scathed

The more I try to correct, the more I realize the true severity of my current state: the problem becomes increasingly daunting and nothing gets solved, only further realized. How much more can I tolerate before I'm convinced it's too late? I don't know yet. But as if I'd hastily bandaged wounds that required stitches, I now slowly pull back the bloodied layers of cloth to reveal my worsened condition. And I am no more skilled now than I was then. This won't be as easy as just moving on. I won't survive, but at least now I want to know why.

tears

I need to calm down. This constant state of agitated frustration is unproductive and unhealthy.

unmotivated and mean

My condescension and contempt for all is merely a projection of my own dissatisfaction in myself. I am not unaware of this. In fact I continually find myself further and further sequestering myself from people since I seem so incapable of restraining such thought urges otherwise. I don't expect other people to live up to my morals anymore than I desire to live up to theirs. I just don't understand why it's so arduous and impossible for me to be who I am in this environment while I observe others doing it with so much ease. (Okay, maybe not being themselves, but at least not seeming to struggle/notice their masks of conformity.) Am I really as much of a pariah as I have myself convinced of each time I step outside my door? I can't be. I feel so completely dull when left in my solitude but yet my so-called eccentricities are constantly pointed out as sources of amusement by acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and family alike. I'm tired of being thought of as strange and having to play it off comically for mild acceptance and peace. Where can I go where I will be thought of as dull and listless as I feel? At least there I could grow! This outcast status is dispiriting.

sharing

AT: Every film I have directed and I intend to direct is always tied to characters who have something to overcome, who must succeed, in the name of this optimism on which I insist and which I constantly speak about. In other words, a man held up by an idea searches passionately for the answer to a question and goes to the end of his understanding of reality. And he reaches an understanding of that reality thanks to his experience.


I showed this quote to my mother after she asked me what book I was reading at the moment. I remembered marking the passage (among others) earlier in the day while reading on the train. Without a word, I flipped through the book to find it and handed it over. She read it, got very excited and said, "See! That's why I like Harry Potter. Read it again." I read it again with this new interpretation. I looked back at the enthusiasm on her face for a moment, then put my book away and waited for the movie to start.

new ways

I could sulk endlessly like this, or I could try new outlets and new sulks, which may not even lead to sulking at all.

demising

a failed source of entertainment. no outlet. no use. can't press deep enough. can't hide without false hope. expectant, denied. floods again. pause. hold breath. look inward. purposely dehydrating. (to quell release?) starved and self-starving. desired physical confirmation. confirmed. meek acts of destruction not fatal. side effect: irreversible blows, continued degeneration. further disappointment in lack of documentation. no expression. supersaturation. potential outburst suppressed by subconscious decorum. volatility inflated. stressed glass breaks. was room empty? decorum strikes again. stillness momentarily. cycles, again. braces. collapse and collect. again, again.

tiring circles. an end awaits. searching. prospects few. heightened fastidious sensibility. nothing satiates. silent plea continues despite self-suppression. communing: vague and impenetrable, two-way. quest continues with less vigor. what end will alleviate?

drivel, drivel, drivel. she endures without meaning.

sulk pt 3

I'll make them all disappear...

tap, tap

Up and down and down and up she goes.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! *dies*

stop

This insatiable quest for learning suddenly feels counterproductive.

sulk day 2; stunted

I don't feel like I'm living. There is no Now, no current moment. So much of my experience feels vicarious and fraudulent, all knowledge and instruction without experimentation or even movement. Fantasy, escapism? Deadlocked arrogance? Bittersweet. Escape seems like the only protection I have against such undermining surroundings. Am I shielding myself in detachment from a perceived contagious apathy or a disconnection in direction? This cowering isn't a life at all. I can only manage by convincing myself that it is preparation for later enterprise, but such buffoonery fools no one. Am I molding a persona without habitat? It shouldn't be this difficult just to exist daily. But I struggle to withstand the increasing burden of harm such passivity exudes upon both my surroundings and my own worth. (Change hasn't been drastic enough. Solitude isn't working but the ditch has been dug.)

Condescending, directionless, and miserable - no one benefits.

caring

What makes some people (most people?) not care? I got into an argument with my sister over this as she expressed her disgust with what she considered my caring too much. She interprets it as some underlying guilt complex of unknown source and hence broad outlet. I tried to explain why the things we were talking about were worth caring but she didn't want to listen, insisting that it was pointless for her. Even when I tried to explain how these things related to her life, but she closed up. I asked her then what the point of her life was and she replied that it was to have fun. Is this the point of most lives? Is that the difference - people who live for fun don't care, while those who search for more do?

religious vs spiritual

(I'm stereotyping to some degree here, but the general point I'm trying to get across is more important than any poor judgments I'm accidentally making. Yeah, that's my lame attempt at a disclaimer so I can get away with spouting off my ignorant perspective.)

In broad terms, I see religions by nature as restrictive, filled with rituals and rules, which are meant to conform personal beliefs into specified, preexisting doctrine. They lack adaptiveness for individual uniquenesses and instead generalize people into a system of standard morals in an effort to harmonize the populous and develop an explicit system of judgment. But at what cost? What happens to those who can't or won't conform? In their attempt to collect what is by nature diverse, they create conflict and outcasts, an inevitable witch hunt.

I see spirituality on the other hand as something much more personal and introspective, an attempt to come to terms with one's own self. A religious person attempts to persuade others to follow what he thinks is right, as if a following can subdue his insecurities, while a truly spiritual person who has found his/her peace has little to say and knows that what is true for him/her may not be for others. Of course there are religious people who are spiritual, but how many? And how many people blindly define themselves by their religion without questioning it or themselves?

