I'm listening to: The Distillers - The Hunger

Waiting for Nothing. You daren't even think properly about it, because it inevitably ends in some miniature disaster, and it hurts your battered Ego to even try. Absence of pain v Pain of absence. Do you really think hyper-rationality, like that, is good for you? What is, intellectual/cognitive drift? Set Psyche on 'cruise' mode after blindfolding her. Die a sweet, slow death. Let your guts putrefy in the midday heat and become food for the flies. To hell with your stinking philosophical rhetoric; you're just bored stiff AND you know it. Jack isn't in the damned box, so GTFO YOU MORON. 


This is existential ennui. 




I've been dancing with your ghost
Toasting note to note
So here's to the passing of all that could be 
Between you and me

I'd rather be here
Than anywhere with you

I'm listening to: Saves the Day - Driving in the Dark

Everything I was back when you had the hands my heart was in
I was never good at goodbye

Can I swallow this bottle whole?
So, this brain in my head can forget your face




Allegories possess an element of existential comfort, in that they embody a universal generality - the glue between and of the Human Experience. "You are not alone," they tell us implicitly. But it is just as conceivable that their function is void, and they never occupy any other plane besides that of (self-contained) symbolism. In other words, they are possibly inadequate of translation/reduction to anything less elusive; hopelessly impersonal. Of what significance, then, are they?

There is no comfort in the truth of forms, as far as I can tell.




You left me here beside myself
Left me with all the reasons I was wrong for you.

I'm listening to: Phil Phillips - Sea of Love

Come with me, my love, 

To the sea, the sea of love.

I wanna tell you how much I love you.

Do you remember when we met?

That's the day I knew you were my pet.

I wanna tell you how much I love you.

Come with me, to the sea of love.

It finally hit me - the term is 'Nausea'. Sartre wrote the novel, I heard about it, but I've never read it. It came to visit again today, which prompted me to put two and two together and go find out a bit more about the book. My knowledge of the text is far from comprehensive (read: Wikipedia, booknotes, etc.), but the extensive quotations I came across suffice to draw the connection between Nausea and my previously nameless nostalgia-dejavu-nausea complex. It hits with a raw intensity exactly as (physical) nausea does, but with a strikingly acute sense of static dislocation from temporal occupations or perceptual existence, and the combination - a cloying headiness - is downright revolting. Imagine being suspended in a bubble and forced to watch its impenetrable but translucent walls getting constantly bombarded from the outside. You get both senses of insulation as well as being overwhelmed, which sounds a bit like some variant of cognitive dissonance. 


In other words, it attacks all aspects of experience: the physical, emotional and intellectual. Before making some sense of it, as I've just happened to, the intellectual component manifested only as a startlingly painful awareness of a sterile vacuity, which I've discovered is a direct result of "the fact that inanimate objects and situations remain absolutely indifferent to his existence. As such, they show themselves to be resistant to whatever significance human consciousness might perceive in them." (Wikipedia, Jean Paul Sartre) It's intuitive and quite self-explanatory so I won't bother, mostly because I won't be able to do it any justice whatsoever. It's an experience so richly nuanced despite being completely sickening and elusively difficult to pin down, but I will eventually get my head around it. 

At this point, Nausea is just a label. It seems to fit but it might not be exactly what I'm looking for. It's awful but I've been struggling with it since childhood (even worse, with utter confusion and barely rudiments of any understanding) and occurrences have dwindled substantially, thank goodness, but they are still irksome. I need to find out more, but I've first got to put this aside for a better time to do that. 


p.s. If anyone knows exactly what I'm talking about, you also know what to do. It would mean a lot. 

I'm listening to: Incubus - Stellar

Meet me in outer space
We could spend the night
Watch the earth come up



"Can you bring me my chapstick?"
"No, Napoleon."
"But my lips hurt real bad!"

This has got to be one of the cutest movies ever. What wouldn't I give for one of those tees.

And these moves are SWEET. I feel my heart flutter <3

I'm listening to: Barry Louis Polisar - All I Want Is You

So maybe it's true, I can't live without you.



To have nothing and everything at the same time. The state of these affairs hangs in precarious balance; it's a sublime novelty, but also one pregnant with terror. It's also never, ever, viewed as a given. With every teetering step taken along the way, the intricate complex of emotions escalates in intensity, until -

How do you know what the form is supposed to be like, if you've encountered but a single instance? It's clearly impossible to derive a broadly accurate idea, and its significance (as absolute) is questionable. The dimension of being we occupy allows no direct apprehension of the forms, so in that sense they aren't real to us, though technically speaking, they're excellent tools for navigation. And perhaps that's it. With regard to uncommon experiences, we simply have to make do without - as if blinded.




But there's so much time to figure out the rest of my life,
And you've already got me coming undone.