Bring on the Mitch Ryder, my friends! Sometimes I think I should focus on writing about music.
I read somewhere in some bullshitty kind of way that there lies true at the heart of romanticism. I disagree. I feel like there is only truth in it if it is anchored to some sort of harsh reality. Really, life isn't as important as it is in our minds. It's nice to feel important.
In reality most people are on the margins, you know, because the warm bright center of the universe is that small because it is that far away.
I guess that's why I like some definite elements of tragedy. That really all anyone can hope for is to have some level of warmth in their lives and that's all that really matters. That's why so many people give up and go and live in the tropics towards the end of life, because they have finally figured out the most important thing about life.
All these human relationships, and, Hell, nonhuman, hell, anything considered living, all relationships a person can have over his or her lifetime, these are the most important things.
The key to life is not getting caught in the bullshit and to keep moving forward.
All anyone can really hope for is the marginal sort of existence. Hell, at least with marginality comes anonymity. And there is nothing wrong with anonymity, as long as you are content with it.
Give up the bullshit and follow your dreams. Why do we have them in the first place? Why do we let this enormous shitstorm that we have to deal with just to make it to marginality. When you're born poor, marginality seems like middle class. Who doesn't want to be in the middle class, even if it is all an illusion? Rich people still control the world, but when you're in the middle class it doesn't matter. You have some level of comfort, even if it isn't real. It is better to have a false sense of comfort than no sense of comfort.
Or is it the other way around? I think it's definitely the other way around. At least that way you are prepared for anything.
And if there is anything we humans hate more than anything, it's being uncomfortable, even it is unavoidable.
Shit people, I'm sorry, this is what happens when you read too much Melville and Shakespeare and Chaucer. Everything starts to seem so much more complex and the myth of Western Superiority starts to become exposed to the rest of the world. You realize you are standing there naked and your penis is smaller, but, holy shit, we're all equally as alive as one another, even if some people won't admit to that, so penis-size doesn't really matter. Or is that the myth of Western Superiority? Can I blame it on that? Someone somewhere along the line has too small of a penis to make things happen? I think the feminists will definitely have something to say about that point-of-view. So I guess I'll lose it. We are bound and held down by too many myths. Sometimes it is more important to stand up and be naked before the world and accept it.
Sorry, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I guess that's why they call it free-writing. It doesn't have to make any sense.
Anyways, I think it is really simple, really. That you just accept that everything sucks and be happy and find some kind of comfort in the world, and just relax, and you put it all away, and, you take a deep breath, and, suddenly, as if it had been that way all along and you just hadn't realized it, and that it had all been in your head.
Post a Comment