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The final drunken ramblings of a crazed maniac
Our memory is an object. We perceive it to be an abstract idea which we can call upon at any time and draw up an experience from the past. But in reality it is nothing more than a storage device. Memory is part of an organ, the brain, that stores information in cells like a piece of paper stores a written idea. This means that at any given time we can call upon our memory to draw up a past experience. If I want think about what it was like 10 years ago, my memory goes into action and activates the memory, pairing my perception of the present with an event of the past.
The past is only a reality of our existence because we exist in four dimensions but perceive only three. We see reality and place ourselves in the spatial plane that we are able to perceive, but the fourth dimension of time exists around us. We exist in time but do not see it, save the split second of the present. That split second, which we are actually able to perceive, is an infinitely small point on the plane of all of existence. Our mind records it and places it in sequence, making sense of our existence linearly. We perceive the present but exist in all of time at once. As I am perceiving myself writing this essay, I am also existing 15 years ago as a small boy and 30 years from as well. Monkey testicles are probably a good snack when fried in butter and coated in chocolate sauce.
So what is reality? Reality is a figment of our imagination. It is the perception of time, the present tense, made sense of by experiences stored in memory. Because we exist in all of time at once, the accepted definition of reality is a false one. We are conscious of a single moment of perception, but we exist in all moments. This means that the moment in which we place emphasis at any given time is merely the moment of which we are currently conscious. The reason we are conscious of any given moment at any given time is beyond me. I have no way of explaining this as I am conscious in every moment but aware only of this one…
I wrote that shit last night while quite inerbiated. And then I realized the futility of it all. Philosophy is a beat topic. I am through with it. The only thing Philosophy has every done for me is driven me slowly insane over the past 10 years. Fuck that shit. There is no solution. There is no answer. So fuck it, man. | | |
| On my way back from my friend's dorm this evening, I saw a dude walking down the sidewalk wearing an enormous smile on his face. My reaction to this sight made me think a little bit. I became slightly uneasy. Why? It is a social taboo to walk around with a giant smile on your face. How can someone be so unashamedly happy? How dare someone express his emotions to the public. Why isn't he hiding behind a wall of neutral facial expressions? Why do we find the need to remain so fucking uptight with our emotions? We can only express them in certain arenas and with certain people. If we don't keep our mask on, we run the risk of looking vulnerable to the outside world. Emotional expression is an in to our souls. We must continually guard ourselves from that possibility. So much so that when we see someone who openly expresses what he is feeling inside, it makes us feel uneasy. We aren't used to that kind of thing... we can't handle it. Walk around for awhile with a giant smile or your face, see how people react. Mother fuckers.
shit I am so stoned | | |
| Reality is an interesting concept. We can only make of reality that which we, the individuals, perceive. Perception, the interaction of chemicals and electrical signals in your brain, is the only thing of which you can ever be sure. So we perceive a concept called 'reality.' My definition of reality is the perception of the outside world rationalized with experiences stored in memory. Now, we take for granted that reality will always be there. That our perception will always be there to rationlize this concept of reality. But perception is a fragile thing. Recently I've had a few experiences with powerful psychedelic drugs under the spell of which my idea of perception was completely skewed. Reality stopped working and I lost my mind. I don't think many people can wrap their minds around this concept. Reality is something that one can't take for granted. Just know that. Value reality, because it might not always be there.
I don't think I will ever be accepted by this concept called society. I've tried in the past on multiple occasions to enter its bounds and become an active member. All attempts failed, usually in frustrated misery. I think it is almost time to stop trying. There are those who share my sentiments. Those who sit on the outside and make of life what they can.
I developped a concept recently. It involves perception and consciousness. It goes something like this:
Consciousness, self-awareness, is a tool that is held only by man. It evolved. A chimpanzee is not self-aware. He relies on instincts an loose 'understandings' of his environment to get by. He can use a stick as a tool to eat termites, but this does not imply consciousness. Somewhere in the past a monkey was fucking around and noticed that he can use a stick to get termites. He didn't make the stick. He can't improve on the stick. He just uses the stick because it works. Man can build a rifle to shoot animals and minorities. He created the rifle, thought of it, looked at his environment and said, shit I can make a rifle. That is what consciousness does. Consciousness evolved. This means that somewhere between a chimpanzee and a dude shooting a minority, consciousness slowly came into existence. It didn't just appear. There wasn't some homo-erectus dude chillin' and then all of the sudden he was self-aware. There were varying levels of consciousness between chimps and man. These varying levels of awareness dictate how the individual will interact with his environment. They determine what he can and cannot see. My theory is this:
If man's self awareness is the product of years and years of evolution under which there were many different levels of awareness, then there must be varying levels of consciousness within the boundries of humanity. This is a logical conclusion. Consciousness didn't spring into existence, rather, it became what it is over years and years of development. Awareness is a relative term. It has different levels. My belief is that awareness is still evolving and becoming more advanced, and that on Earth, there are individuals who possess a higher level of consciousness than others. They see things differently. Are more aware of their environment than others. This leads to nothing but frustration for those individuals. To be able to see things as they are yet have no way of communicating these realizations to the rest of the population, most of which holds inferior forms of awareness. What does this mean? Nothing. For what means anything? If you can provide an answer to that one, I commend you. This is just my theory. | | |
| So it's been awhile since I updated this thing. College happens sometimes.
What did I do in my hiatus? Well, a lot of drugs, some schoolwork, maybe a few girls here and there. It was an interesting time in my life. I'd like to think that I changed in many ways. But not for the worse, I think.
I'm not sure that I'm ready to continue updating this deal on a regular basis, but the idea of having a place to store my thoughts makes me happy. The reason I stopped writing in here for so long? I found, as I did every other time that I tried an online journal, that my entries became less about ideas and such and more about me being a whiny pussy bitch. Last I checked, I'm not a 14 year old girl. At least I hope not... If that's true I'll have to rethink a few decisions I've made... like heterosexuality. Lesbians are hot, don't lie to yourself.
Who knows. We'll see what happens... if anything.
With that, I leave this an open ended entry. Nothing important said, no promise of anything important being said, but at least the intention of saying important things in the future. No idea when that may be. But I choose not to write another empty entry. | | |
| The street snaked before him for what seemed like miles. He’d made this journey too many times to remember, but now was walking into an abysmal wilderness of which he knew nothing. People passed on either side, regaling tales of their enjoyed nights and beaming with anticipation for their more enjoyable futures. For once, it did not bother him that they were happy and did not understand the happenings in his mind. There was no longer a gap between him and them. They walked. He walked. They did not know of each other’s existence, nor did either of them care.
Where are you going? He asked himself. He knew very well where his legs were taking him, but the question was not directed geographically. Somewhere, ahead of him, his dorm stood, and he knew that eventually he would be safe within its walls. But where are you going? Tonight, you’ll go home and write about what happened. You’ll hate your roommate, and you’ll continue this ambiguous existence, never knowing who or what you are. You’ll misplace your affection and wonder if the love you are capable of giving will ever be returned. But where are you going? He finished his cigarette and started another, knowing full well both of their cancerous effects. He enjoyed it and talked to a turkish man. He entered his building and went upstairs to his room. He sat down and began to write, accomplishing nothing in the process. His roommate came in and made him angry. He went to bed unfulfilled and empty inside, searching for the answer to his question. | | |
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