Sitting down and telling yourself to write rarely works as well as you would will it to. With that in mind, I have very intelligently sat down and forced myself to begin writing. It isn't going well. There is a certain level of reliability in personal change which as hard to avoid as it is to see - that is to say, you can neither see it nor avoid it until it has already taken place. Now before you jump to conclusions, do not assume this inevitable evolution is necessarily slow or gradual, but rather immaculately imperceptible because of your being you. Don't get down on yourself, a lot of us are us. The biggest issue in this slow erosion of the character you are to reveal the one you are becoming is the tendency of everyone else to keep the pieces which are invariably no longer you in their minds. Actually, that's not quite the biggest issue. The biggest issue is when you are surrounded by chips and memories of who you were and dislike the direction you are moving. For, unfortunately, self loathing accomplishes nothing. Martyrdom only moves others.
The question has always been about purpose. Obviously. Religion, philosophy, math. All attempt to answer where we came from and then, more importantly, why. This is not news. And whether or not this is a riddle with a solution or just the greatest trick that the collective mind has played on itself to keep a drive for life is really rather irrelevant. For better or worse, purpose is something we give ourselves. For better.
1 comment:
this is far to optimistic for you... do i even know you anymore... I am ashamed and now must go self-loathe (although it does nothing) for knowing you... though I must now ask myself if nothing matters, how anything can be for better or for worse... couldn't it all just be a subjective reality that doesn't matter to anyone because God is dead because Peter Griffith touched himself at night as a child? Oh God! My brain just exploded! Shit!
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