fuck it we ball
Im never going to be able to stop thinking for better or for worse.
On being stupid: the greatest tension that lays in the liminal space between the grooves of my brain, that fucking rip neurons away from each other in one big fucking tug of war that can only end in complete mental retardation is the war between logic and feeling. But what is logic if not a safeguard of feeling. In this way, is logic not a product of feeling? Is it possible for something to be invented as a result of something in preparation for that very thing occurring or is that just some freaky contradiction. Im going with the second one.
Logic implies that there are right and wrong answers, suggestions that should lead you to some greater outcome in a systematic method of living. Feeling disregards such moral implications to such an extent that the entire conception of any implications existing is nullified: the contexts in which we exist aren’t even conditions that we are susceptible to: they just are. That sounds like some pretentious philosophical jargon because it is because this is the way that my brain digests whatever the fuck happens when things fall out of their natural equilibrium. Oh how homeostasis has failed me.
I missed this a lot actually. Wow. god bless writing this piece of shit fucking fuck.
Ive barely tapped into explaining the concept i originally presented at the genesis of this dumbass google doc yet it’s already manifesting in the words i type. Okay. let me backtrack.
To use a tangible example to explain because I can’t conjure up the words that encompass the entirety of “the great tension” of dumbassery and obligation: “doing it for the plot.” yes i don’t make logical decisions. I indulge. Yet i balance because i know how to continue a life that’s sustainable. Why? Good question? To see it fucking through i guess. Okay sidetracked again. Going out, someone offers to drive me to some fancy house in buttfuck nowhere, offers an illusive opportunity, some sort of door in which i can’t see quite where it leads to. It’s the mystery of unknown, unobvious, and undiscovered. How are we to learn, how are we to experience, how are we to LIVE without saying yes? But where is the limit? When do we need to keep our guard up. Safety. Preservation of the body is essential, of course. But where does preservation of the body interlay with preservation of the mind. Why do i subject myself to experiences that i know in which will yield mental torment of some sort? Why is it easier to accept a hypothetical that leads to the potential devastation of my mind rather than my body. i ‘m much more predisposed to sacrificing my emotions and my person rather than my physical body. Wait im getting sidetracked again.
On safety: saying yes to these unknown experiences is the entire idea of “living” i guess. Submitting to comfort prevents growth, yet growth assumes change. Do i even want to change? Should i? Is there some greater purpose that I will reach, some enlightenment, or am i just chronically stuck in the cyclic avenue of difference: of altering continuously through a state of lower entropy: unravelling and unravelling into madness. Man. this must be what drugs feel like. Or insanity. YET. this can be prevented via “no.” wow one word, one syllable, so easy (lol), yet it harnesses an immense amt of power. Protection to remain the same. Constancy. Safety. Fuck. i dont know how else to describe it besides a suburban neighborhood and private school. Saying yes is sexy in its transportive properties: car to god knows where. Yet–oh my god of course my bitchass is going to the concept of control–in order to consent you must sacrifice control. Maybe that’s why its fun? But discipline is lost, and that is when you begin to lose touch with the reality that’s constructed in your head.
Okay im just losing my shit at this point sorry.
Everyones realities are different (duh) due to their perception, by saying “fuck it” we are able to expand this perception. However, when does this become a bad idea? When does submitting our authority over a situation cross the line into a dangerous experience, something detrimental to the person.
Okay wait im getting it back.
Coming from a place where ive lived an amazing, phenomenal, privileged life i live with the view that says fuck it im a body. Whatever trauma-inducing situation i get myself into will resolve itself however the future plays out. That doesn’t exist. Maybe its because it doesn’t exist that it makes it easy to live in this way. Not having any inherently devastating experience gives me some optimism that nothing bad can happen. But this isnt true. I know that bad things can and will happen. Some bad things can and have happened. But its never to the extent where i regret. I hope that when i say that i regret nothing its true. (truth is stupid side quest). But alas i can never confirm or deny this fact. Anyways. Bad shit happens. But it happens to everyone. So why should i protect myself? Im just a body !!!!! that’s the fuck of it all. Because so many have endured such experiences, i don’t think i am an better that i should live in a bubble to enjoy my little piece of reality without harm. We learn through negative experiences, right? But this is again a privilege to state and in it i MUST make imperatively clear that i hope to learn from such experiences so that I can better understand the world to make it better? I hope. Fuck it we ball but do something with it.
I think where i start doubting myself is my intention. I really really do want to do something with my life. I hate the idea of living for myself, for the thrill, i guess, because it seems so inherently selfish. This is the objective logic thought that i attempted to encompass in my prior word diarrhea. Because of my position, the resources i have, it makes sense to remain in my bubble of safety and use them for greatness: to use the privilege i have by extending it towards others via (health, education, etc.). Yet if i remain in this world i loathe myself. I fucking hate it. Boils mny skin and i begin to disconnect from everything around me. You can’t live by the book and jump off the page from time to time. this is the line i walk and i hope to continue to walk. But i feel fucking insane. The part of me tethered to the pages of what is logically sound and safe hates the side of me that wanders, and the wanderer mutually despises the confines of the paper. The wanderer sees a world in which there is no paper there is only void. Tangible and intangible. Conceptual and inconceivable. HELL. either way i;m just a parasite attempting to find a host in an cesspool devoid of life. contradicting creeds desert me in perpetual mental agony !