Some Thoughts at Night

It’s a little late – not terribly late.

I think – everyone has a story to tell, and I wonder if I’m self absorbed writing here.  I wonder what the project is…

Originally the project was to be honest, to have an outlet, to write for an unknown audience, and simply speak… to attempt to speak honestly and truthfully and from the heart… as much as possible…

I can’t say who I am, I can barely write about my profession and I’m reluctant to highlight it… and I feel if I write anything too controversial my hosting provider would threaten to take down the site.

Freedom is a luxury on the internet… and curiously one you have to pay for.  I have widespread access though which is beautiful.

I don’t know if I desire to be heard… I suppose I must.

I used to like to write erotico-absurdist texts… in the vein Georges Bataille, Henry Miller, and the Marquis de Sade.  I used to like to write horrible things.  I wonder if I could now…

I think most people are absorbed in their own lives – which is a terrible thing I suppose… in some respects.  An atomized existence, myopic concerns, only for myself and for my immediate surroundings, my own ideology and so on…

I thought of Martin Luther King Jr. today.  Having a sense of purpose and a belief.  To not fear death.  I think it’s horrible now that I cling to life.  I think it’s horrible that I count down the days as well.  What absurdity… to cling to life and count down the days to the weekend, for my piecemeal freedom.

I used to love the idea of living a poetic existence.  I tell myself that I’ve given myself over to the idea of a wife and child… or that… perhaps I just couldn’t stand the feeling of uncertainty… of looking out upon an uncertain horizon… or the thought of growing old and being alone… or… as I once said… the fact that the Bohemian life verges on parasitism after a certain age and is no longer beautiful.

My conception of myself is likely of someone sad… someone a little forlorn and dismayed; downtrodden and disheartened… “getting by” and “making do”… someone desperate… leading a life that is rather tragic, and a little hopeless… and perhaps someone unwilling, or unlikely… or someone that no longer believes in change.

I don’t think the above is all that bad, and really, that’s a rather pessimistic assessment.  I know I’m intelligent, I wonder if I’m a good person, but it’s at least a question for me.  I concern myself with self stylization and beauty, and the ennobling of the world… or at least being a part in revealing the absurdity of so much of it.

It’s getting late.  Back to the grind dear brothers.

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