Tuesday, September 16, 2008

another one bites the dust


I've been trying to work through a few things again, lately. As usual, not getting anywhere with them. Like most people, i think, death is something i ponder. Not excessively by any means, and to some extent, it is an extension of something I think even more about, life. I will stay away from cliche's, trust me. I'm tired of hearing them when i talk about things, and wont put you through the same, even though i might have violated that promise already in this paragraph. So lets start a new one.
"What makes you happy?" simple question, hard answer, for some. Alot of things induce happiness, joy, a feeling of accomplishment. But in our own quiet moments, what makes you happy? As much as i love my gaby, job, choice of profession, friends, self, accomplishments to this point, one thing that keeps sticking in my head, is drinking a beer, talking, and just forgetting. I think I could leave it at that, and start to worry about my ensuing alcoholism, and call it a day. But i'm trying to get to the roots of some things. And that is so fucking hard. 
Whenever i get in these funks, and consequently try to express them, i come back to previous times I have felt this way. First time being three years old, maybe four. Just sitting there, staring at my raw fingers from biting my nails as a kid, and squinting in pain from chewing a little too far down than i should have. I have become masterful since then at the nail biting art. But that discomfort triggered something i remember, staring at my hand, with its five digits, just thinking, is my hand real. At three years old, the notion of "real" albeit is still a primitive one, but i did have dreams when i was little, like most kids... and i still remember a few of the nightmares at that age, my grasp on reality was if i thought it, it was real. My dreams, i was told, were not real. So this posed an interesting contrast as i think people can appreciate. If my dreams scared the shit out of me, and they weren't real, maybe my hand, in its throbbing agony, wasn't too.
Naturally, society chipped away at this reasoning over the years. And for good reason, a person cannot be taken seriously with fictional hands of any sort. Flash forward 20 years or so, and I'm staring at a guys shoe on a subway train, and the thoughts are still there, like a shadow. So explaining something like this gets a little more difficult with age. Much of the time has been spent framing the conversation, so people have a reference point. This is by far 95 percent of the battle. And for the most part, you get weird looks, and frustrated responses, which i can't blame. Maybe its because there are no rules for a conversation on reality, shoes, hangnails and the like when they are all mashed into one persons diluted head. How do you describe an orgasm? That's what I'm trying to do, and its always over before i even get worked up... the conversation, not the orgasm, no problems on that front. 
So what is at the root of this potential nervous breakdown? What makes me happy? Pessimistic feelings aside, which is difficult to do, I'm starting to see that I will never be. That I shouldn't be is a better wording perhaps. Environmental, personal, professional happiness are all controllable. Those are the things we all control, but its the mental that we are at the mercy of. It is a hostile, and unforgiving factor that trumps all others. For some, it is the first three that determine the outcome of the latter, for others, including me, it is what steers them. When I reach certain points of contentment, in all three of those categories, something goes off. Maybe its a warning system, or a self destruct device. I can't turn it off, never could, and dont think i want to. 
So what happens now? Do i have to gnaw at the things in my life to determine their validity, constantly? How is that fair to anyone, and in the end, I'm nobody. Being self aware has had nothing but negative outcomes so far. I'm desensitized, and i'm tired of it. I'm not even sure if i'm writing this for me. It's a terrible thing when an average person knows he/she is one. The one thing that makes me happy, I can sense is real, but cannot grasp yet. And I'm so scared that I never will, I'm more scared of not knowing what that thing is, than dying. I'm thinking to myself, this thing has to be real, because i'm thinking it. Maybe it's just one of those dreams though, maybe its just as unrealistic as my bleeding cuticles are absolutely here. 
Dying serves a purpose, and impacts life (and consciousness) all around the event of it. As a human being, life can be wasted in the fighting the struggle to outweigh the goods vs. the bads. Everyday I wake up, trying to make the goods tally one more over the bads. Where else does that logic exist in the natural order of things? Nowhere. So why are we/I trying so hard. This is without getting into where the perception of good is defined. I am weary of suggesting "balance", because I wouldn't know balance if it slapped me in the face, it probably looks alot like homelessness, or some other form of distasteful lifestyle I'm sure...
My belief in "want" fits in here, or is catalytic in some way. That natural extension of primal "want" translates poorly to the personal however. But it is a root concept, and I think I am missing another root concept which would put my minds frantic pace to ease, or at the very least, on track. I guess i'll try again soon, or whenever I can't help but to.

No comments: