#existentialism
“There is no ultimate meaning. There never was.”
But we can string along small joys of simply being alive — a sip of coffee, the tender touch of another, the laughter shared with a friend, the brilliance of a sun-drenched gradient sky.
Beyond that, we force meaning to create purpose, to feed our tireless minds, and to avoid the truth.
The truth? We are so fucking afraid. We are terrified to sit in silence, scared we might suffocate under the weight of our unlived potential.
But slip into that quiet void, just once. Stare at the sky for a minute longer. Gleam into the eyes of someone you love. Listen to music without lyrics. Eat a grapefruit or a scoop of ice cream. Let it sit on your tongue a little longer. Percolate on the wonders of even just being alive.
Let the rest fall back. Let the noise return to its dungeon. Let the racket die down.
Remind, remind, remind—
There is nothing to fear. The universe loves you because it made you. You don’t need any other reason to exist.
March 26 2021. 12:14pm. Couch.
What’s the point?
⇘
What was ever the point?
‘Construction of Man.’
Really want to try and make a nonsensical comic in this sort of style . Future me, I hope we motivate our brain enough to let this happen.
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…
Does our self-image get in the way of us living our lives?
” ‘Know thyself’ is not just silly advice: it’s actively dangerous”, so reads the title of an essay from Aeon Magazine (Found here). The accusation is that you can not know yourself because you change over time, and therefore to know yourself is a mistaken notion. At most, you can only know who you were at one point in time. Therefore, concludes the author, trying to define who you are is a bad…
My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops ?
―Cloud Atlas.
Post link
I agree. Cats are tiny demons.
Exist
—
Sometimes I ask myself
“Do I exist?”
Or is there nothing there
In the spaces between my fingertips
Just a dead stare
And a visible tear
A hole where my heart should be
I find myself through other people
Because my own reality seems feeble
Their thoughts of me seem more real
Than my own thoughts and how I feel
Does anyone out there hear me?
Does anybody out there care?
Or am I just wasting my words
Drowning in this personality game?
I walk to up every single person
To strike up a conversation
With the hidden intent of learning
From them, to tell me about myself
Whether I should be loved or hated
Whether I’m important or worthless
And maybe
Just maybe
If I truly exist
…
Existentialism & The Internet
I am so high right now
“There is a hole at the center of everything, and it is always growing. Between the stars I am seeing it. It is coming, and you are not escaping, and the universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, and there is nothing to remember it, not even the things beyond. And now there is only the hole… You are atoms, and your atoms are not caring if you are existing. Your atoms are monstrous existence.”
“All great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks, in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity.”— Friedrich Nietzsche (via henretta84)
“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.”— Carl Jung
“The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you’ll never have.”
–Søren Kierkegaard
At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman.
Albert Camus
“It is certain that we cannot escape anguish, for we are anguish”
– Jean-Paul Sartre, “Being and Nothingness”
“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you’ve felt that way.”
–Charles Bukowski
