“Everything is possible, and yet nothing is. All is permitted, and yet again, nothing. No matter which way we go, it is no better than any other. It is all the same whether you achieve something or not, have faith or not, just as it’s all the same whether you cry or remain silent. There is an explanation for everything, and yet there is none. Everything is both real and unreal, normal and absurd, splendid and insipid. There is nothing worth more than anything else, nor any idea better than any other. Why grow sad from one’s sadness and delight in one’s joy? What does it matter whether our tears come from pleasure or pain? Love your unhappiness and hate your happiness, mix everything up, scramble it all! Be a snowflake dancing in the air, a flower floating downstream! Have courage when you don’t need to, and be a coward when you must be brave! Who knows? You may still be a winner! And if you lose, does it really matter? Is there anything to win in this world? All gain is loss, all loss is gain. Why always expect a definite stance, clear ideas, meaningful words? I feel as if I should spout fire in response to all the questions which were ever put, or not put, to me.”
You made it useless but also prevented it from the end it was predestined for.
But wait this is actually freaking me out though, it raises so many questions about the otherwise incomprehensible meaning of life as a collective whole versus personal sustenance and longevity
Imagine if one day you were given a choice: Become immortal and indestructible for eternity, unable to be harmed by anything ever again, and get to live forever.
However, in order to achieve that you must give up whatever your purpose in life is. Whatever it is that you were always meant to do, what you were supposed to contribute to the overall scheme and future of the life of the universe, your purpose… the whole reason you were even created, even born in the first place. You must give that up. You don’t know whatthatis. You’ll never know; But, regardless, you say yes.
Perhaps you assume you wouldn’t have made any sort of significant difference anyway. That butterfly effect theory or whatever they call it? Nah, you call bullshit. It doesn’t matter - youdon’t matter, at least not to anything outside of your immediate connections - and it’ll all be fine, and you’ll just live forever with minimal (or maybe even no) consequences.
So, yay! You’re now immortal. You’ll never die or get hurt ever again. Wee!
But then, centuries and centuries later (not to mention that by this point you’ve gone through horrible heartbreak and misery and despair because every loved one you ever had, every friend you ever made, ever person you barely got to know, has passed away, died as you lived on long without them, helpless to do anything for them as you watched them perish, unable to ever go with them or ever see them again. But I digress), now, you learn you actually were important in the grand scheme of things. You were supposedto be a key factor in the world’s survival, long ago; but, because of the choice you made (immortality over individual purpose), you were never given the knowledge or awareness or resources or ability to save the world that you werealways supposed to obtain, before you unknowingly made the wrongest choice to ever wrong.
Needless to say, you’ve fucked up big time.
The entire universe as we know it is destroyed soon after this horrifying revelation. It implodes, collapses in on itself, essentially forming a massive black hole or something. Stars, nebulae, galaxies, solar systems and planets, worlds and worlds of living people and things, and light-years of time and space and life, all sucked up into absolute, indefinite nothingness.
But you remain.
Just you. Floating amongst, spiraling around, rocketing through, suspended in… nothing. With a feeling of such unbelievable loneliness that your feeble brain can hardly perceive, can’t possibly hope to comprehend. Not only are you the only living thing left, you don’t even have one inanimate object to keep you company. You have literally. Nothing. And you are literally nowhere. I mean, technically, you are now the universe - if it would bring you petty comfort to think about it that way. You. Only you. With nothing, no one, nowhere. Forever. And ever. And ever.
All because you thought you didn’t matter. That you had no real, meaningful purpose. That you could never possibly make a difference.
But you did. And now look what you’ve gotten yourself into, you silly nugget. You’re gonna be pretty bored and lonely for that eternity, huh?
Or maybe it was out of selfishness. Maybe this wasn’t because you felt useless, but because you simply only cared about prolonging your own life and nothing else. Hm.
The moral here? Be selfless, and always know and remember that you matter.
Or else, one day, you might destroy the universe. And be left to suffer, and be tortured horribly and endlessly by the void of nothingness that has consumed you. With no way to escape. Ever.
Other moral because I got sidetracked from my initial point - all things considered, would you choose longevity over purpose? Immortality over meaning?
