Journal Entry – 10-17-16

Kit Chan – Nothing Compares To You [Cover].

My life is grim and ugly: having no real friends or family; living in a house with filthy, perpetual bachelors, whom lack the maturity for even rudimentary socializing; working for a mildly unstable man, with his pitiable collection of cast-offs; in a country of spoiled children; amidst my species of imbeciles and lunatics whom see me as embodying the faults they proudly ignore being controlled by.

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 the ability to share in the storms and joys of life, are infinitely more noble and fantastic than the cosmos.

Knowing how happy I could be, how bright life could be, in the company of sane, intelligent, and mature people.. is hard. The juxtaposition brings me to tears, at times. I’ve tried to ignore my situation through obsessive pursuit of hobbies and keeping myself busy; that didn’t work. I can’t smoke cigarettes anymore, without further reducing the quality of my life. So, the last recourse is metacog.

Of the many applications of metacognition, emotional control is often the most useful. I look at the nightmare that is my life, and I fucking deal with it. Simply put: I’m willing myself to be emotionally tolerant of the situation. I’m not happy, I’m worlds away from content, but I’m developing tolerance, and hope to eventually achieve more.

Previously, the realization of humanity’s immaturity rendered me lost: unable to see an decent future within this environment, suicide became very tempting. I still consider it, but for the moment, my tolerance is improving. Perhaps enduring is foolish: perhaps I will remain alone, and should thus choose death.

But, unless I’ve completely miscalculated, good people exist. Few and far between, and unknown to me, but they likely exist somewhere: I watch shows, listen to music, read books, and peruse other art likely to be created by moderately sound minds; I see the semblance of peace and order throughout humanity, suggesting my kin have some decency; I’ve known plenty of people with potential for integrity.

There have to be good people, somewhere. So, though I detest my surroundings, though I know that the majority of people are treacherously thoughtless, though I’d likely kill myself if I knew that I’d remain exclusively alone, I endure.

The hardest part is killing my dreams, only to replace them with the darker reality. I honestly believed in humanity; I thought everyone was sane, intelligent, and moral; the contrary evidence was always there, I just never tried to see it. Suppose the blog is the last embodiment of my hope. Hm.

Rifuckingdiculous. An entire fucking world of dipshits. How the fuck? I thought the earlier problems in my life were enough for one lifetime, but shit just keeps coming, and in new and more wondrous ways. Ridiculous. Oh-well, better than being an idiot, I suppose. Fuck my life.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on October 17, 2016.

2 Responses to “Journal Entry – 10-17-16”

  1. This seems you are really hurt. Don’t worry. Time heals everything and it will definitely heal your wounds

  2. I hope you never need to learn that you are incorrect. But I appreciate your words nonetheless, and maintain hope even if only stubbornly.

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