Why Write

It's a problem with voice. Motivation. Sometimes it just isn't there. Sometimes
you'd just stare at the ceiling while you're in your bed and think or try to do something that resembles the act of thinking. It goes meta. You begin asking yourself, why do I continue doing this thing that I keep on doing? Is there anybody out there that I am writing all these stuff for? If for myself, then why do I even bother posting it online? These and other deep things are just among the cloud-bubbles that float and disappear and clash with each other in that metaphorical space inside your head.

I promised myself that I would write at least 'a thousand words a day.' Discipline. Builds character, and muscles too. Keep yourself occupied. Proving to yourself after each act of creation that indeed you, wonderful you, have the faculties to create something. Now whether that something is funny or at the very least useful and coherent is another matter. Questions of quality. Questions of purpose. Ultimate purpose. Philosophical purpose. Or you write because 'you want to cultivate a style,' that is unique to yourself. You want to develop your own voice, your own patterns of thinking and writing. This is a very good excuse I think. Also, I often thought before that writing is a good outlet for pent-up emotions. It is mentally therapeutic, so it does not matter whether anyone reads all the stuff you write or not. A lot of navel-gazing here. A lot of dark, personal shit that would provide to other people proof of your impending descent into madness, or proof that you are already insane. See? Those kinds of things. Entertainment? Sure. Something to pass the time. But oftentimes you get the impression that you have better do something that is socially useful. So sometimes when the mood is there, you write something under the theme 'solving the problems of my country,' or 'solving the problems of the world,' failing that, you end up with 'why it is a good idea to end this civilization as fast as we can.' And now you are back to examining your own head. Really guy? What is the matter with you? Go read some more and build up your 'power of positive thinking.' And another idea pops up, which is, how about you write something under the heading of 'the power of negative thinking,' that seems like it would be an interesting write-up. I guess my tendency to go into all these digressions and circles is a desperate attempt to find a quick answer to everything, to those big and general questions of life and society and philosophy, without really doing any serious research. It is navel-gazing, as I have written earlier somewhere above. It is lazy. Obscurity. Pissing on water. Marking your territory. Giving proof of your existence. But does it really matter. It does not matter to the bird. Your being alive once in this universe does not matter to the rock, to the trees. No matter how huge the statues they make of you, no matter how resilient the material they use, it all end up as nothing. Nothingness. I've read somewhere that matter is ninety-nine percent nothingness. So with this logic, there is really no point to worrying since you are already an almostnothing. Death merely is a ninety-nine percent nothing going on to be one-hundred percent nothing again. So we're back to entertainment then if that's the case, something to deal with the boredom. This is where those apocalyptic scenarios come in handy. It gives us all those tingly bits of feelings, that of being constantly reminded of someday going to die. I'm thinking could this feeling be ranked higher or lower to that feeling of 'seeing your enemies killed before you'? Maybe it is pointless to rank emotions. But surely feeling terrible is lower than feeling good. Surely actually being terrible is a condition lower or less preferable to that of actually being good. There is no argument here. All religions, at least the Judeo-Christian ones, agree with this statement. All this really points to is a desire

for annihilation, which is pointless since aren't we already almost-nothing? But if that is true, is suffering insignificant? Is it also an almost-nothing condition? When you see it all paraded before you, all those people crying, wailing for their departed loved ones, could you really say that deep philosophical insight you have to their faces? I think not. Re-reading Thomas Ligotti's 'The Conspiracy Against the Human Race,' is definitely in the agenda in the immediate future somewhere. To anyone not familiar with this work, it is basically a long essay exploring the idea of why not existing is so much better than existing. Ligotti is a horror writer. His works are often described as 'philosophical horror.' But to be frank though, I found them mostly boring. Like all horror that relies on atmosphere, it's an acquired taste, and the taste comes and goes, so then it's really not a taste but a weather. The human mind is listless, so it takes a great amount of concentration to maintain a certain state of mind, or a certain state of feeling. You can't be morose all the time. Certainly you can't also be happy all the time. Those who are caught or frozen in only one state of mind or feeling is terrifying, like some sort of statue or monster. Non-human, definitely, or human but a very weird and damaged human. The kind they lock up in institutions with leather straps on the metal bed. It's a fun read, these kinds of horror works, I highly recommend it. It's a problem with voice. Motivation. Sometimes it just isn't there. Sometimes you'd just stare at the ceiling while you're in your bed and think or try to do something that resembles the act of thinking. It goes meta. You begin asking yourself, why do I continue doing this thing that I keep on doing? Is there anybody out there that I am writing all these stuff for? If for myself, then why do I even bother posting it online? These and other deep things are just among the cloud-bubbles that float and disappear and clash with each other in that metaphorical space inside your head.

Wednesday, January 16 2013 http://www.scribd.com/narodnikkki

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