Toilet Ruminations #97

I am a terribly troubled person. I am conflicted by almost everything. Few things am I able to abide by for any constant period of time. What will upset me today is something that I wish will not upset me yesterday. What causes me a great deal of distress today will mean nothing to me tomorrow. I will act rationally in one moment only to realize that it was completely irrational in the next moment. I will want one thing now but do little to make it happen. I am continually in pursuit of avoidance. Avoidance of doing the hard work. I would rather drink, be preoccupied with petty dramas, read, masturbate, fantasize about sex, get stoned, clean my house, go for walks and do everything that I can to avoid the solitude of doing the work. But maybe work is overrated. Especially any kind of creative work. After all, in a few hundred years it will no longer matter to anyone. So why preoccupy oneself with it now? Why not live free from the burden of feeling like you should work? Work doesn’t get anyone anywhere yet we all still habitually pursue it. But maybe genius is the ability to always be working. Genius is process and not end result. Maybe I am too confused with end results rather than the preoccupation with process. If genus is the preoccupation with process and not end results then I am just fine. I could work more, without a doubt, but I have done just fine. But still I remain a terribly troubled person. Always upset with something or someone. Never filled up enough within my own skin. Always being tormented and perverted by thoughts and ideas that I do not want to pervert me. Or maybe I do want these thoughts and ideas to pervert me but what I do not want is to feel bad about it. Certain choices that I allow my desires to make I almost always end up feeling remorseful about. But I do not want to feel bad about the choices my desires make. My desires are attempting to liberate me from the conventionality and boredom which I can hardly take. But I do romanticize a quiet life. A life less compelled by the desire to kidnap and have constant sexual experiences. A life less dominated by hatred and disdain. Less motivated by a need to be somebody particular. I would like a life where I could just read and do whatever creative work I want. I can focus on being a consumer of the cultural artifacts that I like rather than needing to pursue these endless sexual conquests that start as degenerate fantasies in my mind. A quiet life is a life where one can disspaear into a life of the mind and not be compulsively compelled outside by desire. A quiet life has tempered the sharp flames of desire and retired into filling the empty moments of time with quite things. Reading, gardening, cooking, painting, listening, observing, conversation- things like these compose a quiet life. A quiet life is not altered or put in jeopardy by one’s own insatiable appetites. There is little self-destruction in a quiet life. There is even less capitalism.  It is calm and steady cruising at a high altitude. I often crave this kind of life and am angry at myself for not being able to fulfill this craving. The craving for the undesired quiet life is the most difficult kind of craving. Desires always move in the opposite direction of quiet and to crave something that one does not desire is to live in confusion. If I could find a way to divorce myself from these desires that demand debauchary and self-destruction and intoxication and fun and transgression and sexual depletion and jealousy and drama and other people as ways of alleviating the boredom and banality of life, then maybe I would get closer to this quiet life that few desire but most crave. For now, all I seem to want to do is to keep surrendering to my desires which propel me towards more trouble.  The flesh has a pull that the quiet life can not contend with.

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