Walking - The Doing of it.
It's alright, but the weather is horrible and makes me feel far more elderly that I expected - unimpressed, unsurprised, uninterested and most of all unable to concentrate on anything for longer than a few moments. This does make you fall down the impolite company sofa, if somehow hidden by a more general air of detached crapishness. I am afraid that I am developing a habit of rejecting emotional views of things, then again, this is probably the best thing that you can do when you are young and lack direction.
Far from turning bleakmongerous, you can afford not to care about former problems of the world and focus instead upon building a philosophy of denial, delusion and normality.
I am sure that overcomplicating life only makes it appear more interesting, when the best things happen after you're shitting in the limbo chute. I finally have the healthy disrespect for life and its contents which allows me to justify being a lazy and boring platter of insect guts and not even care if anything hears it. We invented this language because we are too stupid to ear stones.
Also, how much talk is necessary? How much action? What is essential for survival and nice survival? What is worth taking all that seriously? What is worth becoming upset about? I think I will be writing a much better essay now that I know how pointless it is. There are two types of pointless and they are both determined by the sun. The end of this year feels scary as a result, but once that rubbish ends then a well-adjusted young adult shall emerge and do a job and wonder about stupid things like this as it enjoys a fresh carton of concentrate between the times where it is stood to receive people's words and perform relevant actions.
It helps to imagine that when we are all asleep all of our confused subjective views of ourselves and others are destroyed by a breath that cares, but that doesn't happen, dreams are for children and the antipublic. Dreams are stupid and useless and dangerous. I don't believe that at all. Dreams are internal things, cinema for one. Dreams is a word, dreams are a phenomena, dreams are ideas, ideas are all over the place, place meaning mind, mind being a concept and a name for internal things.
My worry is that when I grow logic, life will be very boring. I don't want to become someone that enjoys the memory of enjoyment. That is why I am going to drink some water because that, my dear and yet free-to-use-as-an-internet-site diary, is the most important fake moral bullshit ending of all.
Did I mention that I love music?
Far from turning bleakmongerous, you can afford not to care about former problems of the world and focus instead upon building a philosophy of denial, delusion and normality.
I am sure that overcomplicating life only makes it appear more interesting, when the best things happen after you're shitting in the limbo chute. I finally have the healthy disrespect for life and its contents which allows me to justify being a lazy and boring platter of insect guts and not even care if anything hears it. We invented this language because we are too stupid to ear stones.
Also, how much talk is necessary? How much action? What is essential for survival and nice survival? What is worth taking all that seriously? What is worth becoming upset about? I think I will be writing a much better essay now that I know how pointless it is. There are two types of pointless and they are both determined by the sun. The end of this year feels scary as a result, but once that rubbish ends then a well-adjusted young adult shall emerge and do a job and wonder about stupid things like this as it enjoys a fresh carton of concentrate between the times where it is stood to receive people's words and perform relevant actions.
It helps to imagine that when we are all asleep all of our confused subjective views of ourselves and others are destroyed by a breath that cares, but that doesn't happen, dreams are for children and the antipublic. Dreams are stupid and useless and dangerous. I don't believe that at all. Dreams are internal things, cinema for one. Dreams is a word, dreams are a phenomena, dreams are ideas, ideas are all over the place, place meaning mind, mind being a concept and a name for internal things.
My worry is that when I grow logic, life will be very boring. I don't want to become someone that enjoys the memory of enjoyment. That is why I am going to drink some water because that, my dear and yet free-to-use-as-an-internet-site diary, is the most important fake moral bullshit ending of all.
Did I mention that I love music?
posted by Jaguar Hutch at 3:11 PM
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