My writing tends to be organic, and comes it waves. My feelings, when i can grasp them are fleeting and too difficult to fully express in plain language. I am, as we all are, trying to decipher the ineffable after all. I never expected it to be easy.
I have years of writing under my belt, and that leaves me with endless pages filled with subverted angst and a paper trail of my efforts to try to understand the self, the neurotypical world. and my place in it. The following is a journal entry about the feeling, the struggle, in a little bite size piece. No. It never gets any easier.
I've read a lot. Not in terms of easy to name drop recognizably great works, but of information in general.
Data. facts. Figures. Concepts. Theories. Hypothesis. Inquires. Conflicts. Debates. Fallacies. Phallus-es, and all the varying methodologies and dogma's therein.
And my head hurts. Sure. All of that information is straining inside this shell, pushing against an impermeable membrane, threatening to crack the casing and the matter inside pulsates and throbs. I still always find myself going back for more.
More knowledge. More information. More truths and immutable facts about reality. I guess my brain decided a long time ago how i was to operate in this world, and i was absent that day. MORE. If i fill up the space, perhaps i will be able to construct a uniform understanding of all the hypocrisies, aspirations, objectives, inclinations and inspirations.
Nothing seems to satisfy/sedate/satiate this urge to know it all. I think of it in my head, as a tremendous flat landscape, the floor clear acrylic with bits of information like a massive puzzle hidden under endless piles of earth. I wander this endless land, with nothing but a broom and my tenacious obsession, uncovering numbers, letters, images and clues. Forever methodically sweeping away the dirt that obscures my understanding. The final picture.
I'm not happy with speculation. It's fun to attempt, to imagine, to employ creative problem solving to attempt to reason out the world, but without all the pieces, the thing never coalesces. It is pressure, and carbon, and time, but never, a diamond.
I want to understand why we hate ourselves. Why we hurt others. Why most of what we say as a species, are lies. Why we belief in fairy tales, why we defer to our lizard brains so often. What consciousness is and how more people can obtain it. What is the self and can those born without awareness of it EVER have it revealed to them?
I want to chew you up and pulverize everything that you are. Crunch your bones and suck out all the marrow. Lick the blood of your thoughts and use all that matter to feed strength to my exhausted arms. To keep sweeping. Keep swinging. Keep digging. Keep holding my brains in my head with my hands, and crawling ever closing to the black abyss of truth.
Maybe there, i can finally learn, why humans are the way they are.
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