I don't want to talk about pessimism anymore. I came to the coffeeshop intending to write my draft, hoping the administration of nicotine and caffeine would induce thoughts and I'll be able to word them. But on my way here, that realization of absurdity sank in, and inhibited me. It dried the cheerfulness out from my face. And because god loves me so much, the moment my face frowned synchronized with coming across a cute girl. I think I scared her when she peeked to me.
I hate these words I'm using. I've abused them. I overused their juice. There is no taste when I read the expressions I conjure. Predictable and mundane. And if you've noticed, I grew the habit of writing small sentences, because I'm unable to link thoughts. I don't know why, maybe the thoughts I am trying to link have no such thing between them, or maybe I haven't comprehended them and thus blind to what ties them together. It's true that simplicity oftentimes is beauty, but in this case, it is ignorance and cowardice. Though one should not worry about having a simple writing style if he always conveys his thoughts successfully, but I believe that whatever the outcome of your art, there is always a better way to do it.
Brevity, those words, unknown to me, so broad and so resilient that they are orgasmic. I am like a woman whose sexuality so complex that she is always frustrated because she can't orgasm at will. I haven't experienced that linguistic orgasm in months. Wasn't it enough that I never had sex? No I'm endangered to never have the linguistic one? It's maddening.
But where all of this matters anyway? Write or don't write, that loop of incessant circulation in pursuit of pleasure will never be broken. Driven by the will to live, the human being will always go to extreme lengths just to escape, to shelter himself, from the discomfort, the uneasiness, the suffering imposed on him by the nature of his original state: pain. Think about it, whether you're a writer, a painter, a musician, an artist in general, or otherwise, the state of pain have, is, and will overweight the moments of pleasure you experience. The resemblance of this and that of masturbation is uncanny. Willfully or not, you'll discover that itch in your crotch or in your brain, which will lead to the attempt of getting rid of it. You jerk off that itch out, and relief will be accompanied afterwards, only immediately after that, numbness sinks in, and you're destined again to escape it. Ad infinitum you'll continue on your meaningless, aimless circulation. The fuckery in all this is that being thoughtless of how to discharge the discomfort. Crushed between the powers of your instinct to nope the fuck out and being clueless how to do that, your perception of possible alternatives ebbs, and the greater the pain the narrowed the perception, thus, depression. But god forbids, that is not the case here. I am scrabbling these words, and it seems that my brain is really enjoying the caffeine (I haven't had coffee in ages), so I got that going for me as a runaway.
At this point I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, or how I got here.
What would thee do whence trapped? I myself would smoke profusely and watch obsolescent shit on YouTube, mainly things that require autonomous brain activity, awaiting salvation, or the motive to do things with greater intrinsic rewards. But when my salvation comes, and I dive into some meaningful activity, I know it's a passing moment, and the number of moments that have been ruined by this realization is countless, which I think renders the moment itself meaningless. The transient nature of things bothers the fuck out of me. I do not accept it, I do not embrace it, and 'carpe Diem' is just an edgy phrase I don't know how people live by it. But would I rather the moment be eternal? Nein. Because it's incompatible with my nature, which is transitory, unstable, unsettled, which is basically the nature of all things. Would I rather be ascetic? Probably. But not now, I want to try psychedelic mushrooms first, before I deny myself the pleasures of the world.
Do you see the problem here? I see alternatives, but I can't afford practicing them. I'm trapped again. I can't leap, and I can't deny, and surely if I can't do that there is no way I can muster the balls to rebel and break that loop we've talked about, or transcend my nature and break the pendulum of Schopenhauer.
Oi! That hyper state left me. I'll leave you to figure out what I was shitting here. Good thing I managed to write this, though it has no eloquent beauty, it's still a relief.
