I'm trying to make a difference in this world. I'm trying to keep philosophy alive. I'm trying to influence your mind all the while mine is traveling an a billion directions at once.
I believe a little insanity is a good thing.
I'm inspired by life and I'm inspired by brains and nature and love and happiness and obsessiveness and anything else that's in this universe and outside of it. I think too much. I write compulsively. I don't want society to stop reading. I don't want society to stop creating. I want to contribute to this planet's literature that is so often hidden under media, pop culture, and other things that won't really matter in fifty years.
These are my thoughts, and I can't control them. I can't control the words that flow out of my brain and through my body.
This is word vomit. And I'm not cleaning it up.
of you
Last night was one of those nights where the room was silent but my thoughts were so loud. My mind didn’t turn off and I couldn’t stand the noise as everything sat still and silent in my bedroom. Last night was one of those nights where I was overcome with the daunting reality that one day, I won’t have one of these nights. One day, I won’t be overcome with thoughts and sleep and awake and dreams and consciousness.
One day, I’ll die. And I’ll know nothing. And nothing will be nothing. And everything will be so still and invisible and nonexistent or maybe not.
I usually like things I can’t completely wrap my head around. I usually like things that require hours of pondering and things that hardly anyone knows straight facts about. But I don’t like this. I don’t like thinking about this. I felt so alone and so vulnerable as I held the blankets up to my chin knowing that any second, the life I have been living for nineteen years can be cut off. Any second, what I’ve known for as long as I’ve been able to function as a human being can end. I felt so weak. I felt so fragile. Because we rely so heavily on life and we take it for granted every single day, but in one second it can be over. And maybe Heaven is real and maybe reincarnation is real but maybe it isn’t. Maybe once we stop living this life, we will cease to be any sort of being or soul or wisp of dust. And that scares me. And even if Heaven or reincarnation were real, nothing in this life will even matter afterwards, because who’s to say we’re even going to remember any of it? Everything I love and everything that matters to me and everything I live and breathe and wake up every morning for can be yanked away from me in the blink of an eye and can never come back. I can be ripped out of this world so easily and I have hardly any power to do otherwise. At any given moment, the strength of death’s hand can quickly overpower life’s grip of which we rely so heavily on.
Because you hear it all the time and it’s so easy to wave off with the stresses and other thoughts of everyday life: life is short. Compared to what this thought of “eternity” is, the life we’re living now is a mere fraction of the rest of the time in the world beyond this life and before this life and beyond the beyond of this life.
And these thoughts make me feel so fragile and make me feel so scared. But if anything, they make me want to live. I don’t know what will happen after I take my last breath, and I can confidently say that no one ever will know. I don’t know where I’m going after I leave this body. But I do know that I’m here now. I do know that I’m breathing and thinking and being right now. And that’s the best I can do. And life is far too short to take for granted one second of it.
