SPOILER ALERT: I say nothing substantial, and everything that could pass for substance induced rambling.
I do not consider myself a master at stream of consciousness, so naturally I have to attempt it— jack of all trades, and all. On the other hand, I do not plan my writings on paper either. There are these assorted brackets in my brain that I sort out muses and thoughts into. Some are about the average, mundane life; some about art, death and such; most of them about love. I like love. I won’t say I love it. Ha.
At this point, dear reader, I have no idea what I am saying, I just am. Feel free to quit me. Makes me sound like an addiction. Maybe I am as egomaniacal as some assume. Can an egomaniac pride themself in being the worst? I mean, they would be the best at being horrible then, right? It always is all about the extremes. Now hand me my cane, and the bottle of Vicodin, and a shot of cynicism. Enough with the cosplay.
As I type, I tilt my head as if it will give me a view that will make this piece mean something. But does it have to? Really? Does it mean anything if it is centered around the idea of it meaning something, and that is all? This is not a self help guidebook, nor is it a preaching. I am no preacher. I have realized I find the task heavy, and exhausting. No pain, no gain, though, right?
So, I will eventually preach something. I’ll bullshit my way into it. Oops. I meant to keep it around the semblance of formality. I suppose ‘oops’ does not fall into that category either. Unfortunately for you, and I, dear Reader, I have promised to not go back on any sentence I put into this today— even if it is as nonsensical as a bumblebee bumbling its way towards a bar because the honey doesn’t keep it satisfied. Oh wait, those are honeybees. Or are they?
I guess I found the topic I wish to discuss through these physics defying creatures: yes, those are bumblebees for sure.
Does anything matter? Not in the ‘we are barely atoms in relativity to the universe’ way, and also not in the nihilistic way, although I only pretend to know what nihilism is. I never cared enough to learn. It felt weird categorizing my way of behaving, thinking, and living into these boxes. Weird since I live on the brackets inside my head.
The point here is, dear reader, that this may not matter to you as a reader, but since when did I start only catering to an audience? I am way too big a liar to journal on physical paper, so I find it fun to lie on the internet. Like when I said I would quote a guy from my six hour bus ride.
Yeah, yeah, I never said that. Whatever. I thought I did. See, it is hard to keep up with thoughts when you do not have a bracket to protect you from the divergence.
I lied about the stream of consciousness thingy though. I’m best at that. I don’t plan things at all. There are brackets yes, but I usually pick and choose unconsciously.
Everything waters down to my indecisiveness, and my avoidance.
There are exactly three things that have not been due to these two dominant traits of mine:
My lack of belief in a higher power. ( I am not saying I am right, I am saying I do not mind being wrong as long as I can do things without consciously have to worry about being right or wrong. )
My bisexuality. ( I’m not not choosing because I am indecisive of what I like better, I am not not choosing because I am very confident about being a greedy little pig. )
Make that two things. I was assuming that there would have been at least three, but whatever. The third one is a classic example of those traits, so I just proved my point.
See, I do not feel any amount of shame when I do keep talking about myself. After all, it is for you to figure if I am real or made up. I do not have to make myself interesting for anyone. You cannot perform visually for a blind audience, and if you are no expert at auditory performances, you got no choice but to give the stage up to someone who is. You cannot ask the audience to leave, but you can choose to switch rooms. Don’t fit yourself into rooms you don’t belong in unless you’re sure you like being alien. Life lesson number one.
The second life lesson you will get from a person younger than you, maybe ( congratulations if you are younger than me, I do not wish to know), is to stop learning to love things. Loving, I do not care what your relationship therapist online told you, is effortless. The more you put effort into it, the more you think of it, and we humans are wired to question what we think too much about. Your efforts need to be effortless, or you will be stuck in a loop like myself. I think too much about love, about being loved, about loving. I always end up questioning its capacities, but never realising what it truly does. I could know love inside out ad ever have felt it. Love is like an abstract crush.
It only shows up when you are least prepared. It shows up when you are ugly. It shows up rarely in the forms you like. You cannot force yourself into a relationship with it. You cannot physically, nor metaphorically get together with it.
Congrats, I just bullshitted my way again into making you think what I think. Even if I did not, congratulations to me, because I never considered the fact that I have put love so high up on a pedestal that it has become unreachable to me. Maybe my faith of choice is love. Who knows.
Anyway, the bore has taken over again. I do not have much to say so I am indeed making up sentences to up the word count. Like I said, not doing this for any of you. Just to make myself feel like I can still write blind eyed and clueless. Or simply that I can still write.
Throughout this essay, rant, speech, I dunno what this is— but throughout it, I have been whining about not knowing what I am saying, and yet saying something in the next few words. You always assume you cannot do things until you do it. It is a matter of not-effort. It is a matter of process, not goal. It is the matter of getting too comfortable at dribbling the ball until you shoot it into the basket out of sheer boredom.
That is why people say to bore yourself. One assumes activity means progress, and to an extent it does, but until you bore yourself enough, you will never be switching streams as easily as you wish to. Inculcation of activities is hardly about studying them. Does this count as life lesson number three? Boring.
Okay, return the favor. Tell me how to get over it. I have had zero relationships, and one very persistent crush. So, if you did take my advice on how to love correctly, congrats, you were listening to someone equivalent to an incel with a podcast and no stable income. Ew. I do not like myself even vaguely compared to them.
I am one fat liar, but I am not lying when I say I am doomed for life because one singular person decided to weave themselves through my amygdala. I am guessing that is the emotional part. Limbic system? I dropped biology back in tenth.
You get the point. I preach about avoidance and disconnect whilst having a singular muse that shows up at every emotional outburst. Prime example of fake it till you make it. They are also someone that I resort to when I run out of things to preach. Big fat sigh.
That definitely broke my tempo, but no going backs. Let us cover the damage. How? I don’t know. Pour molten lava over dry land and blame it on it. How does that even work.
Is it an addiction if it’s not religiously consumed but you keep coming back to it? If not, what is it called when someone comes back to something at intervals?
When I do not have answers, I stop writing. I sure did like hearing myself though. See you in the next one.
obsessed with whatever this is
this was so fun, refreshing and different
I love the fact that this is untitled