Thursday, May 09, 2013

stirring

I am not here.  I am not writing.  This is not me.

I don't believe in things.  It's difficult to unlearn this.  It's more than just a perspective; it's habit.

I mean, the very idea of belief is just...silly.  No one wants to be that guy - buying the self-help tapes, nodding knowingly as Tony Robbins pontificates, throwing his hands in the air as a preacher calls for repentance.  We’re above all that, right? It's not really about that guy, though - it's more like a visceral distaste for the kinds of people we believe believers to be. But here’s the thing – maybe clichéd, romantic love is the only love there is.  Reality is earnest, well-meaning, and, well – kind of fucking asinine. It isn’t clever. And this realization doesn’t feel good at all. After a while, it doesn’t feel like anything. To feel one’s life is to stop thinking about it. I’ve said that.  And I haven't felt mine in a while. Can we live without context, without constant critical analysis? It may be a “false consciousness” – but it sure feels nice. Genuine sincerity tends to sound cloyingly insincere. I mean, that pandering Adam Sandler movie may be intellectually offensive – but doesn’t it feel better to like it?