#streamofconscience

Trying to allow myself to document a true stream of consciousness is tough, I feel like everything I say needs to make sense, needs clarity. I keep rereading my sentences to see what should come next but that negates the whole point of a stream of consciousness. I’m tired. Not really, that’s just my go to statement for literally anything, I can get away with behaving however I am by saying that I’m tired. Interesting, I never thought of that before just now. This break I’ve been distracting myself hard core from my own thoughts by constantly checking Instagram and facebook over and over again. It’s as if I need constant entertainment or distraction or something. I hate it, I hate that my first instinct is to open Instagram. That’s why I deleted it during the week during this past semester and it actually helped a lot. I should do it all the time actually, even during breaks. Why am I so scared of my own thoughts? Is that why I like to smoke and drink so much? Because then I don’t have to worry about thinking at all? Is my sober state a nightmare? Do I really dislike existence that much? That would make sense, I guess. I think I have depression. But I know how to not let it cripple me, I know how to function successfully from it. It’s just exhausting all the time. Thank goodness for David, because he understands me. A little more than myself actually. He knows when my feelings are valid and when I’m existing in my nightmare. What is it about my life that’s such a nightmare? I don’t think I’m unhappy with my life, I’m very lucky. But I am unhappy with the state of humanity, the current version of human beings is too limited in consciousness and self-awareness. The current evolution of humans are selfish and stupid. A majority of people only look through their own lens and think that’s an adequate way to judge other lives. They think their personal experiences are enough to come up with any real conclusions about other people. It’s frustrating. It’s annoying. I don’t want to live in this time, maybe 25 years from now? Not that the future promises anything better but maybe. I’ve thought about being a philosopher and writing and publishing my thoughts but then I remembered I don’t want to put the energy in to create and defend arguments to prove my points. I just want to write down everything I think, the way I think life should be lived and just hoping other people agree with me. But why do I need other peoples’ approval? Why don’t I just exist the way I think I should? Because it’s exhausting when you’re surrounded by people who just don’t. get. It. I’m tired now. That’s another lie, I just feel the passion in my thoughts coming out and I don’t want to deal with it cause THEN I will actually be tired. I think too much, I have too many opinions, but the words never leave my head unless it goes straight into this document. Actually, I’ve attempted to reveal my thoughts to some of friends – about 3 or 4 – and overall I’ve been given decent responses, but a trend of is that they thought I wanted help or advice. They thought that telling me about the concept of just living life anyways would help as if that’s anything new. Yes, I know. I know that there’s nothing I can really do about all the terrible things in the world and all the terrible people that exist. I know that I only have control over myself and my own happiness and I’m choosing to feel this way. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. It’s a lazy response. It’s a response that doesn’t demand much action. It’s easy for people to say these things because for them, they don’t mind just living in their own world. But I do. I mind.  I’m not here to live a mediocre life but at the same time I feel like I want to. I care too much and not at all. Who am I? Have a figured out my self yet? Or am I still suffering? Does the suffering ever truly stop? I don’t know. I’m tired.

Odd.

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Charcoal heart/Now forever on paper/Leaving a faint impression/On pages that got too close/We were too close, too fast/Too much, too soon/Now what's left is/The vague, dusty reminder of the mistakes we made

  Indifferent, burningly insane.

Am I the only one that mixes up Jamie Oliver and John Oliver? Yeah.. Yeah I probably am.. I should just go to bed

Stringing together words that I believe fall on deaf ears. Wondering, contemplating the meaning of ignorance spiraling uncontrollably in my thoughts and self doubts. My heart oscillating as waves of emotion overtake me. Pink noise sounds off in my head. Unclear thoughts choking out reason as if some weed has grown and invaded. Winding, weaving, snaking wrapping up each and every seed. Squashing out any flower that might pierce through to soak up the rays of stability. Sitting, brooding on the inside. Outside actively participating to each and every social situation. Dropping ideas and philosophically musing within my self. Viewing from the outside the duality of defense that seems to deploy. Much like a game of chess so contrived spinning the table between myself locked in a battle of wits wondering when the checkmate will occur signaling a victory of proportions that will invariably cause the two to become one. No different then the collapse and ruin of the Roman Empire. Releasing a vacuum of power the likes of which the world will be sucked into causing an inverted triangle that some would recognize as Dante's Inferno. Descending into multiples levels to carry out a sentence that accurately equals the crime committed. THe noise of which would send Grendal into a fit of rage to rip the tendons out of the arms of the original perpetrators. An act so violent Achilles himself would claim vengeance for their lost honor. Withdrawing from the battle of Troy to leave Paris and Helen in their bout of infidelity. Seeking the glory of slaying a beast that Don Quixote could not imagine in his strongest moment of self-delusion. STOP!!!! I need to digress. The duality of my defense is conceivably and inevitably a self-fulfilling prophecy. Circular reasoning by which the circumference there of prevents me from seeing the path of denial I tread so frequently. Ha ha ha!!! My god one would think me mad to see this verbose verbiage that I'm pontificating out during this circle jerk of exposition. THe static of spiraling thoughts. It seems like an old radio from a by gone era. An era of simpler times. White noise, pink noise. It blends together melding into a rushing river. Deafening to my ears. Bleeding out as my eardrums burst like tiny balloons. Reaching up to the table. TOo high to climb. Wishing, screaming, wailing, begging to flip the switch off on the radio. The volume knob turns uncontrollably higher, higher. Transistors cracking and exploding in a caterwaul of sound. Only adding to the wall of noise that are my thoughts. Gnashing my teeth as thoughts burst forth. Crushing my battered and beaten body on the rocks. No respite finds me. Chained down to the cliff. Helpless. Hopeless. Being reborn each morning to a renewing onslaught that is proverbial. What level of Dante's Inferno do I find myself in? I've read this great epic poem. There were merely 9 levels! How do i find myself here on the 10th level? Was it created just for me? A cruel joke, a tragedy orchestrated by the Greek Fates perhaps? Shakespeare would turn in his grave. Are the Greek Fates to blame? Dante? Shakespeare? My proverbial return each morning is much akin to Prometheus. But what fire do I have to bring? SO perhaps not the Greek Fates but Zeus himself? You damn fool! Spouting your nonsensical ramblings pretending to be a poet but really a trickster! Oh god! Free, me from this torture I suffer. I grow weary of this game of hide n' seek that I play with myself. Seeking obscure allusions in which to flex my literary genius. The hipster of West Egg. THere it is again. The gambit, the feign, I am master of them both. Looking one way while attacking the other. A mad man. Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde of inner turmoil. A game of round robin. Chasing myself. THe self-fulfilling prophecy. Footsteps become visible. Are they mine? Are they his? Running faster seeking an end to this mystery. Out of breath as my legs churn. Searching for who tread this way before. Is it my way out? DO they know what move I must take? The steps become fresher. THe answer is moving closer. THe trickster will be found! The noise will stop! An epiphany reaches out to touch me. THe realization all seems so soon. Back in the room. Pink noise still playing on the radio. I walk over and with flip of my wrist *click* It's all gone. Checkmate! I'm back outside. Stringing together words I believe are falling on deaf ear.