Protecting your exclusive viewpoint. Your vantage, that presumed advantage. It feels safe up there, soaring. So reassuring. Looking in from without. Seeing the folly, detached form all of it. Alienated from others involved in it and alienating others, too, from you. Insular. Is that what you truly intend to have given/gotten? Or do you want to ’come down’ after all? Be honest. That is the question: To be you or to be true? To be or to love?
You are as real as an optical illusion is real: it’s all a matter of perception, relative to a self. Meaning is relative to a me. The truth precedes any (perceptual) interpretation of experience. The truth precedes the illusion of you.
The shared moments slowly all fade into the sole moment.
Does the hand that animates a puppet have any real personality? Now: How could a nervous system have one that animates a body? Ponder this: Who/Where/What exactly are you?
The truth doesn’t hurt. The truth never hurts. What hurts is that there is nothing in it for me. The truth won’t validate or cater for me in any way whatsoever.
The price of the truth is the loss of the illusion of me (in the truth vis-a-vis youse).
It ain’t easy and it ain’t pleasant. I stands to lose every thing and every body.
Melancholy is a great way to bypass the truth (of the moment): Feels so good to wallow in self-pity and to feel the me being dissed, pissed, frustrated, misunderstood, abandoned, disturbed, annoyed, perturbed, inconvenienced and other ways victimized by fortuitous circumstances—jilted by girls, misjudged by other egos, bothered by noisy neighbours and enervating nocturnal emissions, etc.—it keeps everything deeply personal. It keeps the world revolve around me.
Without struggling and constant frustration nothing else remains but this moment, constantly, that turns on a dime, instantly—no guarantees, no hope, no prospects, nothing, really.
What hurts me is not that I’ve lost her but that I am losing the image I’ve cherished about her.
It’s painful to see this because it means that I am losing the image I’ve cherished about myself too.
Without the hope (the projected image) of getting her back there is noone to suffer for and there is noone to suffer.