
If you muted the world, it wouldn’t be a world at all. It’d be an infograph. It’d be the type of infograph you read before the symposium – before the companies promote their products through a thinly veiled relation to the retreat, whether through programming language or the incidental office location snug against the Zoo.
I wonder if I started making vlogs instead of blogs would it sound any different?
It’s weird to confine oneself to written words after singing praise about music, sounds.
There’s vlogs, then blogs, what about audlogs? I guess they call them podcasts. But that seems pretty corporate doesn’t it?
I think making some sort of podcast would really underline how whoever writes all of this here doesn’t exist in real life. It’s like an alter-ego, or alter-personality if they mean something different. It really doesn’t exist anywhere else but on this page.
In this sense, making an audlog would be an infringement, unless one is planning to abandon the entire suite. Why not abandon it all though?
This alter-personality isn’t necessarily a point of pride or anything at all – not even pride, just more like a positive influence (at least lately) though the influence itself is undefined…
Oh well. Maybe one day the audlog shall erupt from the inanities which words often merge together.
One glaring self-awareness I usually know but ignore is that I don’t even like my auditory experience encroached upon.
Here I am linking all of these songs, but I know pretty darn well that no one would ever click and listen. Because I never do that either.
If anything, the audlinks serve as a demarcation – a reminder as to what motivated the writing. It also transports one to the mood far better than anything else.
Our moods are so fickle and demented – wrote about this awhile ago. Perhaps this is why I respect music so much, and perhaps why many would be guarded about it so much – music really can plunge you into an entire different world.
I would, ironically, link music to make a point, but I would rather respect your wishes and allow you to continue listening to whatever you fancy.
Maybe listening to music too much is a bad thing, sure. But if your objective is to live in a distinct world, detached and floating in your magical realm, then music is the surest way there.
Of course, if your choice of music is gangwar bops then maybe you have a different sense of magic. I guess guns are the choice at your academy. Would the get-up include bandanas for each house? 10 points to the official Queensbridge murderers.
Anyway, if you want immersion, add some sounds. That’s the surest way. It’s just, again, we’d all rather be immersed into our own worlds.
Hello friends. I thought I’d start writing daily in a journal for a change of pace. Toward this end I decided to disable site comments to encourage writing everyday: silence encourages writing, something like that. More importantly to remove the pressure upon those thoughtful enough to come up with comments.
Anywho, when I reflect upon what I enjoy reading the most online, ironically it seems to be journals.
Though the reasons will never be clear, here’s a few guesses as to why:
The journal has an inherent aimlessness about it. Its single motivator is to write what you feel like writing. You have feel-reign over the format. Some treat it as a commander’s report, others treat it as a therapy session. Whatever works for you.
Yet even in its convergent structure so randomness pops around too. Maybe because living itself is random, and so it leaks into the entries. So as you’re reading you can be prepared to take a couple of turns, however it turns out.
And with those turns took so a sense of discovery is afoot. You are slowly unearthing the reasons behind the journal, why it exists, and where it’ll go next. Whether there’s any advantage to this or not – I think the answer is clear – nevertheless it adds a bit of fun.
Combining all three above, it’s no surprise that reading a journal is satisfying. What always held me back is that, ultimately, I don’t like disclosing much of anything about myself.
Nevertheless I realized that I still sometimes have things I wrote that don’t necessarily fit a the pseudo-post format so may as well dump here.
In addition, I thought it’d be amusing to don a cloak of a personality. Thus I thought to call it “american schizoid” because it sounds funny. It’s motivated by the band name “american football” and also combining it with “21st century schizoid man” even though I’ve not listened to either in a long time.
Out of curiosity I loaded up the latter. If I had to put a label on the mood, it does feel like walking in the courtyard of a fever.
After listening for a bit I loaded up the famous american football song, “never meant” – maybe its popularity suffices though personally I like to extend the meaning a bit more.
The “never meant” refers to a failed teenage relationship, but I think a lot of living renders itself as never meant after awhile.
A lot of my friendships were never meant; a lot of schooling was never meant. All of my past jobs were never meant, nor any accolades and promotions and whatever else. All the places I lived were never meant, nor any cities.
A lot of it was never meant – and when I listen to it I know I am the midwestern outsider even if you could trace some blood back to it. Instead I am in a distant part and maybe that wasn’t meant either.
Only when you live long enough do you begin to see how little it all was meant to be – including this neocities. But that’s fine, because between the nevers you have at least a moment to find the “forever” you’re carrying along with you, something like that.
The best line of the song is, “You can’t miss what you forget”
And it’s something to take to heart. That’s why I deleted all previous sites, ghost everything, and reluctantly associate with anything at all. You can’t be in pain when you forget about it.
The easiest way to forget about things is to not make them something to remember in the first place. As for what’s left, it’s easy to forget about things when you practice it long enough. Sometimes a shudder comes in while walking around – flash of an uncomfortable moment – but you just move on trusting that you’ll forget that too.
I talk about this – there’s no point thinking about such things. Even if it seems intoxicating.
Instead I’ll settle for the moldy intermission between box sets.
When I thought about my favourite american football song, it isn’t never meant. It’s “I’ll See You When We’re Both Not So Emotional” funny enough. And maybe unconsciously this spurred the name:
You won’t understand me
Or my motivation
For being alone
Not to write it all as a super complicated swirl as to why one would want to be alone. Not to paint this all a mysterious front or anything like that. It makes sense when you are exposed enough. If you really think about the source of the majority of your suffering, it probably comes from interpersonal relationships.
I like this song because it really describes the futility of having any emotions at all. Even if you could explain them, it’s not like it even matters. You can only feel them, act on them, or let them sit until they recede into you.
It’s not about the ability to be understood; it’s about the interest to be understood. When you lean back enough to ponder you’ll probably conclude you yourself aren’t even interested in being understood.
Being understood is easy: being interested enough to do something more with those understandings is the part often missed.
I suppose that’s another thing that’s nice about a journal: well, already captured in the previous three points but still: it really can be whatever you want. There are no points to build up or why. You can end it when you want too.