"There is no doubt that life is given us, not to be enjoyed, but to be overcome; to be got over."
Schopenhauer has led me to Cioran, in a virtual pathway of pessimism. One's emptiness not fulfilling, I have filled me with another's emptiness until I burst.
"with every experience i expand like a balloon blown up beyond its capacity. the most terrifying intensification bursts into nothingness."
I can't remember a time without anxiety. Shaking at the thought of interaction…touch burns my flesh with its ACTION. I withdraw like a turtle, freedom is slavery. Freedom from interaction is slavery to inaction in a world devoid of solitude. Am I hiding? What am I hiding from? Condemnation or boredom, I find those anywhere I go….everywhere I go. Can't survive a conversation, can't participate in the easy illusion of socialising without feeling dragged and lost and interminably bored. I spent an eternity listening to a filthy waterfall in a polluted river and all its breath came out mangled and contorted in a poisonous stream…
I daydreamed of a clean flood but no one understood my words, shrieked as they were.
"To detach yourself elegantly from the world; to give contour and grace to sadness; a solitude in style…"
Singular elements of individuality, buried in the field. Flat, uniform, desolate - it unifies us. All equal, on the other side of the Dirt, but subsumed to the Dirt, we become the dust and lose ourselves. A grave is an impression on the immanence of suffering. A battle won, rest as the prize.
"Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses when we dream, the butcher's the poet's equal there."