#untitledthoughts

So much of my life still revolved around resistance. So much of me strived to pursue my individuation. My ego still, on some basic level, denied it’s impermanence. An argument formed by and residing in a shanty-town of false logic.

I don’t remember when I let that go, but it’s been so much easier since I have.

I am okay with the impermanence of my individual self. It has not negated the significance of pleasure and meaning found in seeking the deep.

Idk what to tell you, there isn’t much more to me.

I’m full of shit, selfish, and self-centered.

Whatever good you feel is worth staying around for ought to be acknowledged in kind with everything else. Don’t rob me of my misery by imposing your delusion of what my best looks like. My work is mine alone. My self-work is a process I cannot invite you into. You’ve either already been a part of it via shared time/space or you aren’t. Idk how to feign romance in the face of these realities; but if you do, please do so elsewhere.

For there is no substitute for reality. No good one, anyway. I don’t need your charity. Don’t mock me, help me. Don’t think, act. Don’t look, feel. Blend. Writhe. Break yourself under the weight that breaks me, and just admit that it’s hard, god damn it.

Admit the universality of suffering and the simultaneity of all other emotions that tint and nuance the abysmal and meaningless objectivity of our experiences.

Form the softness of your ears against the beating of my anxious heart. Send your tongue to tickle the bedrock of depressive cynicism that my memories have formed.

Travel to a place where they don’t accept your currency. It’s harder to sell yourself there…

As much as I believe that life is cyclical, I can’t help but feel that I shouldn’t end up in the same dead end every time I feel I hit a wall. It feels like I’m not growing or changing at all when, every few laps, I come back to the realization that the most recent sprint ended exactly where it began. 

I still feel like there is something keeping me from peace. Something I can’t put my finger on. I feel like I’ve tried the “fake it ‘til you make it” method before, and I’m still here thinking about whether it will turn out different this time. I’m never sure where to go from here. Because I’m still not quite sure what got me here in the first place.

The truth is, I feel like an impostor. An actor. I bring this up because it’s the only thing I think that might be causing this loop. I can’t seem to figure out how to stop acting. I can take of the current mask, once perceived, but I’m so bent on applause that I form another one almost by accident, trying to blend in without one. 

Every time this happens, I realize that the only person I can’t please is myself. I think maybe this is significant. I think the happiness that the applause of a good performance brings is loud, but temporary. And I know none of this is ground-breaking, but I think I want something more meaningful. Maybe a performance art piece where I pretend to be a conflicted soul as a social experiment…

The hard part is that my role is the “good guy”. I’m always the protagonist in my story lines. Does this make me a villain underneath it all? Or just misguided? Am I so good at pretending that I can’t even tell? Where is the line of demarcation between authenticity and people-pleasing? Is the line worth noting? Is the “wisdom” I project or feel I have even real?

This time is more trying than I can understand or express. I don’t even know, as I’m writing this, if it’s honest, or attention-seeking. I’ll hopefully write more as I grow. For posterity.