Raison d’être

Where am I again?
This recurring question after awakening, after registering this defamiliarized surrounding which is triggered by inexplicable dreams in which my perception of normality is merely fabricated, but it felt like I had never known anything else.

I see a life which is simple, because I’m young. I’m closer to my family and relatives. We have our occasional festivities together like we used to back in those days.
There were no fall-outs or hardly any; no troubles or dilemmas. It doesn’t mean that life was easy then. It was only easy in terms of the absence of worrying about the future. The grown-ups would deal with those worries while you would dwell in your own world of bizarre perceptions; still pricking your finger on the world’s infectious spindle.
You were curious. You believed in everything, you believed you could be everything.

The truth is that year after year you become more and more confounded by a reality-induced anaesthetic. Your mind continually divulges previously buried images that are no longer valid or significant. They are present, but you feel nothing. No more paralysis indicating any disruption of equilibrium, just indifference.

The anaesthetic is manufactured by repeated disappointments – an accumulation of stupid infatuations that you can no longer understand and yet they feed your imagination. Despite the hopelessness you won’t forget what they feel like, that little tingling feeling of electricity. Together they form the perfect lie – the necessary immanent lie that each of us strive to live up to just to distract ourselves from this…

This slumberous state is just another extension of…

Who cares?

I give no hugs of comfort and I speak no word of comfort. That’s why the stoic type is easier to deal with. The less they talk, the more you want them; you want to hurt them real bad, but in the end you accidentally hurt yourself. It feels wrong, but good. And this is where the anaesthetic comes from; produced by healthy adrenal function and fucked up hemispheric control.
What you need is something to transfuse you with the right amount of perseverance. There are different types of perseverance; depending on what it’s fuelled with – there’s curiosity, anger, obsession, etc.
Once drugged with those you start to live. But like each drug, it loses its effect after a while.
I don’t mean to make ‘perseverance’ sound negative, after all it’s a good character trait which I wish everyone had; the ability and will to finish something you have commenced, because if you give up, you’ll be accepting the inner void’s invitation to a suicide party. The original sound of emptiness will creep up inside your ears, and that’ll be it. Commit suicide later. With a smile.
Your choice. Not that I give a shit. I’m just saying.

We’re ignoring the fact that we’re “vertical carrions extinguishing ourselves in verse, having love hold us prisoner…” (Cioran).
It feels good.

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