And some days... I just don't feel anything. I'm not inspired to write this right now... I felt so crappy I got out of bed and played some happy sounding music to make myself not be so fucking hopeless. But there's just this emotion of absolute nihilism, as much as I hate the fucking word.
Maybe... I could read something... but what would the point be?
Maybe... I should educate myself on what's going on in the world... but what's the point there?
Maybe... a lot of stuff.
But... I don't see a point to it. On any one of my happy, upbeat days I would certainly say that the very point to it is actually doing it and experiencing the emotions that come from when you ponder over it and question it... play with it.
Days like these though, I just don't want to care about it. Just find a way to not think at all. Just silence my thoughts, and shut the sound out. Kill the very inklings of questioning. I don't want to imagine what the future holds, or what the past implies.
The probability of everything is gnawing at the back of my brain. The ever-shifting enigma of everything that is here and now. It exists in all our brains. If you don't shut it out, it starts speaking for itself and reminding you of everything you could've done, and what you need to do for this to happen.
There's too much. This wealth of all things possible. I can't let it simultaneously exist with my conscious mind. It is an absolute overload. And, yet, Einstein's theory of time says that time is straight line that can be navigated. And that all things that can happened have already happened. And then here we are: hapless creatures fluctuating throughout all the infinite space and time.
It's hard to find a place to hold on. And every year it gets harder not easier. The string connecting me to safe ground is pulled increasingly taut, and the seams of it are tearing, and threads are breaking lose. The resisting force would sever it at any point now.
Float away into the chaos that we were all born into.
I suppose it would be more zen-like for me to state that it is this chaos we must struggle through and dance with and interact with until we form out a beautiful web of events we call our life.
But fuck zen.
If I was zen-like I wouldn't be here right now. But yet I am. Lost and confused and scared and distressed and angry and anxious and annoyed and pissed.
The source of this feeling is unknown. Maybe it's generic teen angst, but I don't like it, and I just want to kill it.
Just silence the motherfucker. Put it back where it belongs. At the back of my head. Bottle it up, suck all the air out, suffocate the thing, and freeze dry it. Put it back where it came from. Let it sit there until I feel like feeling it again.
Which would be never.
