To be a pessimist
It is no flippant sentiment to say that Cioran is my number one thinker, I trust his insights into the bleak view of life, world and people, of the past, philosophy, even the mystics.
But he doesn't rage, his is a subdued sigh, an ironist with dancing thoughts, dancing around the bonfire of a pell mell ruin.
The artistic giving up of Pessoa's Book of Disquiet is in the same vicinity.
Nietzsche is a dear pal with fire in his words, but with too many problematic curlicues, he can't be trusted like my dear Cioran.
All it is, all I go on about here is confined to literature, and as literature's domain is wide it also deals with life, but it's still just literature.
Of music, films and literature, the greatest of them is literature. That is what I wholeheartedly devote the rest of my life to.
Music comes 2nd as life without music would be a mistake.
Oh my dear cyber family, cyber community, there are hang ups we all have don't we? I have mine for sure, and I make a big deal about them, but perhaps it's only because I never really get a chance to vocalize it, here i'm attempting that, but as it is felt, it should be expressed, nothing I've ever expressed matches how it is felt.
It is like a violent tearing asunder, of everything around you, of seeing others right there making merry when all hell is set loose, do I have special eye sight? Hell no, it's something more tricky to explain, something that if I could explain I believe would drive men and women who would understand it to lose their minds.
These are just rambling sorts of sentences and thoughts, and don't mean a thing.
Even if expressed adequately, what would it do except distance and isolate, alienate and maybe others already know these things, in order to live our lives we can't dwell on them, and for me I could say that it's simply that time again when I embrace these kinds of things, to gaze in a stupified wonder at it all, at the things in the past, always the past, abandon the present please please do, the current burns the eyes and mind, it's horrific, it's amazing that newscasters can smile and laugh, well it's what they're paid for, selling chaotic doldrums but with a smile, professionalism.
Part of my gist that I fail to get across is that the most depressing and ugly sentiments that can be voiced in words is necessary, I want it, I need it to work through things.
I once let rip my dark thoughts to a friend in an email long time ago, and the response was that I can't think like that. HA!!! you must only think happy thoughts was the message there, well happy thoughts is all fine and dandy, I try to share as much positivity as I can in responding to others, but for myself I cannot be doing just that, I need to give myself a strong and vigorous diet of nastiness, of the worst imaginable, so yeah, I could use the worst things on the internet too, under the umbrella of morbid curiosity. But no dark web, I don't get the allure of that, all I can sense from that is illegal activities, what I need is the most extreme versions of thought oriented things, not a hit man to take anyone out, or God forbid those other things it provides.
I love the attempt of expressing myself in these terms, I do it badly, I need to hone my skill, so as to be my own idealized version of Cioran, who is indeed mellow and laid back as he peruses the despairing details of life.
There is no inkling of that as of yet, but i'll work on it!!
But he doesn't rage, his is a subdued sigh, an ironist with dancing thoughts, dancing around the bonfire of a pell mell ruin.
The artistic giving up of Pessoa's Book of Disquiet is in the same vicinity.
Nietzsche is a dear pal with fire in his words, but with too many problematic curlicues, he can't be trusted like my dear Cioran.
All it is, all I go on about here is confined to literature, and as literature's domain is wide it also deals with life, but it's still just literature.
Of music, films and literature, the greatest of them is literature. That is what I wholeheartedly devote the rest of my life to.
Music comes 2nd as life without music would be a mistake.
Oh my dear cyber family, cyber community, there are hang ups we all have don't we? I have mine for sure, and I make a big deal about them, but perhaps it's only because I never really get a chance to vocalize it, here i'm attempting that, but as it is felt, it should be expressed, nothing I've ever expressed matches how it is felt.
It is like a violent tearing asunder, of everything around you, of seeing others right there making merry when all hell is set loose, do I have special eye sight? Hell no, it's something more tricky to explain, something that if I could explain I believe would drive men and women who would understand it to lose their minds.
These are just rambling sorts of sentences and thoughts, and don't mean a thing.
Even if expressed adequately, what would it do except distance and isolate, alienate and maybe others already know these things, in order to live our lives we can't dwell on them, and for me I could say that it's simply that time again when I embrace these kinds of things, to gaze in a stupified wonder at it all, at the things in the past, always the past, abandon the present please please do, the current burns the eyes and mind, it's horrific, it's amazing that newscasters can smile and laugh, well it's what they're paid for, selling chaotic doldrums but with a smile, professionalism.
Part of my gist that I fail to get across is that the most depressing and ugly sentiments that can be voiced in words is necessary, I want it, I need it to work through things.
I once let rip my dark thoughts to a friend in an email long time ago, and the response was that I can't think like that. HA!!! you must only think happy thoughts was the message there, well happy thoughts is all fine and dandy, I try to share as much positivity as I can in responding to others, but for myself I cannot be doing just that, I need to give myself a strong and vigorous diet of nastiness, of the worst imaginable, so yeah, I could use the worst things on the internet too, under the umbrella of morbid curiosity. But no dark web, I don't get the allure of that, all I can sense from that is illegal activities, what I need is the most extreme versions of thought oriented things, not a hit man to take anyone out, or God forbid those other things it provides.
I love the attempt of expressing myself in these terms, I do it badly, I need to hone my skill, so as to be my own idealized version of Cioran, who is indeed mellow and laid back as he peruses the despairing details of life.
There is no inkling of that as of yet, but i'll work on it!!
46-50, M
