From my LJ...
Sometimes, you just have a thought that won't leave you, and it takes over everything. The best thing to do is get it out any and every way you can...
Addicted to blips
mood: rushing thoughts
We are all addicted to something. You think I'm wrong...? What is it you can't live without? You're addicted to the air you breathe, to the endless search for meaning, aren't you? "No!" you might cry, hoping to negate the facts, possibly seeing where I'm going with this, you emo, you. Someone might even point out that you can't be addicted to a necessity, but that would be a fallacy. Addiction is a sense of needing something you cannot live without. Without addiction, we are walking time-bombs, and when we end our lives in a suicidal maelstrom, we prove that addiction to life is necessary, or you simply can't live. I'm an addict. I'm addicted to the chase, the endless run in search of answers before time runs out. I'm addicted to narcissistic expression, the blinding rush of thoughts that need to be written down, put out there in the hopes that someone will pat my hand, nod in agreement, or--even better--be changed by what I might say, even when I know there's likely no one looking, or reading with their whole mind. I'm addicted despite the apparent futility. I'm an addict with voices in my head, voices that demand release...I'm an artistic schizo. Each voice is important, a part of me that I hope is a part of someone else, too, because then maybe this life will make a little bit more sense.
I'm also addicted to the dead hope--the old idea--that I'm different, but acknowledge the fact that that's a dream I had to let die a long time ago. When a billion people stand on top of a billion hills and shout out "I am different" in a harmony of voices, you have to let the hope for true individuality go...only then, when you accept that you are just a blip, just a teeny-tiny, barely there blip will you get what I am saying. Who cares that we blip differently, in the grand scheme of things? The universe is ~14 billion years old...we, as a race of animals, have graced the surface of this planet with our direct ancestors for only...what? 8 million some-odd years? And we think we'll find meaning in the time period that boils down to the equivalent of a nanosecond? In the instant is takes to blip in and out of existence? In the end, what we have to do is give into our addiction to blipping. Find happiness in your blip, don't fight it if your happiness is like someone else's and if you really aren't that different after all. In the end, blipping alone is lonely. In the end, I'm happy to have blipped at all. I'm even happier to have blipped with you.