stygian contemplations

Life is suffering, everyone who has lived through would affirm, time’s past fastens its shelved meanings, contours.

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explain yourself

So I haven’t written for a moments’ aeon, must I justify? I have experienced vexed disquietude for many months, that I am aware of, which have peaks and troughs in intensity. Like an exponential graph, each peak is double in laceration of what I thought possible previously.

In what I had before, it was mostly depression like feelings, blasé towards everything, loss of interest in activities/eating/people/myself. Never an absence of interest or ennui in wondering why this was happening though.

I hesitate to use ‘depression’ because that signals a predestined assumption of the reasons for my thoughts, by those that see every incident to be treated biologically, as if beyond my control. That is laughable, because they (‘they’ ) wouldn’t fathom that it’s semi conscious -deciphered later-. Anyway, I could eventually kick that quondam to the wayside, or at least not let it kick me.

This present time it’s a binomial split, permanently evolved. Rather that a somewhat passive reminder, now a besieging influenza of assaulting spears. My skin crawls with the aching of bones, a skeleton on noxious acid. I can feel the workings of this mental warfare, if you’ve felt a migraine, it is parallel to that, of the mind, beyond description. RIGHT NOW IT’S FUCKING EXCRUCIATING.

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reason

I must chronicle that it’s philosophically driven, if you’ve read my previous you will discern a quantum of this. Do I want to get into elucidating these thoughts? Well, I’ll parcel the following. Many will falsely cling desperately to anything in the face of despair, existential nothingness, the void that lingers in light. Unseen, ever present.

Of transcendent magnetic allure is the meme of the group, in any fashion. Relearn the self evident. You were born and will die alone. Rather than having a negative value, this is constructive, for you have individual will and control, even if easily influenced deterministically. Bathe in the waters of individual struggle, dive into its depths, on your own.

Some drown in pursuit, others falsely return from shallow waters, to later find thoughts uncrystallized; when swimming in mud. Few venture without goggles, when everyone else tells them not to. Browsing from the sidelines, where ignoble snugness resides. Even less return from the paradoxical quagmire, perhaps none; for they can’t be observed by eyes’ wavelength of the spectators.

In face of Cimmerian shade, individuals in excess of three standard deviations from centrum, turn to coping mechanisms, an inviting chalice of hedonism; be it alcohol, ‘drugs’ (any mélange), or carte philosophical posturing (a la Molyneux). Comfort presides over the arrow of truth. This is to be expected.

The abyss is infinite, and human vices are the tempting forbidden fruit, which when taken ultimately devours their kernel from polestar, for intrinsic question(s) are not resolved. This produces a prepatent elixir, boundless rubix inversed, wilted in all seasons when not expressed. Topical capacity now a diminished objet d'art. Cube’s tincture once pristine achromatizes, in etiolation wizened to dehydrated light.

I’m attempting as much as possible without using these conventions. Genesis descendent steps into the abyss have become worn with adversity. It is akin to Jung’s adorned shadow, to plunge into depths, learn quintessential lessons, fight the beast within you. The battle between conscious and subconscious? I don’t know. This may apprise the length of sojourn in au courant attitude.

Every subsequent post may be fin, for I’m not certain I will be continuing. Quality>Quantity if not so. Cryptic writing always. Maybe I’m simply being selfish posting, to think that someone else wants to read, or to want someone else to read? Either way, this is a journal after all.

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