The greatest beauty about life is that it is perishable. What once was will never be. And I guess that is the reason why we are more concerned about self-destruction than living.
There is nothing masochistic about it. That’s the way it is supposed to be.
Think hard and try to remember what you wanted from life. Is there a thing that you really wanted and never got? No I’m not saying that there is a choice. Oh sorry to burst the bubble on you, but yes you don’t have a choice. Did you choose to live? Or can you choose to die? What was it that gave you happiness? What is it that makes you sad? Aren’t they all really the same? What are you really attracted to? What or who is your kick? Why are we all who we are? Who are we? Did you really decide the clothes you are wearing right now? Are you happy with it? Or does it make you sad that your t-shirt is not Nike? Or how happy will you really be if it was? You picked the clothes you are wearing right now because the other ones were not looking as good.
Not that you really liked it.
We are all chasing ourselves. A life we once lived. We are witnessing that exact same repetition day in and day out. I guess that is why this déjà vu is so prevalent.
There is some liquid in our nerve that wants us to go back and forth to each and every moment lived. That’s the real kick. To pile on moments. And since we cannot remember a great deal, due to a shitty memory, we are unhappy.
You already know what you can have and your mind tricks you into believing that that’s what you really wanted.
I hate to say this but I’m no sage. And if I’m writing about it, it exists.
The real door that you can open, the only door available, is the one to memory. You cannot see the future. You can only see the past. And that is why you keep living. That is why you want this moment to be grand. That is what all that “live this moment” crap comes from. But what is so livable about it?
The idea that one day you’ll open that door and find something that you always wanted to do and did.
A careless comment in the past makes you believe that you are intelligent. A couple of lines scribbled at the back of some book make you believe yourself to be a poet. A character in a movie jerking off after looking at the picture of the writer he’s reading makes you feel grand because its part of you. Everybody does that. Everyone, who is someone now, was or is, as stupid and as sad, as you are now or will be.
However stupid or bane your childhood was, it appears a novelty. The slightest reproduction of those images brings a smile on your face.
But can you really reproduce those images? What can you remember vividly? Now, come on. Think hard. Can you recall your face from two years back without looking at a photograph? Your own bloody face that you’ve lived with every single day of your life.
Let’s take the example of your most treasured moment in life. Can you recall that? Now, be specific. Which is that moment that really sticks out? That recalls every detail. Every hue and odor. That tinkling of the laughter. That stench of guilt. You can’t remember it, can you? See, perishable.
But don’t worry too much. I wouldn’t if I was you. Just sit back and take a deep breadth. It’ll all be over before you know it. All that trouble, all the heaviness and the lightness, all these insecurities will flush down the drain in a dream’s notice.
And that my friend, will be the end of you.
There is nothing masochistic about it. That’s the way it is supposed to be.
Think hard and try to remember what you wanted from life. Is there a thing that you really wanted and never got? No I’m not saying that there is a choice. Oh sorry to burst the bubble on you, but yes you don’t have a choice. Did you choose to live? Or can you choose to die? What was it that gave you happiness? What is it that makes you sad? Aren’t they all really the same? What are you really attracted to? What or who is your kick? Why are we all who we are? Who are we? Did you really decide the clothes you are wearing right now? Are you happy with it? Or does it make you sad that your t-shirt is not Nike? Or how happy will you really be if it was? You picked the clothes you are wearing right now because the other ones were not looking as good.
Not that you really liked it.
We are all chasing ourselves. A life we once lived. We are witnessing that exact same repetition day in and day out. I guess that is why this déjà vu is so prevalent.
There is some liquid in our nerve that wants us to go back and forth to each and every moment lived. That’s the real kick. To pile on moments. And since we cannot remember a great deal, due to a shitty memory, we are unhappy.
You already know what you can have and your mind tricks you into believing that that’s what you really wanted.
I hate to say this but I’m no sage. And if I’m writing about it, it exists.
The real door that you can open, the only door available, is the one to memory. You cannot see the future. You can only see the past. And that is why you keep living. That is why you want this moment to be grand. That is what all that “live this moment” crap comes from. But what is so livable about it?
The idea that one day you’ll open that door and find something that you always wanted to do and did.
A careless comment in the past makes you believe that you are intelligent. A couple of lines scribbled at the back of some book make you believe yourself to be a poet. A character in a movie jerking off after looking at the picture of the writer he’s reading makes you feel grand because its part of you. Everybody does that. Everyone, who is someone now, was or is, as stupid and as sad, as you are now or will be.
However stupid or bane your childhood was, it appears a novelty. The slightest reproduction of those images brings a smile on your face.
But can you really reproduce those images? What can you remember vividly? Now, come on. Think hard. Can you recall your face from two years back without looking at a photograph? Your own bloody face that you’ve lived with every single day of your life.
Let’s take the example of your most treasured moment in life. Can you recall that? Now, be specific. Which is that moment that really sticks out? That recalls every detail. Every hue and odor. That tinkling of the laughter. That stench of guilt. You can’t remember it, can you? See, perishable.
But don’t worry too much. I wouldn’t if I was you. Just sit back and take a deep breadth. It’ll all be over before you know it. All that trouble, all the heaviness and the lightness, all these insecurities will flush down the drain in a dream’s notice.
And that my friend, will be the end of you.
1 comment:
Nice. Very Nice.
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