LowBlog

I recall this feeling, I am not quite sure of how real I am. So intoxicated yet completely devoid of inebriant. The drug is simply the brain-state. What can I do with this? I am so tired, part of me is laughing right now, I think there is humor in this. I do not care because virtue is enough, and I have virtue, after all it is without cost. It only costs to not keep your virtues. Plenty of ponderance today around the relationship between my internal world and all that exists beside it. It is believed that I should have complete control over my internal self, yet the external world has informed and directed my being in almost all ways for as long as I have been. I can not help but feel a bit silly. When speaking on the trees Zarathustra says something like “I can push against this tough tree but I can not move it, yet the wind tortures and bends its branches as it pleases.” or whatever. I have thought about this much in the past few years. Obvious commentary on the fact that our biggest problems and worries are the invisible things born from our own minds that are equipped to torture us just right, because they know us so dearly. I do not have to allow this. I do not care, how could I possibly care? I don’t even know you, I would not recognize you on the sidewalk of an empty street.

Right now, I am either not who I am, or exactly who I am. I can not quite tell if I am truly shed of the doubtful, unsure, and displeased shell that I am used to, or if I am experiencing some degree of mania. Is there a meaningful distinction? Would it not be mania to suddenly prune the limbs that I had refused to let go of for so long? Why is this so funny? I say I do not care, yet the infrequent and random sounds from the other side of this closed door are cutting into me, blades running vertically along the sides of my neck. This tells me the limbs are not fully disconnected, but perhaps they are closer than they have ever been, to being further.