Crossover

The following is from my secret other blog. Some of it has been censored, because otherwise it wouldn't be fit for this blog, but the main text is still there. It's a feeling I've had on many occasions and I think it's worth posting here.

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"Release"

I see people like Censored. He stopped doing math because it’s was hard and he didn't like it. He went into another curriculum with no real clear major in sight. His career plan is “probably an entrepreneur” when questioned on the shakiness of that platform he simply remarks that “It’s not hard to make money man.”

Part of me wants to hit him. That part isn’t enlightened.

I feel a simultaneous frustration and envy towards people like that. Part of me can’t help but think that they live in a dream world and that reality is going to bitch slap them in 20 years when they realized they’re stuck in a mid level corporate job. They’re bright and young and full or vigor and high hopes. I just wants to crush them. To grind the truth into them, to kill the youthfull innocence and spirit and feast on the blood of thier dead childhood. But the ire is born of envy. Think how beautiful life must be when you think like that. You go out and you drink and you smoke and you don’t worry about the long term repercussions. You take classes that interest you and challenge you in a way that stimulates you rather then classes that challenge your tolerance for bleeding screaming grinding bullshit. You live a life of perfectly balanced ignorance and power. Just enough freedom to enjoy yourself and just enough support to catch you if you fall. It must be nice. But here I am. Aware of the harsh truths and no better off for it. Will it come down to the fact that all I will gain for my misery is right to say “I told you so” when the inevitable mundanity of life entombs us. What have I really gained? We both go to class in order to get credits in order to reach some unknown point of graduation. We both don’t know what we’re really going to go into when we’re forced into total independence. I seem to have gained nothing from my sobriety.

It’s beginning to overwhelm me. I need a reason to be doing this. I need an end in sight. I need something to attain, or aspire to. I need a future which is more then simply ephemeral possibility. I need an enemy I can face clearly and directly in the field of battle. That one of us shall destroy the other and that the result shall be a binary death toll. Even if I was the one who died I would be satisfied because I would have completed what it is that I was meant to do. I need to know what I was meant to do. I need to be meant to do something. I need to understand the intangible whisperings of the divine that exist all around me. I need something. I need purpose.

And all of my ranting and screaming gets me nowhere. After all that I have done this day, a being erupting in some form of dark orgasm through which the heights of masochistic pleasure are achieved by releasing the bitter angst and futile rage from one’s very soul I have gained nothing. I’m just tired.
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And I am. More and more I realize that some part of me is tired of all this. It dosn't want to strive and delve any more. It just wants to lie down and stop. Part of me wishes I still considered suicide an option, and I know that phrase is going to scare the hell out of my parents, but don't worry. I realized long ago that if I had problems and killed myself I'd just be a dead guy with problems, it isn't really a solution. It would probably also null any hope I once had of fixing said problems as well. Isn't it Ironic? There are so many out there who see the harsh truth and kill themself, but I'm not even afforded that luxery. The ultimate final outlet for so many like me is known by me to be just another illusion. My wisdom will be the death of me. Heh, no it won't, I just went over that remember? I really wish that his minor amusement offered me any kind of relief from my angst.

I am Wobbly Headed Bob*.

And don't get me wrong either. I'm not seeking some outside source to hand me a purpose in life. I know that it has to come from within, but the only thing within me now is a scared confused child and a tired old man who'se fed up with the world. One can't do anything and the other isn't willing to.

"Oh but Max, reach for your dreams!" Shut up. Shut the God damn hell up you hippy bastard. It's a hard harsh truth that we aren't all given the tools we need to achive our dreams. I'd love to be a world renown artist, but I don't have the talent. I may have the potential to be master scientist, but I dont' have the motivation. And Besides, all of the things that I've always wanted in life, the things that you could call life dreams to use such a cliched phrase, are things that can not be found in the material world. They're the delusions and day dreams of an ignorant child who dosn't have the strength to grow up.

And that may be my problem in a nut shell. This world isn't enough. I'll never be satisfied with mundane reality as long as I have the vastly superior world of my own dreamings. Perhaps some day I'll sink fully into my own mind, and the madness will wash over me fully. I think I would enjoy that.

*yes yes, you don't understand what that means. I don't care right now, google it.