Another blog entry written for its own sake. Is this a pattern? Do I finally have enough accumulation of extra thoughts to fill a spontaneous blog post each week? If so, it would be a good indicator of my general stability. But I fear I will simply be staring at the wall and typing what I see.
No matter. A Rorschach Test it is then. The only real question is whether I publish what I write or hide it. If I did hide it, I would have to think it was bad, but also that I have good reason to hide something bad from you. But I don’t really have a good reason to hide something bad. I’m at my wit’s end in life. To keep something hidden would require incentive, but what for? I’m not hiding anything. Maybe I’d be better off if I did have something to hide, but I don’t.
As far as my slow progress on my videogame (or whatever it is), it seems like I could do better if could produce little isolated chunks and only later try to integrate them. Not that I’m really that productive. In fact, I’d rather listen to the Beach Boys “Pet Sounds” album than actually write anything or program anything.
I realize with some dismay that I take more pleasure in my lack of taking pleasure in anything than I do in anything else. In other words, I feel rather depressed, thinking that I am totally out of place here on earth. But the fact that I am depressed is actually a source of joy. I think that some part of me remains proud of not enjoying my time here. Maybe that’s enough enjoyment to hold me over. The dismay I mentioned is a matter of wondering if it wouldn’t be better to actually enjoy something besides not enjoying very much. Maybe I do enjoy things, but they have been subsumed by a kind of pride which decided it was more important than they are.
Is the pride good or bad? I feel like it’s good. It not only makes me feel special, but it symbolizes the civilizing of baser instincts. I also think I must be deceiving myself. There must be things I really do enjoy, but they are so far from currently occurring that my psyche is trying to detach from them, causing the depression, lack of enjoyment, and subsequent enjoyment of the lack of enjoyment. I really don’t know which side to choose. Should I promote the original things which for some reason I can’t get, or promote the proud enjoyment of the lack of enjoyment?
And it’s weird, because there are so many things I’m not saying. I feel a lot like the Oasis song Wonderwall. I may be pulling away from honesty in general, realizing that there’s no way to say certain things. It’s been well known since primitive times that saying certain things, such as the names of the dead, for example, could be a curse. Consider that one of my natural talents is for description. Therefore, I’ve developed a bias toward solving all my problems by describing them. I may fear falling back on a world where I can’t describe things, but I also realize describing them is reaching the point of diminishing returns, if not outright becoming harmful.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve once again entered into psychological territory in which I’m alone in the desert. But I’ve been there before. I don’t want to be in the desert anymore. I hope this is one of the last times I have to do this.
A lot of the most difficult emotions are the ones which can hardly be civilized. If a person wants total control over the world, how can they express that in the world we have? Or if they want to have sex with whomever they want at any time, what are they supposed to do? People divide into two camps, those who subdue their instincts and those who express them, despite the consequences. I guess I have to subdue them, even though it removes the joy from my life. That’s what the “good guy” is supposed to do.
I wish the devil on my shoulder could formulate an argument my conscience could accept. Instead that devil just flounders around with ways of expressing itself which I can’t integrate into the rest of me. I’m not saying the angel on my other shoulder is any more pleasant than my devil. But at least the angel isn’t f’ing retarded. The devil will say something like, “Rape that woman!” I’m like, “No. Right or wrong, do I really want to risk going to jail!?” I’m getting to the point where I’m actually rooting for him, hoping he comes up with something which isn’t just outright retarded. No wonder I’m depressed. My devil’s f’ing retarded.