Is it a secret, malicious, common instinct to belittle humanity?
Ultra-paranoia: the state in which one is overly-conscious of his or her inner mental workings, and that everything outside is a symptom of some larger disease that plagues society.
I love humanity, but on the whole, people annoy me. Strike that, reverse it. Caffienated hours upon hours sitting, watching your computer screen digest the regurgitated learnings of the building you hangout at for four years-- the good stuff is in the grass, down below the university library, waiting to be said behind a wall of smiles.
For the most part, this is depressing shit, but it's also great. There's nothing I love more than opening up my juicy laptop and typing whatever enters the Real-Ill-Nasty-Shit of my mind-- but then again it's not really "my" mind, if you're looking at it objectively. Objectively? Fuck-jectively. Oh yes, let us become attuned to the beautiful Becoming process of humans that surround us-- I am not a Hater, I'm a Muser-- but please, if we all are thinking it, why not say it?
I'm bored to be a human, and would rather be a dancer, but the external obligations of humanity push me forward on a roller-coaster that is operated by Doctors and Lawyers who love to diagnose my "random, weird" thoughts as symptomatic of a larger sociological disposition toward the Bourgeoise culture, as I am a by-product of it. Words, Words, Words.
All of this shoots at you-- who are you?-- begging to differ, flirting in the back, filtering these snippets of colorful thoughts through a newsfeed sponsored by your own network, your own school, your own neighborhood. We all have ties, I get that, but we all have Lies too, and I'd like to eliminate that. Do you realize your life goes too fast? Do you realize that so much is lost underneath assumptions, pointed glances, unspoken feelings, and misdirected anger? Yeah, you probably do. I want everything to be neat too but it's grossly ugly, messy, glorious, and exploding. On and on, on and on, inside your eyes.
I resist the idea that there is ONE person out there for me-- I am a naive, overly rational, hopeful, smart, and neurotic human being, lost in my own thoughts, in the way in which I perceive the world, in Self, in Ego, in Subjectivity. I love everything else though. Yeah. I dig, dig, dig it all but still am unhappy at the root of my being, and please, Dali Llama, let me enjoy my suffering and not try to locate the "root" cause of it and eliminate it through a rigorous practice of meditation that just straightens out the mental knots, and does not address them. I could sit for hours and type up the thoughts that go through my mind, and so could You, but where does that leave us?
Where does that leave us when we're sitting at a table across from one another, both wildly alive at the Lies that circle around us, but at the same time gleefully happy and our ability to grab life with a rope and pull it in around us--
Where does that leave us when we are walking by one another and not even aware that the ipod tunez blasting into our ears are really the same, but different frequencies?
Where does that leave us when one of us is hopefully unexperienced in the realm of Aether/Magic/Love/Holding Hands- and is left with a DVD box set of Woody Allen flicks mixed with Katherine Heigel nothings, building an edifice of Romance in our minds based on quoted movies that deliver profits worth more than your house (your Life?)
Yeah, so much more would be easier without this negotiation between the Inner and Outer worlds. I know I can't change it, and I'm not saying I want to-- I don't even know what it is I just argued for. It's alright with me, if you wrap your arms around me, but it's not alright when you say you "understand," when understand is just a 3-syllable word for "Can I get Wit You?" She's hot. Oh, perfect. Now this has become a relationship schpeal. She's hot. Yeah, so? Do you want to date her hotness? Does her hotness satisfy your onlooking neighbors and brosefs who look on in a faded state of approval? Probably.
I love guys, yes. But I hate the culture that has produced such a lying-game-of Hookup/Friend/Girlfriend ladders. If it were up to me, I'd be best friends, lovers, sisters, wives with the man I meet-- Oh fuck, I feel a Vagina Monolgue coming on.
Speak your own language, nearly impossible. But adapt? Easy. Too, too easy to adapt and Noosh with your surroundings, it all becomes a joke. So yeah, null and void, everything that is coming out of my hands is tired-angst-speak. I'm always down to sing, and more importantly, I'm always down for some Seinfeld.
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