Beneath the scar, the truth is buried, so they think. But I don’t know whether or not memories are the truth. Every day you filter something, no matter if a feeling, a thought or even an event. We tell stories the way we remember them, and this makes us liars–technically. Some people don’t like photographs or videos, because they want to remember things their way. It’s not necessarily denial or lying to yourself, not if you believe in fiction. Like I do. It’s all about the feeling–the fucking feeling.
They are right about mind over matter; here’s the bloody mind determining what to do and what not to do. E.g., why wouldn’t I want to hold my hand in front of the fire or hit my head against the wall? Why is the mind cooperating with my will? And why is my body not participating in this debate? It’s too scared to admit that nociceptors are the heartbreakers inside the human body! And it’s the heartbreakers that make us human because pain is mandatory?
I know as a person, I have nothing better to reflect on other than this. I wish I would occupy myself with other things, like learning chess or getting married.
Apathy–at least apathy keeps problematic sentiments off the table. But you know how apathy can suck me in like a black hole, and it takes a lot of effort to get back out. I’m sorry to inform you that it didn’t get me this time.
I told you about my friend’s indifference. At least he has control over what he cares and doesn’t care about. And he doesn’t take me for granted.
He makes me think. If everything is meaningless and only the survival instinct counts, then what are we trying to preserve? The answer is, who cares? We are here to act, to feed on day and night. We are here to taste and fuck; we’re all the same.
Did I write we’re the same? No, we are not. Each of us is unique and original (with exceptions). Some have big egos; some have small ones. Some are still waters; some are angry waves, and some are dead fish.
But I don’t know if there’s a reason for who you are. It’s your job to find out.
How do you practice defence mechanisms if you want to protect your ego? Do you shut others out, or do you show everyone your negative side? Either way, I don’t think anyone knows how to protect themselves.
If you unfold the truth beneath your scar, will it matter to anyone? They don’t know you; they won’t understand; that’s why it doesn’t matter what you share with people. They won’t know what to say anyway, unlike friends. Friends and people are different species.
Some people judge you by what you find funny, what you eat and what you believe in as if it matters.
There’s a creature in you that lives off your tears, and I want to starve it to death. If I ever make you cry, I shall break my cheekbones.
Oh, self-denial, you sexy little minx…
Here’s an interesting assumption: people think I lack intelligence and confidence, while friends think I lack happiness and freedom. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how people or even friends look at each other. I don’t understand communication, common sense or reason–basically, being human is…
What you remember won’t ever go away (is this blog post incoherent?). You keep it in a safe at the back of your head. For good. Why we filter so much, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a sign that the truth doesn’t matter. YET, IT DOES. I wish the truth wouldn’t push us away so much.
I said lying was not bad as long as you admit it in time. I believe that we all know the truth because we’re part of it. We’re just incomplete.
I don’t understand why people say we are made of dust; we are made of cells. Dust is what we will become.
It’s hard to hold an ongoing line of things that relate to each other. My mind is a mess, but tomorrow I will forget.
