5/13/14
If only you could talk out all the neuroses in order to nail them down to the cross of obsession compulsion, spear the anxiety from your person, kill the subconscious, rationalize the existence.
But words are all we have. Archaic symbols that mean almost next to nothing in this day and age, so disconnected we are from meaning, one another, and ourselves. To not know how to want, to be unable to be happy, these are the great plague of modern man. To feel so unworthy of love to dwell in a lifetime of denial, rather than face the brilliance of the truth.
Are our true natures really so base and vile as to invite despair and hopelessness to inspire us to our worst, knowing innately that we are indeed doomed, beyond salvation in all it's forms, or perhaps, in reality, too lazy to do the work involved to self-improve?
I have always driven myself, to the point of obsession, to overcome any obstacles of the self that are built into a white, middle class, male human being with one foot in the 20th Century and a firm grasp of the future. I am of the wrong generation, born ahead of my time, living in the past, so caught up with my own faults as to never overcome them but just create opportunities to repeat them, a Phyrrian victory with a Christ Complex structure.
I'm going to be driven mad straight into sanity over the next few weeks. I know I can withstand the blows, for one decade was spent in penance, and another in decadence. In the former I reject complacency and conformity, in the latter I wish only for companionship and consistency. I know no creativity without conflict, I know no peace without stability.
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