I’m a person. I’m a human being. I love life. Life is hard. Hard things are often worth doing. Life is a challenge, but it’s a blessing to get to live it. I don’t know what to write about, so I’m writing random facts down. I like writing. I think there’s a reason for my writing, though I don’t know what it is. I love life and I love the world. I see the world advancing and improving, but I also see it getting worse. How do I know which is the illusion? Confusion. Doubt. Existential dread. Nihilism. Duality. Life. Death. Words repeated so often they lose all their meaning. Consciousness. Awareness. Love. Love hasn’t lost its meaning because I’m blessed enough to experience it every day. Life is strange to me. Alien. Laziness? Mental illness? Bad attitude? Bad habits? All of the above? Who knows. Maybe too much awareness. Life is too automatic. Too monotonous. Work is hell. It’s a blessing though since it pays me. Money is nothing though. It’s just paper. I need it to survive. So, do we give meaning to things as we see fit? I guess so. Fuck the rules then. I give meaning to my life. It’s freeing. It’s scary too though. Right and responsibility. Fear and excitement. It’s all the same in the end. Weed and psychedelics made me see life in a way I never thought I could. Gets harder and harder to integrate into society. Art is something I really love. All forms of it. It comes from society though. What is society? Isn’t it just people? I love people. So why don’t I love society? I guess I really do love society. I consume its products. Its shows and movies. I mess around with expensive music gear. It’s all unnecessary. It’s fun though. It’s something I enjoy. It’s a peaceful moment. Well… so is weed. Or any other drug for any other person. Does that make it okay? Can’t stop wondering, even if it probably doesn’t matter much now. Years have gone by. How would my life have been? Who cares? I love my life now anyway. Why does it matter then? Well, everything matters. Why though? Because… I’m a human being. Music brings up emotions, poetry and sincerity in literature bring about faint glimpses, scenes of a life unlived. How do I know these feelings? Maybe some past life? The collective unconscious? Similarity between all beings? One consciousness? Brahman. Atman. Hinduism, Buddhism, reincarnation. A welcoming belief after growing up traumatized by the idea of an eternal hell I could possibly spend forever in. My parents are good people. Do they know the damage they possibly caused? Did they cause damage? Is Jesus actually the light, the truth? It’s a possibility, since I grew up believing it for a while. Everything is a possibility though, so that’s not saying much. Life is calmer now without too many drugs though. Edibles keep me on my toes. Creativity and nostalgia. Melancholia. Art. Hazy sensations that morph into more hazy sensations. Days to nights. Life keeps going.
I appreciate you reading!
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rebel eye 