I can’t believe that in the year 2020 I’m awake at 0200 and giving tear gas first aid tips to civilian friends. What a time to be alive.
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I can’t believe that in the year 2020 I’m awake at 0200 and giving tear gas first aid tips to civilian friends. What a time to be alive.
Rachel Feder
Dear love (the solopsist's epitaph)
Dear lover where do you you go when I die? Does grief grip and split where lingering speech once rested? Does time - ever rolling stream - hold your eyes to the horizon for one two before the sight is snatched away? Or simply, do you cease? When the first person storyteller fades and decays what purpose do you serve? Go on without me! I'm no soldier, love I will drag down echoes like curtains before I'm left forgotten. Where do you go when I die? Do four walls envelop like a promise or does the sickly sweet smell of the earth draw you out and lift you from your grief? Love how do you sleep when I am gone? To sleep, to dream - I can't see anything but my own eyes sunken in through lack of use. Love how do I find you and see some life still yet snatched away not mine nothing familiar love how do I find you familiar still yet not mine? Love what am I unseen? I would pull the earth to ribbons before I see it turn and circle like a ring of nursery rhyme children when I fall down I want the world to come along with me I refuse to be forgotten I have used my ego - a dozen times and change - just to remind you love of where I rest. Leave me, love lay flowers upon the space I once occupied, wish me luck send me on my merry way just don't move don't twist into shapes unrecognisable please love leave, just don't forget.
I have officially lost my mind
I have come to the conclusion that my mental state is far more complex and distressing than I'd ever want it it to be or anyone would want it too be for that matter. I am almost violently over aware of my existence and I am motivated almost subconsciously to abstract myself from my current perspective on reality, or what my perspective should be in comparison to what I've learned others to perceive it as. I don't know why but I've always been aware of the fact I'm going to die and that genuinely fucks me up. Idk why but most of my day is me trying to fathom the fact that everything, as complex as the universe and existence is just.. exists. Explaining existence with a creator like "god" is always equally as unsatisfying of an answer because then you question what made that being and it becomes a vicious endless cycle. As humans we can never truly answer everything and be able to comprehend what true nothingness is, like what we believe to be what was before all of this that we know as our reality. I have this idealogy that nothing matters, because truthfully nothing does. Of course life is of value when you make it so and you progress and do productive things and accomplish things but none of that gets taken with you beyond the soil in which you are buried so regardless of how much value you apply to your living existence your live still has no true value. I also don't know if anything outside of my perspective exists, and this is both the easiest and most difficult thing to wrap my head around. Let me put it this way, my brain receives all kinds of impulses and sends them to my sensory organs (eyes, ears, ECT) so everything that exists is literally all in my head. How can you possibly explain reality with out experiencing it. My point being that my reality is just that, it is only ever able to be my perception of it. Is there actually anything outside of what my mind has constructed for me to perceive through my eyes and ears and other sensory organs? If I had stopped existing, would everything else? Is it truly solidified in our existence or is it just a masterpiece created by the casing that holds my consciousness? Assuming I'm not the pedestal of existence, because that's extremely egotistical I'm still going to die and that messes me up why do we live just to be spit back into the universe, why did we get lucky enough to be in the right point in the universe at the right time, pass through all of these barriers as a planet and remain here intact and develop life from things that we can't explain how they develop life. All of that just to die. I think what fucks me up the most about dying is that I've somehow always been aware of it, even since I was a kid. I've also always been aware of how strangely time works, not completely but I knew it never made sense. I can say I'm having a midlife crisis, even though it isn't the middle of my biological life.I can say that because of the way we perceive time. See the early twenties is more accurately perceived to be the "middle of life" due to the fact that as we age time appears to be moving in smaller increments. For example when you are 1 a year is 100 percent of your life (assuming you live 100 years which is obviously unlikely) and when you are two it's 50 percent and so on. By the time you are 90 one year is a ridiculously small portion of what you have lived that it seems like nothing and that is also why as a child time seemed to pass much slower. So all though at 19 with many more years I am already at a point where one year is such a small percentage of what I have already experienced so it seems that my time left is much shorter. All in all I'm having a really hard time trying to convince myself anything is real and that anything matters.
This morning I learned that one of my oldest friends died. I had to make death notifications, which is something I had hoped I would never have to do again, and let me tell you, death notifications are not a thing that get easier with practice.
I can’t cry. Tried but it won’t come. We talked Tuesday, he got hit with COVID Wednesday, and then he was gone.
When things reopen and I can travel, I’ll pour a double espresso into the Gulf of Mexico and tell him he’s a dumb fuck.
AT THE SAME TIME, there's Thomas. And regardless of whether Guillaume is present or not, regardless of whether Guillaume returns for a moment to their home in Sorge, where—it's most peculiar—he almost has the air of an outsider, a figure from the past, Thomas, for all that he remains silent, seems slightly more flesh and blood. Oh, he's still nine parts fiction, Anna barely knows him, and when she does touch him, it's still only Guillaume she's touching through him. But when he tells her about the best friend of his youth, Luc, who at thirty killed himself, and about their joyful and infinitely precious friend-ship, he laughs like a child, though not much given to laughter in other circumstances. Is it because of Luc, Or because of that laughter perhaps: for the first time, she no longer sees Thomas as an image.
The Beginners - Anne Serre
How do I know everyone around me is truly conscious and this world isn't just a figment of my imagination or that everyone else isn't in their own reality and I'm in here
solopsism
so this thing called solopsism is really cool and i feel like more people should know about it:
it's the belief that everything in the world is a fragment of your imagination and you are the only real thing in the universe
it is often referred to as "solopsism syndrome" which is a disorder that makes people believe this theory and mistrust everything because they think everything is fake
but sometimes people genuinely believe it and manifest it because it can also be seen as a reason to believe that everything happens for a reason, or that the only reason bad things happen is because you need to learn from them or something similar
and idk maybe its just me but i feel like this is really reassuring because the idea of this implies that your brain knows what you need and will essentially "make up" a scenario in which you learn from something or you appreciate something