I write a lot of vaguely philosophical, rambling nonsense on loose-leaf paper that I fold up and stuff into drawers and between envelopes on my desk, quickly forgotten.
Here is one, lightly redacted to hide my private shit (obviously)
9/17/2014
Sexuality is among the purest forms of human expression. Lust is real – it is kinetic. Love (in the romantic sense) is, essentially, lust with jealousy. Remove jealousy and love is utterly implausible.
In order to better communicate my ideas, each time love is mentioned henceforth it will be in the romantic sense of the word as opposed to love as a general emotion.
Culturally (in our society), love requires monogamy in order to sustain. Monogamy as a concept relies on the suppression of overreaching lust, an essential human expression. Love as we define it cannot survive within the natural spectrum of the human experience – an experience that we all crave in some form or another throughout our lives in varying degrees of severity. Love is based upon lust, possession, and (most importantly) power – the power one holds over another human being. It is degenerative, self-destructive, implausible, and doomed as a concept. Love is a lie. Lust is the only truth in its web of deception.
I exist. No longer am I afraid of that idea. The existence and consciousness noumenon no longer confounds, frustrates, or frightens me – rather it intrigues and excites me. I could wake up in the morning not knowing who or what I am, having no recollection of the life I lived or the places I had been, and still remain calm, collected, and aware. I am grateful for consciousness and I certainly do not wish to lose it. I wonder for how long I can hold onto it. Can it be retained indefinitely and held up against the infinite? Can consciousness exist in the infinite? What is the infinite? Or, what isn’t? I am, so then I must have always been – or some semblance of whatever I am. I wish to remain. The death of the universe is inevitable – I wish to be there in the loneliness of the void as the stars black one by one and life is born anew. Maybe this is what happens every X trillion years: a sentience ascends, defies the laws of existence, and reinvigorates a fledgling universe. I cannot even fathom such a level of perspective. One would have to let go of everything that they know or thought they knew. ((CURRENT NOTE: THE UNFATHOMABLE ARROGANCE OF THOSE LAST FEW SENTENCES IS EMBARASSING!))
I wonder if I have done this before. I know only my own perspective and it is not impossible that nothing else exists in reality at all – that I am all there is – that reality itself is a reflective construct. Would I then have allowed myself to descend back into the physical realm to once again enjoy its simple and small fruit – a lingering fondness for the pleasures of the flesh? I have always fantasized or dreamt that I had been put into the place of my mother’s child whilst he was in his crib – that her original seed was destroyed and I left in its place – an abomination, an abstract outside of nature. I have memories from the crib – some vivid. I was thinking. But there are big gaps in my thinking. My consciousness must have become trapped by the limitations of the flesh. As time passes and I expand metaphysically, philosophically, and intrinsically, I come closer and closer to the knowledge of my own existence.
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