“Life’s A Laugh And Death’s The Joke, It’s True.” [Journal 5-23-17]

Dusty Springfield – Son Of A Preacher Man.

I don’t think I’ve thoroughly explained my “depression era” sleeping pattern. Used to be, alarm rang, I’d bolt outta bed, cook a full breakfast, take the shit of a larger man, shower, and off to work. When working absurd hours, I’d hit the snooze a few times and tap into food reserves. Now I usually just lay there, I presume around an hour, working up motivation to get up – the need to piss usually does it.

Though no longer waking up to intense suicidal desires, lethargy, and physical pain, I’ve yet to reclaim the fervor which threw me at the world. I can only imagine the self-harm it’s inflicted in my absence. But yesterday, I was lucky enough to feel an emotion which was formerly ever-present. Annoyance.

Not tearful hopelessness, not murderous pity. Annoyance, in relation to my depression. I did not intend for this emotion to occur. It seems my subconscious has assessed my situation as resolved. I say this because annoyance is the response to attending a manageable problem. Though I don’t consider the subconscious a dependable calculator, it’s leanings have implication.

I assume the source of this confidence is my consistent progress in metacog. Everything’s going to plan, really. I’d previously hoped to utilize a technique that makes it occur quickly, but I simply don’t want to. Though primarily averse to the method due to previous semi-failures derived from it, my new and slow approach nevertheless works – and I enjoy it much more.

Either way, I’m keeping the option of quick alterations in reserve, incase things inexplicably go wrong before I must return to work, leaving me without money and the ability to earn more. I may not look for work at the end of this month, depending on how I feel and where my bank account is at. My old job, which allowed me to save this last year’s worth of money in 10 months, is in desperate need. My roomie’s company is always in need.

I want neither job. But I do want my happiness back. I want the beautiful world that I once imagined, and the joy of it which drove me, back. I want a woman, friends, a few dogs, maybe a cat, a few bald eagles, a farm. Through metacog, I can have the happiness, and I can have the beauty, though the rest may elude me permanently.

Though I do know where to find quite a few eagles. Genuinely majestic bastards; in seeing them, you quickly understand why they were chosen as America’s representative. How the hell am I going to allocate them to my farm? I could probably get the eggs of multiple families, but I’d have to nurse them. And if I’m going to go through all that trouble, I’m going to have to train them to hunt for me… fuck.

On a separate note, I’m growing increasingly superstitious. If you’ve not seen it mentioned on the blog, allow me to elaborate. I consider all possibilities and their likelihood when assessing any given situation. It seems a possibility that my life is some matrix-esque nonsense designed for purposes unknown to me. Just as its possible, even if improbable, that we’re all the dream of a tobacco chewing, cosmic muffin.

My point is that, the more I assess humanity in comparison to myself, the less I believe the authenticity of my perceptions of reality. Let’s assume, for the moment, that I’m a genius. Let’s further assume that, unlike other so-called genii, my specialty is not a series of random bodies of information, but metacog and related subject – you know, shit that actually matters.

Continuing, we assume I have insights into human nature which few ever have, that when utilized to self-alter, functionally turn me into a different genus.. though I’d argue that I’m actually normal, while the masses are perpetually devolving due to cultism religion/subculture fetishism, over-saturation of information distracting from instinctive metacog, the ubiquity of mind-altering [crippling] drugs, and decadence multiplying all these problems.

What’s the chance of my being some era-defining genius vs. the chance of a matrix-esque situation? Which would I be saner in leaning toward? Though I suppose, the sanest choice of all, is simply believing myself to be a megalomaniac. But then, if I were a megalomaniac, would I be capable of recognizing myself as a megalomaniac?

That’s a complicated train of thought. But more complicated than all that, is why I might say it, just to fuck with you. What could possibly be my intention? Well, I’m feeling allot better. I’m sorry, I know I said no more joking around, but I shouldn’t have to refrain.

Tell you what, I’ll give you a warning: when I’m content, and people lack the influence to sabotage me due to their unscrutinized emotions motivating irrationality/immorality, I happily do this while heartily laughing my fucking head off. But I’m laughing with you. Unless you don’t get the joke, then I’m laughing for you. Unless you become irrational, then I’m laughing at the atrocity of life.

In closing, while the world is dark and horrible, remember that the bright and honorable is far more complex and influential, yet demands far more from you. Or just pretend everything is fine, that seems to work too.

Journal Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on May 23, 2017.

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