Larez
Member
- Mar 22, 2018
- 25
TL;DR, hungover again.
Obvious remarks about life inc.
Life is a perpetual state of repetition, grinding, fighting against time, stochasticity and entropy. It has a few instances of comfort sprinkled throughout it, but it is very rare to satisfy anyone. Cosiness and felicity taste best after conflict, yet how much conflict can be endured? Nothing lasts, good moments are never to be revisited, and while the recollection of pain in its pure form is minimal, trauma and damage are going to stick to you, fold you, poison every rare moment of serenity until no more buoyancy can be felt. Then people tell you to push through, they promise that all hard work will be worth it, that there is value in the struggle. And there might just be, after all those who never fell can only imagine how it feels like. Then they tell you to get your shit together, that everyone has it tough. Sure, people can have it tough and they might have outlived their struggles, but what about their demons and hypocrisy? What about my demons and hypocrisy, my limited tolerance of them, oversensitivity to constant emptiness, anxiety, depression, depersonalization, incompatibility and inadequacy? What about those who have to go to great lengths just to digest the overbearing ooze that is the misery of life (pardon my edginess)? What about things out of control that ruin so, so many lifes? What about the endless contradictions of human condition? What about a milion other questions? How to accept that there is hardly any chance of ever having a satisfying answer?
Yet still, what about those who simply couldn't make it? What about the competetive nature of all that exists? Who's better, who's more talented, who's more attractive, who was born with better genes?
What about milions and milions of senseless deaths, deadbeat losers who lost their ability to fight back? What about those resilient and stout enough to throw their punches for years only to jump into more pain and more trouble? I can see that the latter had tried, I understand that they are to be rexpected, but when we can pay respects to those avid for life, then why can't we let go those who fully, entirely gave up and instead we leave them ostracized, persecuted, forcefully kept in an existence they never signed up for? Why do we keep them institutionalized or supervised like slaves until they perfect their fake smiles and learn the algorithm of proper responses? Well, touche, life seems to be all about fake smiles and using bullshit to your advantage.
No life can ever be complete, one can not feel and know everything, and yet in one pair of eyes the whole world is closed. It's beautiful and absolutely terrifying at the same time. Now let's multiply that one pair of eyes by billions. Poof! Billions of worlds want to find their peace. Some people are just simply not fit to be. It's almost impossible to believe even in positive nihilism when all that you can see is just a manufactory of more pain, and having fun becomes unworkable, and you just can't endure yourself, your addictions start taking over you, and not only your brain, but also your every muscle screams for release every single day. The bliss of fruition experienced after a long time of hard work turns out to be nothing but just a bait. I am not a saint, though. I have procrastinated, missed my chances, put my faith into voices of self-hate, ruined any hope of change
There's something everyone has to accept at a certain age: there's no building this crooked tower from the ground up; you can be a tabula rasa again only in the eyes of somebody new, but soon all that you are will be exposed one way or another, and all I see in the mirror is an organic pile of dross.
Any help is dependant on how much subjectivity can the other side recognize. True love is a matter of sheer luck. Living longer like this would lead to inaction, nonexisting, slaving away for anything worthwhile, and I've always been too tired and too unfit for this. I still don't see myself disappearing, but the time for that keeps creeping in. Right now I just want to settle some accounts, give myself one more chance for improvement, have some empty drugged up fun and just...welp, go
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I'm technically still only 23, but my first real chances of blooming are well long gone. I was never fit to exist. Two failed attempts to erase myself, one being somewhat accidental. Third time's a charm. Autumn's my favorite season, so why not then? I don't expect anyone to read this, it's just a mish mash of fatalistic thoughts that are had every day. It's 2 PM, Monday. I'm still in my pyjamas with two joints at the ready, no plans for the day. This is how we live broken and with a misshapen perspective of absolute despondency.
Obvious remarks about life inc.
Life is a perpetual state of repetition, grinding, fighting against time, stochasticity and entropy. It has a few instances of comfort sprinkled throughout it, but it is very rare to satisfy anyone. Cosiness and felicity taste best after conflict, yet how much conflict can be endured? Nothing lasts, good moments are never to be revisited, and while the recollection of pain in its pure form is minimal, trauma and damage are going to stick to you, fold you, poison every rare moment of serenity until no more buoyancy can be felt. Then people tell you to push through, they promise that all hard work will be worth it, that there is value in the struggle. And there might just be, after all those who never fell can only imagine how it feels like. Then they tell you to get your shit together, that everyone has it tough. Sure, people can have it tough and they might have outlived their struggles, but what about their demons and hypocrisy? What about my demons and hypocrisy, my limited tolerance of them, oversensitivity to constant emptiness, anxiety, depression, depersonalization, incompatibility and inadequacy? What about those who have to go to great lengths just to digest the overbearing ooze that is the misery of life (pardon my edginess)? What about things out of control that ruin so, so many lifes? What about the endless contradictions of human condition? What about a milion other questions? How to accept that there is hardly any chance of ever having a satisfying answer?
Yet still, what about those who simply couldn't make it? What about the competetive nature of all that exists? Who's better, who's more talented, who's more attractive, who was born with better genes?
What about milions and milions of senseless deaths, deadbeat losers who lost their ability to fight back? What about those resilient and stout enough to throw their punches for years only to jump into more pain and more trouble? I can see that the latter had tried, I understand that they are to be rexpected, but when we can pay respects to those avid for life, then why can't we let go those who fully, entirely gave up and instead we leave them ostracized, persecuted, forcefully kept in an existence they never signed up for? Why do we keep them institutionalized or supervised like slaves until they perfect their fake smiles and learn the algorithm of proper responses? Well, touche, life seems to be all about fake smiles and using bullshit to your advantage.
No life can ever be complete, one can not feel and know everything, and yet in one pair of eyes the whole world is closed. It's beautiful and absolutely terrifying at the same time. Now let's multiply that one pair of eyes by billions. Poof! Billions of worlds want to find their peace. Some people are just simply not fit to be. It's almost impossible to believe even in positive nihilism when all that you can see is just a manufactory of more pain, and having fun becomes unworkable, and you just can't endure yourself, your addictions start taking over you, and not only your brain, but also your every muscle screams for release every single day. The bliss of fruition experienced after a long time of hard work turns out to be nothing but just a bait. I am not a saint, though. I have procrastinated, missed my chances, put my faith into voices of self-hate, ruined any hope of change
There's something everyone has to accept at a certain age: there's no building this crooked tower from the ground up; you can be a tabula rasa again only in the eyes of somebody new, but soon all that you are will be exposed one way or another, and all I see in the mirror is an organic pile of dross.
Any help is dependant on how much subjectivity can the other side recognize. True love is a matter of sheer luck. Living longer like this would lead to inaction, nonexisting, slaving away for anything worthwhile, and I've always been too tired and too unfit for this. I still don't see myself disappearing, but the time for that keeps creeping in. Right now I just want to settle some accounts, give myself one more chance for improvement, have some empty drugged up fun and just...welp, go
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I'm technically still only 23, but my first real chances of blooming are well long gone. I was never fit to exist. Two failed attempts to erase myself, one being somewhat accidental. Third time's a charm. Autumn's my favorite season, so why not then? I don't expect anyone to read this, it's just a mish mash of fatalistic thoughts that are had every day. It's 2 PM, Monday. I'm still in my pyjamas with two joints at the ready, no plans for the day. This is how we live broken and with a misshapen perspective of absolute despondency.
Last edited:
