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2002-06-06 06:27:51 ET I am so fucked up. I’m so worthless. My life is pathetic. I’m stupid. Why is it that I can think of subjects in a way that maybe only philosophers would entertain, but normal people would reject? Why is it that I think of the mind as an entity aware of it by itself and awareness itself? I’m always wandering of the psychic processes of the mind that make people think like they think. Always wandering of the conscience that human beings have as their natural element of existence. Always concluding that mechanical movement of planets rotation worth the same shit than the pope. That nothing is really especial as we wanted it to be in a general social law. That only subjectivity is what paradoxicaly have made human conscience, for its own importance, its own awareness. All of that thought just to again watch decaying my pathetic life into loneness... no empathy to shelter me, no warm arms to hold me like I wish, no muse to dedicate poems, no reason to be proud of. Just the simple idea... or the ancient philosophy... that everything is as fucked up as it always has been. |
