I wonder

if people understand the intimacy of what is happening in these pages: a soul lain bare. To pull no punches is a difficult trick to master, but that is what I have attempted to do here in these pages. I’ve been doing this for almost five years now, and if one were so inclined, they would have one of the most in depth understandings of a human being for that timeframe as could perhaps be possible.
What’s on my mind?
What’s not on my mind?
Right now…
Good-bye.
It’s a bit premature, admittedly.
However, what most people fail to understand is that this is my last opportunity to find a space among other human beings.
I’ve been a lot of places, done a lot of things, and want for nothing but time to appreciate the splendors that are granted to the sentient.
That is not, however, leisure time. To appreciate something properly is a lot of work, and that’s what I want to do.
Here’s a secret that nobody knows—soul laying bare: should the venture fail, society will lose me. Not that that’s any kind of significant loss for something as mighty as society, and it would be more like a self-imposed hermitage than anything else.
“Living as if I weren’t even here”
Why would you want to do that?
Do you know how much living you must be capable of in order to make it appear as if you weren’t there? There is no getting around the fact that you are. No matter how much you tell yourself that your “being” is just electric impulses flying around your brain, and that this is all a kind of illusion being fostered by the sensory information that is coming in to the brain, there is no getting around the question that, based on all probability, I probably shouldn’t be, and yet here I am.
What a question that is.
I have investigated many questions. That question wins. It beats them all. What is it about something that makes it seem like there ought to be nothing?
The only answer nature can’t give man, but the only real question we want answered is this: what are we supposed to be doing here?
All right, we are. What now? What comes next? What is it about life that makes me want to do more and more of it? To climb more mountains, to dig in the earth, plant seeds and see what she can grow. To touch what it means to be a part of the natural order of things once again.
Damnit all to shite and fuck!!!!
I’m lost there aren’t I.
GODDAMNIT!
Why don’t I just go write Walden.
Fuck.
But that’s where it’s at, isn’t it?
That’s why Walden is Walden. Nature. She has taken on an entirely new nature in the past couple of weeks as a result of the fact that I am now beginning to look at nature on a cosmic scale. In other words, nature was worked out a system of systems that works consistently and strings these systems together in order for things to keep moving. One of the unfortunate drawbacks of all these systems is that they eventually fail. You could almost say that nature is BUILT with a failure device inside it, constantly acting, trying to fail, if only to learn. At any rate, this aspect of nature repeats itself at the level of cells and at the level of the universe in equal aspects.
It’s actually quite hard to imagine, but perhaps that’s just me. I just had a hard time imagining NOT writing. I think I was actually trying to not write this week, just to see how things went, but then, as soon as I started doing it, the fingers just wanted to keep going. There’s your fucking Hume for you, too. He’s been showing up like a bad rash recently.
That’s how my brain works, by the way, and I know it is: input through reading, process through subconscious (who knows how long this can take), and output through action based on learned outcomes. I read Hume more than six months ago, but my brain is only really now coming to understand the significance of the things he was talking about.
That, and I feel too much. It can be dangerous, sometimes, because I know that there are areas of my mind that I could go into that would make me feel so much I would probably vomit. Caroline. Can’t go there. She’s been coming up in my mind lately, and flashes and rushes of memories go through me so hard it’s like being punched repeatedly in the stomach: the good and the bad altogether. I owe her everything. It’s hard to imagine my character without her in my life.
Being in this place is weird. The rememberer has been remembering things that it hasn’t remembered in a long, long time. I have pity for people who can recall memories readily at any time. Having access to those depths of emotion at your constant beck and call would be too much for me and I’d have a breakdown. Perhaps it’s because I don’t remember the details of things… all I remember are the impressions, feelings, and emotions. The details, where everything was, what who was wearing, and everything surface gets lost in the intricacy and detail of the sketched feeling that I put together in my head to go with image.
Neruda understands: why do I feel the whole of your love at once?
The whole of love is pleasure, pain, bliss, fury, and even things like boredom, consolation, and most things in between. The whole of anything is all of those things. I’m afraid that that’s just the way it works when you take on the whole of something.
Here’s a whole something I’m not sure I’m ready for: another relationship. I’ve been through the mill now. I’m jaded. I’m aware that I’m jaded. I’m aware that I’m full of shit. I’m aware that I’m not very good at socializing. What I want is more clearly stamped in my head than ever. It’s a later-twenties male sexual revolution. We don’t want what we used to want. If we wanted a ho, we’d go to the club and get some chick all fucked up and convince her that having sex with us is a good idea. Vapid is a word that quickly comes to mind. I don’t have time for that. I also don’t have time to deal some old bullshit relationship that isn’t bound for a life together, while, simultaneously know that I don’t want “a life together” just yet AND how painful it is to get into a relationship knowing that it’s going to end.
It doesn’t hurt any less simply because you know it’s going to end, and sometimes it hurts more. That’s not fair. There’s a quandary for you:
What am I supposed to do about love now?