We're not taught to think for ourselves in school or even by most of our parents. We're taught to conform, obey, and follow. There's little encouragement for young people to take the journey towards personal enlightenment, instead only a persistent enforcement of rules and restrictions are inflicted. "Don't ask, that's just the way it is." Even the one year I did in a private religious school, we discussed only the world of degraded values and the numerous ways we could stray from the right path but questioning the given moral system itself was blasphemous.

I've had pieces of this discussion with one of my religious friends, whom I do respect and don't mean to harp here on his choice for being religious. He tries to be a good person, follow what he was brought up to consider right, and he is a better person for it. (Especially since he says that if he didn't have God, he wouldn't think he'd be able to stop himself from living more reckless and selfishly.) Once he expressed how he'd rather be in his position than of mine because he couldn't imagine "having to start from scratch," saying that he had too many things in life to worry about already. Is that really the right way to put it? Could we collectively be brought up to look at it otherwise or is this just a choice that only some people want?

What brings me to ramble on about it now is a conversation I had recently with a friend's dad. I can't say how accurate any of the following really is, but he was telling me that in India, where he spent most of his life, there is a much stronger sense of spirituality in people and that it's taught in schools more prominently and objectively. He expressed how rich their history was in spiritual development, and how no spiritual leader means to start a religion but rather it his disciples that come in afterwards and do that. He talked about how the caste system tarnished good intentioned beliefs to wield them as a force for suppression. Then he started to say that in modern India people were frustrated with the thousands of years of religious oppression and fighting, and how there is an increasingly large movement for a more open and personal sense of spirituality instead. He thinks that this movement will spread globally as people tire of all the fighting and conflict between religions and realize that we are all after the same thing. I can't say I share his hopefulness. I think people have an intrinsic desire form groups, which lead so easily competitive urges. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's something we're taught and not in our nature.

new talk

I find it ironic that the more I learn, the less I feel I have to say in conversation, as if my interests are too heavy-handed. I am both so bored in day-to-day conversation (mostly because I respond so instinctively as expected and false) and yet too intimidated and stunted to intelligently discuss the topics that do interest me. My silent introspection isn't enough; I need debate to formulated my flimsy opinions. And although I have friends that would disagree with these new thoughts, they'd not only take offense to my supposed aggressions, but wouldn't even have formulated opposing opinions to spar against. And so I accept the standard of only permitting agreeable, light conversation topics, which is ridiculous. I've had enough though. As I find myself saying increasingly less, I also find myself once again enjoying solitude over company. Books and paper suit my desire for interaction much better. Perhaps one day I can translate this into meaningful conversation. Until then, a hermit's life for me! ...well, not completely. I'm going to attempt to quit being so agreeable and if that causes me to lose friends, so be it. But first I think I need to learn how to be less hostile and dismissive in my opinions, otherwise nothing will get across.

I am excited to test new tactics.

redirect

Why can't I get anything accomplished at home? Do I really need the presence of other people just to keep me inline? Sad. Yay for coffee houses at least. I guess there's too many distractions at home, too many excuses to just mope around dazed or sleep.

I need to purge my apartment, rid myself of all that is unnecessary and past. Typically after a break-up I go on a throwing-away rampage. I wanted to immediately this time around as well, but since the vast majority of things in my apartment were purchased with or remind me of him it would have practically required me to start over. And since I'm in no mood to financially invest in a complete trash and splurge tactic, I'll just have to find less tangible ways to move on. For one, I'd really like to slowly redecorate, stuffing my place with a more personalized and creative decor so it's less formal and bland. In other words, I'd like my place to be more conducive for productivity.

repetition

After writing a slew of verbose distress e-mails to a friend, his response was "I think it's one thing to think and ponder in poetry and prose, and another to act on what you inherently know and need to do." He continued in a supportive, though harsh manner. The two of us couldn't be more opposite from each other, but we've always bonded in our respected ability to tell each other like it is, without sugar coating. And he's right, which is an easy conclusion for him to come to (practically the default one for any and all problems I come to him with) considering how long he's known me. That was over a month ago and I haven't had the heart to respond because I didn't think I could go through with what I was too (eloquently) afraid to do. I think the advice and support I need is there but I'm always so unwilling to commit to it, to act. It's part of the reason I never ask anyone for assistance: I don't want the added pressure of letting them down when I don't follow through. At least now I can respond to him. And hopefully yet again he'll forgive my prolonged silence.

a beginning

"I've learned that if you deprive most of these people of that particular excuse they just find another, then another, then another. The use of this excuse to justify their inaction - the use of any excuse to justify inaction - reveals nothing more nor less than an incapacity to love."


Today (well not today per se, but building up slowly over the past month or so) I find myself ready to stop using weakness as my excuse for lethargy and a guilt-ridden apathy for life. I don't feel particularly stronger (if anything, even more unsure), but rather finally able to bear the consequences of doing what I know is right. Finally I see that worrying about the risk is far more burdensome than dealing with its fallout. I have wrapped myself in a guise of dull, self-sufficient functionality, covering (or rather smothering) a conflicted and unexplored secret self. I want to crack this shell, break open and expose this vulnerable inside and harden it against the elements.

My preliminary steps have come with surprising ease. Succeeding steps will be increasingly difficult, but I'm not really scared anymore. It is no longer fear holding me back, but lack of direction. This I can find. I accept the failures and falsehoods of those around me with such ease but never allow such leniency for myself. I am worn inactive with self-hate.

No more (?)

I want to make mistakes.

a return

Oh Blog, how I have neglect you! How I have ruthlessly filled your hidden innards with unfinished, wallowing verse. How meekly I have been too confused within the opinions of others and within my own unstable decisions to bare my thoughts, unquestioning, to anyone. And in this overwhelming, unproductive insecurity, I could not even commit a single word to you, my sole refuge for such uninhibited arrogance and foolishness.

Forgive me and take me back!