Blog 9/23/17
If I stop caring, nothing can hurt me. This was my teenage philosophy, a reaction to my shame at being ostracized and socially dominated by small-minded males. A reaction to an environment full of way too much noise, too many voices, too close to too many people, expected to respond to a simple "Hi, how are ya" which to me could cause me to panic without even realizing it. So I said I must learn to love what I hate, those adverse stimuli must become at least neutral to me so I can function. it was a total overhaul, emotionally as well as sensually I did my best to weather the static, saying to myself: there is no inherent meaning. But perhaps as a result of this some of my behavior towards those I loved was inappropriately cruel, and soon I found myself having a new problem: having risen above the static I no longer attached myself to all these things that keep humans alive and focused. My grades got worse. When I lost my final tether, of course a woman, I realized oh shit I don't care about anything. What's the thing that I'll spend my time on in this long and boring, painful life, me being now really an actual nihilist? Naturally one source for rapture that was easily accessible requiring no ontological investiture: drugs.
I no longer used psychedelics out of curiosity but rarely, as medicine for the disease of nihilism, that they would show me a false sense of meaning. But mostly I stumbled around my room on MXE. Now, MXE led to some very real questions about non-spatial temporal consciousness that very much interest me to this day but we won't delve into that here. Around the time MXE was banned I went to my second rainbow gathering and fell in with a crowd that introduced me to communal alcohol abuse which replaced MXE for me. I held, as a result of my experiences and self defense mechanisms as well, a very dangerous philosophy that is also what I believe is maybe true: there is no knowing. To speculate about unanswerable questions is ultimately fruitless if slightly entertaining. We are all under the lash of physical electrochemical limitations. There is no inherent meaning. I choose to hold myself to ethical standards but i don't suggest those standards exist outside myself so, when my mind isn't right I would drug it because one happiness is as real as another it is all an illusion. But as I write this I think that for me to continue to exist henceforth is to accept bitter suffering daily. Just accept it, I accept that I was made for pain, shame, to exist in this way ignominiously for no purpose, while others exist blissfully free and proud, productive...and unaware of the magnitude of other people's pain.
So if I...if there is a feeling I want people to get from my writing I want them to feel sad and empty like me not out of spite, envy, or revenge but because it is my truth that I have to share, a feeling of knowing deep inside that you'll never be able to find that piece that makes you whole but why? Because there is no inherent meaning that spark, that love, cannot truly exist in the vacuum but for the brief moment before you realize that, yes, like ALL THINGS, it is an illusion. The whole time it was just a dream, for bad or good. So now, knowing that there is no answer for you what will you do? Will you pretend you haven't read this and/or you don't agree and thereby continue to live a life of purpose or if you agree how long can you cope like this? If you can't feel happy without pulling a sheet over your eyes them will you drink and drink until you reach the state of mind of an animal, unconcerned and somnolent? You were never made to be happy. Because you wre never made, you happened. Will you rebel against this perceived injustice with drugs, or will you accept your nature as a child of chaos and dutifully suffer each day with a mind seemingly hopelessly inclined to be morose?
This is a difficult question and I personally have decided (not "believe") that no one who is faced with this choice can be blamed for choosing to medicate themselves half to death. But now I'm not allowed that option anymore. Sometime I imagine myself as the ascetic in a cave except that I'm surrounded by stupid assholes. I often wonder, if I live through this, what will I have become? How is it possible to abide like this for so long? Will I be stunted or fortified? No matter what grand reason I invent for my continued existence it won't become any easier. Of course I could also be wrong. It is my place to be the guy who says "No, it's all an illusion". The cake is a lie. But it has a funny way of coming full circle: when there is no inherent meaning one illusion is as valid as the next in many ways under the influence I have "encountered" beings that expressed their profound love and sympathy for me. I have seen much but held fast to the onyx rock of nihilism, protecting my sanity.
But now my pencil hand grows tired.