No one with naturally wavy hair can be that bad
“but a man writes because he’s tormented, unsure of himself. He has to keep proving his worth, to himself and to others.”
It’s a line from Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979)
It’s an interesting scene, I’d call it dramatic. Not necessarily in the sense that there’s a lot of crazy or harrowing things happening in it. It’s just a man, laying in some grass, perhaps near a body of water. The color grading skews cool. Its dark, its melancholy, yet peaceful too.
Very funny to me is this meme I saw a few weeks back. In two sections it communicates the same sentiment. On top, People who read labeling two healthy, academic looking types
on the bottom, People who write with some very uh, disheveled looking counterparts. Triply funny to me is that one of the “writer” characters and I share a few key features. The two tone silver hair, the bags under the eyes, the dirty black hoodie. Noticed as I actively was writing, and thinking about my writing in particular after receiving a text from a mate about it.
Anyhow, just a bit of a chuckle I thought I’d share. As for the rest of my day, I seem to have landed somewhere between apathy and the onset of mania. I found myself thinking something along the lines of
“at the root of every fear or anxiety, are things I already suffer or do not truly fear”
By this I mean that, I really do believe everything fear related has to do with death or prolonged suffering. I’m truly not afraid to die as long as death doesn’t involve demons doing weird stuff to my butt for eternity, and well, my whole life has indeed been that of prolonged suffering. So really, what is there for me to be worried about? what do I truly give a fuck about when it comes to the institutions that structure my life?
Nothing.
I think my brain broke again somewhere along the line this week. Over the course of about two or three days, I gave up on wanting to be happy, I gave up on getting over my ex, I gave up on wishing and hoping for a very fast process for FFS because of some info I got, and in giving up… I…. I feel fine.
I think I’ve been here before though, I think I’m finally free and then something comes along either to give me hope or to wind my with a figurative morningstar.. WHAM!!! Directly into my diaphragm.
I’m no stranger to the cycle however so, here we go again I suppose. What if it’s like samsara, and eventually one day I’ll be free?
How did you become so chill and nonchalant?
Suffer!
Much like that thread I saw so many years ago on 4chan about Keanu Reeves
“bros, how do I become like him?”
> suffer.
Gosh I’m so sleepy.
post script:
While writing this I was informed that theres an instagram account that posts the same meme video of me daily. It was baffling, I mean I cannot express the surreality of the situation. When I expressed this, the person who sent it to me responded, “Oh to be immortalized”
I think a lot about the edits of me that will exist once I meet my untimely end via truck or cop or meteor or Sinclair. Surely that meme will be part of it.
THATS SO FUCKING FUNNY. I dont think life should be taken so seriously anyway.
I have this eerie feeling that I’m in my last days. Not that I plan to do anything to myself, it’s just this sensation I have. I’ve been imagining a lot, the response to that news. I think I might always feel this way but thats fine too. It’s good to remember one’s mortality.
It’s really funny to me that this meme will be a part of my legacy. I actually think I like that a lot, I take life way too seriously as it is anyway. In this sort of apathy, or surrender, I’m experiencing peace. My laughter isn’t bitter.
