Monday, September 13, 2010

Gosh, I feel ancient.

I do. I have an immortality complex; I am incapable of facing such defeat as death. My idols live in my mind, my God is, hopefully, living in me (though I so often don't feel him). I can not die: for I am me, my only true humanly confidante and only force capable of animating me.

Does this make sense?

I don't feel I could die and "sleep" forever. I have never believed it and could never, ever feel it. I am me, and the force of me is sooo menial, ultimately wortheless, weak, but unquenchable. I will either live forever or burn forever.

I could never end: How could I? I am me, my ways enrapture me. My imagination spreads me over all of history! I am dark and gloomy, as a Victorian; I am free and light, as if I were one who enjoyed youth in the 60s and 70s; I am modern and open, like the general populace around me that irks me so. I am the avatar, now, of my ideal Form. I am the enslaved me staring at Plato's well-known cave wall and laughing, laughing, because I am all I know, and even I can hardly know me! My ideal me finds me just as hilarious and God, whom my Form mirrors, would have mercy on the both of us because life is just funny and absurd when it's not sad.

Is it egotism? Do I believe myself an end to all means, divine and earthly? Do I see myself as superior to all others and the only truly living thing in a world of illusions I construct? No.. My sadness ensures I stay grounded and may harbor silent empathy for others. I hope this shows in other posts, because right now I am the other side of me: the yang that rarely ventures out to replace my yin (both of which are easily forgotten and left by the wayside as I autopilot towards death). I am the hardly-seen side of the true me. Long live my dreams and the depth of my feelings! Long live my faith, so that it may grow. Long live me, so that I may die under grace with a purpose having been served. Long live the night. Long live novels to integrate into my reality. Long live Scotland and it's doppelganger in my head; long live the Smashing Pumpkins; Long live the weak yearn for love that is the more selfish component of my spiritual longing for it. Most of all, long live the Earth and its inhabitants, for I ask mercy upon us all... Never death nor damnation.

"Whir" lyrics

I've wasted all my years
Been chasin' all my fears
For another brighter than you
I gave in long ago to make it to the show,
But it's not easy when you're alone

All your prayers
In my ears
Don't you care?

Whir yourself around
Just to fall back down
Whir yourself around

My honey, little girl
C'mon, lets go for a whirl
It's still early, the sun is sleeping

She says she wants to marry me
She says she wants a baby
It's not easy when you're scared

Whir yourself around
Just to fall back down
Whir yourself around

All your prayers
In my ears
Don't you care?

2 comments:

Wayne said...

You know, it's kind of frightening to read things such this and see how deep you are and to look within myself, only to see that I have renounced my own depth. I often find myself that it has only been temporarily relinquished to a mind made feeble, but who is to say :P...?

Marvin the Martian said...

Of course you're immortal, you haven't lived yet. So you can't fathom what it is to die. In the waning days of World War 2, the Army Air Force found it relatively easy to get 19-year-old P-47 Thunderbolt pilots to attack German trains and ground targets, flying headfirst into a barrage of AA fire, simply because the youngsters felt immortal. To them, it was a joyride. But it was much harder to get the 20, 21, and 22-year-old pilots to do that, because by then, they'd had a taste of mortality, had been injured, or had seen their friends die, and they didn't want any part of it.

Yin, yang, whatever; you're a wonderful person, and you make the world a better place, whether you know it or not.