dedicated to the distinction
Laying off the fraught over with severe anxieties and sadness that has left me in a nervous exhaustion, these days, I'm felt powerless in having to learn to live with my indifferences regarding something that I have always considered quite essentiual part in our commitment to the world. A healthy mind for a healthy lifestyle. At a time I sought professional help, it wasn’t something that was an option. And as the months progressed everything slowly slid further into a dark fog from which I have so far been unable to emerge.
I’ve essentially been holding my thoughts in, in regards to subject matter building on constructive critcism, most often it is useful and intended to help one improve on something, often with an offer of possible solutions. What I believe I'm trying to say is, we're all essentially very nice people with good intentions, indeed, said to come up with the best and brightest of outcomes in all our most hopeful of dreams. Note incurred with an error in judgment I might add, an entire bunch of us tend to do it or deal with it at some point and time, it is social error, life-style.
The future. Tomorrow. In this particular life-style I describe the motto is "Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying," but the dying begins almost at once living, and happiness is but a memory. It is a speeding up, an intensifying, of the ordinary human existence. It is not different from the life-style we may be used to living, it is only faster. It may take place in days or weeks or months instead of years. "Take the cash and let the credit go," as Villon said in 1460. But that is a mistake if the cash is a penny and the credit a whole lifetime.
If anything I refer best to transcending youthful adolescents. It is not at all a mockery as it is a acceptance of our growing idenities, happy of hearing we're dedicated to the distinction of ourselves.
Remnants of my past, parts of it a distant memory, I played with comforts in comrades whether or not they were beings with existence in their dark reconciliation. I witnessed them being run over, maimed, destroyed - but they continued to play. We really all were very happy for a while, sitting around not toiling but just bullshitting and playing, but it was for such a terrible brief time, and then the punishment was beyond belief: even when we could see it, we could not believe it.
Something like giving your life away. Something like the weekend. Something not. Sometimes I wish I knew how to go crazy but I forget how. It's a lost art. Maybe there's an instruction manual on it. Achieved ruin of the walking brain-dead.
I’ve essentially been holding my thoughts in, in regards to subject matter building on constructive critcism, most often it is useful and intended to help one improve on something, often with an offer of possible solutions. What I believe I'm trying to say is, we're all essentially very nice people with good intentions, indeed, said to come up with the best and brightest of outcomes in all our most hopeful of dreams. Note incurred with an error in judgment I might add, an entire bunch of us tend to do it or deal with it at some point and time, it is social error, life-style.
The future. Tomorrow. In this particular life-style I describe the motto is "Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying," but the dying begins almost at once living, and happiness is but a memory. It is a speeding up, an intensifying, of the ordinary human existence. It is not different from the life-style we may be used to living, it is only faster. It may take place in days or weeks or months instead of years. "Take the cash and let the credit go," as Villon said in 1460. But that is a mistake if the cash is a penny and the credit a whole lifetime.
If anything I refer best to transcending youthful adolescents. It is not at all a mockery as it is a acceptance of our growing idenities, happy of hearing we're dedicated to the distinction of ourselves.
Remnants of my past, parts of it a distant memory, I played with comforts in comrades whether or not they were beings with existence in their dark reconciliation. I witnessed them being run over, maimed, destroyed - but they continued to play. We really all were very happy for a while, sitting around not toiling but just bullshitting and playing, but it was for such a terrible brief time, and then the punishment was beyond belief: even when we could see it, we could not believe it.
Something like giving your life away. Something like the weekend. Something not. Sometimes I wish I knew how to go crazy but I forget how. It's a lost art. Maybe there's an instruction manual on it. Achieved ruin of the walking brain-dead.
posted by daneatkinson at 8.8.06
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