Journal 40
A few years back i read "The Illustrated Man" by Ray Bradbury.
One story was about a man who was in a space shuttle surrounded by nothing. He started to think that nothing was real and only materialized when you touched it. Everything was a figment of his immagination.
This idea made me think a lot. I've had dreams like it. It's depressing as fuck.
When I was a kid i worried that my life wasn't real, that I was dreaming it all. When I got older i hoped it was true.
So many crazy things in this world. The 2 closest points are also the two most furthest apart depending on how you look at it.
So much shit and just 80 to 90 years to think about it all, it just doesn't seem fair.
A few years back i read "The Illustrated Man" by Ray Bradbury.
One story was about a man who was in a space shuttle surrounded by nothing. He started to think that nothing was real and only materialized when you touched it. Everything was a figment of his immagination.
This idea made me think a lot. I've had dreams like it. It's depressing as fuck.
When I was a kid i worried that my life wasn't real, that I was dreaming it all. When I got older i hoped it was true.
So many crazy things in this world. The 2 closest points are also the two most furthest apart depending on how you look at it.
So much shit and just 80 to 90 years to think about it all, it just doesn't seem fair.
i have three moods, really, or three stages of thinking that i cycle through. there's the pondering one. it's conducive to sitting around by myself, doing a lot of writing, thinking, drawing. then there's the anti-pondering one. it's conducive to heavy drinking, but not the depressed sort of heavy drinking. it's sort of a very shallow sort of nihilism. i don't want to wax philosophical, i don't want to discuss the finer points of human existence. i want to live. i want to raise hell and drink myself to death, because i figure that the answer to that great ever-pressing question of "why" is simply, "why not?" in knowing there are no answers, i'm free from the search for them. and then there's the darkest, lowest mode of thinking. it's the sour, low-down and hateful one. where i'm bogged down by the world and everything in it, and nothing helps, not the company of friends, not booze enough to sail a damned ship on, not anything. and i sit and stare and don't talk to anyone, just mill about and let the voices in my head take over. and i get real hopeless and think i'm never going to come back to life.
and these three stages go round and round, last for varying increments of time, sometimes days, sometimes weeks, sometimes months. but it always comes around, eventually.
and right now, i've been thinking the same shit you have. and i've been watching highlander again, which makes me even madder because i could sure as hell use an extra two or three hundred years. because good or bad or worst, however it might be, there's always more beyond the next curve. there's always another story to tell, another story to hear, another experience, another lesson, another chance to teach... hell. why not live forever? maybe i will. if i figure out how, i'll sure as hell let you know. it's like the last line from one of my favorite movies. "i hope we never die!... think there's any chance of it?"