Journal Entry – 10-14-16

Garbage – Special.

My life is dark and ugly: living in a filthy house with perpetual bachelors, whom lack the maturity for even rudimentary relationships; working for a mildly unstable man, among his pitiable collection of cast-offs; in a country of spoiled children; amidst a species of imbeciles and lunatics whom see me as embodying the faults they proudly ignore being controlled by.

And the truth is, I don’t really mind. I’m morose, to be sure, but I’m tolerant. I can work with this situation, and build a better life, even with misfortune’s insistent dogging; I can look at my life and grimly acknowledge the machinations around me, and therefrom see the methods throughwhich I can change my situation while maintaining my morals; my body and mind remaining capable of enacting those plans.

If revisiting that shrieking madness has reminded me of anything, its that I’m still very capable. What really disheartens me is the bullshit my species propagates, that interferes with getting anything done: the irrationality that people cling to, instead of just admitting we’re in a shitty situation, and working toward better lives for all.

I’ve only recently comprehended the magnitude of the situation, as I was raised on that ubiquitous irrationality, and the fantasies it creates. There was always evidence of how very bad things are, I simply didn’t recognize it. But I was always bothered by everything, commonly, going inexplicably wrong; I never understood the underlying source. Humanity remains in its infancy, and that’s the way it is. I can’t do anything about it.

Comprehending the situation, now, allows me to plan my course effectively. Previously, I consistently attempted to form meaningful relationships with everyone I met through open, honest, and solidaritous interaction, to develop the most desirable of outcomes: community. But, all those attempts have taught me one extremely important fact: the majority of people suck; I just have to weather the storm, alone, and wait to luckily stumble onto decent folk.

I know good people exist, and that most people are capable of solidarity: I watch shows, listen to music, and read books, and pursue other art that could only have been created by decent minds; I see the semblance of peace and order throughout humanity, which could not exist without a common decency. But, still, its not enough to sate my desires for community; the raw materials necessary for a healthy society, just don’t exist presently.

Despite this, I love people above all things: the stagnant clockwork of the universe disinterests me; but for its practical application, little of what the factual world has to offer captures my interest. But people, with their ability to interpret and invent new and wonderful rearrangements of the cold and mechanical universe, and their ability to empathize, are infinitely more noble and fantastic than the cosmos. We only have each other.

But, people whom are strong and good, are few and far between. I understand that now; my knowledge derived from a lifetime of observing the unnecessary chaos that people generate while attempting to make their ways. I don’t misanthropically regard humanity: we all do the best we can. But, nevertheless, I am left to live in the fallout of people’s immaturity, who just don’t know better.

I sympathize. Had I the funds, I would be a philanthropist, but I do not have those funds. I have only my mind, body, the need to pay my way, and loneliness. And that’s just the way it is; no use crying over spilt milk. Though if my journal has proved anything, its that I’ve done plenty of crying; it helps me process.

So, devoid of the delusions which humanity loves so much, I can plan a course of action; I can stop wasting energy chasing fruitless dreams, childishly expecting that the next people I meet will embody sanity, maturity, and intelligence. It sucks. But its what I have to work with; understanding the situation allows for adaptation and growth – some comfort.

The possibility that I’ll run into decent folk remains. The heartbreak of being disappointed with each failed attempt at forming meaningful relationships remains. But, possessing sanity and strength, there is no greater goal in life than finding company. So, I keep trying, until the inevitable day that I either find it, or die.

Whether that lonely death comes at my own hands, by old-age, or by misfortune, I neither know nor care. For the time, my goal is clear; my situation, though grim, is tolerably workable: maintain my health, pay my bills, keep looking. Always new and exciting bullshit, my life.

For those curious, I’m about 12 cigarettes deep into the recently acquired 40, and writing is fluid. I may continue smoking to facilitate writing, I may not, depending on the influence to my physical health.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on October 14, 2016.

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