OR, IDK, MAYBE SOME IDIOT JUST LAMINATED A STUPID PIECE OF PAPER TOWEL FOR NO GOOD REASON
AND MAYBE I SHOULDNT BE LOOKING FOR THE ANSWERS TO THE MEANING OF OUR SHORT, FRAGILE LIVES IN
I wouldn’t say that you’re ‘perfect, just the way you are,’ or ‘everyone is flawed,’ but flaws are the reasonyouexist. Look at it this way, its the flaws, or your quirks, which makes you one of a kind and gives you your identity as a person. If no one was flawed, instead perfect, than how boring would the world be, without an identity or personality. Its these flaws which makes me me and you you. So love yourself for that.
the fact I’m literally stuck in the bouts of insomnia scrolling through tumblr after an onset of anxiety caused by the realisation that I simultaneously feel out of touch with the majority of my friendship group but am too scared to initiate conversation- fuckkkkk
Those negative feelings that arise when you think too much about various aspects of your life, and come to think that you did not achieve even half of the things you promised to yourself
It is my sad duty to inform you that you have just stumbled upon my newly created, miserable little blog where I plan to write and record my various existential and philosophical ramblings about the A Series of Unfortunate Events book and Netflix series as well as the rest of the VFD/Lemony Snicket universe.
My name is Freddy and I have had the miserable task of being a fan of ASOUE for more than ten years now ever since I read the series first at the tender, naive age of seven. With the creation of the Netflix series, and what seems to be a revamp of the ASOUE fandom, I have taken it upon myself to force my words and ramblings upon you in blog form.
I’m currently a college student studying both English Literature and Philosophy (or as I prefer to truncate it: Poverty) so depending on how many people are willing to tolerate what I have to say, I may also include some genuine philosophical analysis here as well.
I advise you to leave, look away, or otherwise ignore this sad, lonely collection of drabble by a sad, lonely man, but if you choose to say, don’t say you were not warned.
the fact that we’re on this earth for a limited time, and in that limited amount of time we can only experience a limited amount of things… we can only read so many books or watch so many movies or listen to so much music. And we will never know what we’re missing out on. And then we’ll be gone. and maybe we do have multiple lives, maybe we do get reincarnated, but we don’t remember our past lives. I can’t tell u what my past lives experienced. I’ll only be able to fall in love in so many ways. I can’t dress in every way i want. i don’t look exactly how i want. I know people i wish i were closer to and there are people i long to meet. This life is so short and i can’t even start to work my way through the bucketlist of life because of these things tying me down. The idea that there will come something so amazing and i’ll never be able to experience it fills me with so much anguish and loss and i genuinely don’t know how to fill that void. so for now i listen to every type of music, i watch shows and movies my friends recommend. I read and I read and I read. And there’s always more. But i guess what is life if not a constant yearning for meaning?
I have been having a bit of an artist’s existential crisis recently. Since we all went into our quarantine-esque state in March, I started working on more realistic looking portraits. I was looking back at the portraits I have created and had the dreaded thought, “oh my….these are riddled with flaws!”. All I could see when looking at these pieces that I was so proud of only a few months ago were flaws and mistakes. I then spent time pondering whether I should be glad I can see the flaws in my earlier pieces and see how much I’ve grown and enjoy my more recent portraits OR should I be embarrassed by what I should have clearly seen as mistakes. This is not the first time I have thought this about my art. I have spent the majority of my almost 27 years of life pursuing art. Sometimes I think I am not at the skill level I would like to be. It’s times like this where I need to remind myself to be proud of my work and my growth and how much I enjoy the process of creating my pieces.
You got to give it to drama queens. They experience their emotions to the fullest, regardless of the annoying stir they cause or the fact that they are so unbearable to most of us. They are passionate about their ‘suffering’. They translate stimuli around them in the most demonstrative way. Now think of the extreme opposite. Not feeling anything. Not just momentarily, but as a persistent state of…
Most people, on waking up, accelerate through a quick panicky pre-consciousness check-up: who am I, where am I, who is he/she, good god, why am I cuddling a policeman’s helmet, what happened last night?
And this is because people are riddled by Doubt. It is the engine that drives them through their lives. It is the elastic band in the little model airplane of their soul, and they spend their time winding it up until it knots. Early morning is the worst time–there’s that little moment of panic in case You have drifted away in the night and something else has moved in. This never happened to Granny Weatherwax. She went straight from fast asleep to instant operation on all six cylinders. She never needed to find herself because she always knew who was doing the looking.
