Posts in category "Thoughts"

The Appreciative Insomniac

I can’t fall back asleep. I’m still on hol­i­day sched­ule, which is all about stay­ing up late and tak­ing naps, not being in bed by ten then wak­ing up halfway through the night. Six fresh mos­qui­to bites don’t help the sleep­ing process either.

Anyway, what I meant to say is that I’m grate­ful to have this when life proves to be a lit­tle too over­whelm­ing and I prove to be all too human. When there’s no one else to turn to for some rea­son or anoth­er. When Beth’s vocals or orches­tral pop noir roman­tique don’t help, or help enough.

It’s good to know that I have some­thing, and some­times I have to remind myself of that.

The Zarathustra Sessions, Part 2: Progression

I have learned to walk: since then I have run. I have learned to fly, since then I do not have to be pushed in order to move.

Now I am nim­ble, now I fly, now I see myself under myself, now a god dances with­in me.

—Of Reading And Writing, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

A long time ago, maybe almost ten years ago, I met a guy who was the same age as me named Alvin. We got along extreme­ly well, which was a rar­i­ty for me at the time. He was a com­plete enig­ma. There was always an air about him, some­thing in his sta­ble demeanor, that told me he had every­thing fig­ured out. I asked him once, “Do you feel any pain?”. “Only when I want to”, was his response. I could­n’t pos­si­bly under­stand.

How can I describe this feel­ing? How can I explain? I’ve been look­ing for the right words for so long, but noth­ing comes through. Only images and ideas. Thoughts with­out expres­sion.

All I know is that it feels like I’ve arrived at some­thing, like I’ve final­ly come to a point where I’m com­fort­able with myself. Where I can hurt with­out being sad. Where I can love with­out pain.

The key is under­stand­ing how dis­sat­is­fac­tion breeds improve­ment, how pain breeds hap­pi­ness, how there must be a bal­ance of good and bad, and liv­ing by these beliefs with com­mit­ted indus­try and absolute humil­i­ty. It’s what Taoists express as Yin and Yang, what Nietzsche was say­ing through Zarathustra. And when one’s life goal is self-improve­ment, every­thing falls into place.

Now there is no going back. Now I tru­ly feel like I’m alive.

Now a god dances with­in me.

Hemlock

The two longest rela­tion­ships I’ve ever been in, both bor­der­ing on the two-year mark, were mean­ing­less. I learned a great deal from them, mak­ing them great expe­ri­ences, but in all truth, that can be said about any of the rela­tion­ships I’ve had.

My short­est rela­tion­ship, which nev­er even got into the three month range (and also hap­pened to be with the only girl to break up with me), was the most mean­ing­ful.

And tox­ic.

I should­n’t have been in that rela­tion­ship, and I knew it. It was unhealthy, it was destruc­tive, it was painful. Yet I kept going. I kept apol­o­giz­ing instead of accus­ing, I kept storm­ing with­out releas­ing. Was I weak? Perhaps. Was I in love? More like­ly.

But I was scared most of all.

Scared of giv­ing up a chance for hap­pi­ness, scared of for­ev­er won­der­ing, “what if?”. With lack of choice comes free­dom from regret. It took more strength to push on, know­ing that it would­n’t last, than it would have tak­en to end it myself.

It was­n’t weak­ness. It was deter­mi­na­tion. It was an attempt at per­se­ver­ance. It was an attempt at sto­ic res­ig­na­tion. I knew she was going to end it.

Because I nev­er would.

The Way Harder Means Brittler, Not Stronger

I think that most guys around this time of year pull a Pablo Francisco in New York, in this area at least, when the weath­er real­ly starts to go up and a lot of girls are anx­ious to show off their new sum­mer clothes. I sup­pose that I can admit to doing the same thing at some point, but I’ve sort of lost the feel­ing, so they say.

So many are in hal­ter tops and capris (ugh, capris), or oth­er skimpy, tight clothes, and it all just seems so bor­ing now. I might get dis­tract­ed if a girl dress­es with some more fuck­ing per­son­al­i­ty instead of dress­ing to show skin, but over­all hiz­zot­ness just does­n’t do it for me any­more. There’s got­ta be a lit­tle more, a lit­tle some­thing extra to real­ly keep my atten­tion.

Hopefully, that means I’m grow­ing up, not get­ting more super­fi­cial.

The Zarathustra Sessions, Part 1: Anthropomorphizing The Image Of The Self

I should believe only in a God who under­stood how to dance.

—Of Reading And Writing, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

I don’t cur­rent­ly believe in a god, but if I did, I would imag­ine that he, being a god, would under­stand all the things that I hold as impor­tant. I could­n’t imag­ine a god with­out a great sense of humour, a good sense of musi­cal taste, or a nice bow­el move­ment or a reg­u­lar basis.

And how mega­lo­ma­ni­a­cal is that?