Probably the most compelling piece of escapism that will exist in our time.
I came about in the most peculiar of places,
Meandering through the murky wood, staggering, seeing many faces,
Where upon the mist, I found myself,
Burning at wits end,
He stood awkwardly sturdy, yet among the trees he seemed weightless.
“What is it?” He asked, “what mistook you?”
I’ve navigated the darkest yawning wood yet these eyes miss the most obvious of hues.
“Is there a love such as that which a fault will pose for your practice?
Or perhaps the dreams of man, a requiem for a closed casket?
You see, I yearn for a love that has yet to be received,
My heart is cold, as many have sunken beneath its sundering beat.
This is place shares the same; it’s chilled with subtle wavelengths,
Stumbling back and forth through my seemingly abysmal mental landscape.”
Okay, let’s sit and watch the dawn of new bitter aspects,
I’ve got a scepter in hand so the jackals can’t bother with waiting, que the news and infotainment fucking flash steps,
12 more, accompanied by a smorgasbord of good men,
Prospects setting sail across setting sun badlands.
It’s a good one,
Believe me, I’ve seen it,
I lost my nerve long time ago, but now I’m thinking clearly enough to feel it.
Trust me I know that sob story,
I’m on shoe string budget,
I can’t tilt the bucket full loose ends, I’m no culprit.
But we know every man has is day,
Okay you’ve convinced me, I’ll attend your open letter ritual,
Just like the ol’saying goes, same window, different visual -
And it’s so serene,
I’ll risk it all for a shiny sword, new coat, dollar, and a dream.
Solute the embrace, the warhorse can’t stumble much longer,
They told me it was my duty to be a soldier.
So here’s my letter, it’s fascinating.
Above me, substance yet to sentence,
A man purposely covers one eye to miss half of the premise,
And so we dream - Just a little more.
It ain’t no easy pickens, but the train I’m riding has me set til my dignity itches,
Heavy heaving, my breath’s too dense to fold beneath the red wake,
Weaving all my hard earned time down the fucking drain.
Well, I guess I’m done believing,
There’s no dream to live with my halo running low on helium,
I’m no more than the dim life that lit my monitor,
Prop me up another as a parody of my character.
It’s all worth while,
It’s all there, I promise,
Another dollar here and there, I swear I’ll have the bulb lit. (someday)
Now, I ain’t gonna go off and say I’m to blame,
But the cat’s meow is just too nice to look away, I swear,
Pardon me while I commence the family function,
I haven’t touched a soul in years, but the kids seem to love it.
I’m constantly in a state of ambivalence, always neutral, always observant. I can’t help but feel like I’ve been tricked into all this, by my own thoughts and conceptual understandings. It’s all so fucking frustrating, especially when I have the over whelming urge to write or express myself in some fashion. I have these intentions of writing such profound thoughts and observations, yet each time I go to write them all down, my hand freezes right as it touches the paper. Whether it be anxiety, or lacking competence, perhaps even both - I struggle to produce anything whatsoever. I am not capable of partaking in conviction, or campaigning for higher purpose; I will merely deconstruct any and/or all ‘feeling’ to be had with it, to the point where it no longer can be considered such.
I’ve always found it interesting that I can be so observant and self-aware of my being and actions, yet I can do very little to stop them. Detached? Surely, sprinkle some ‘2nd person narrative’ in there, and that’s how I perceive myself in a nutshell. Not to sound like a pretentious cock or anything.
Music has a great influence on my realm of thought, as does with most people I would assume… Perhaps I’ve been listening to too much Insomnium? With their poetic, yet dark and relatively sorrowful lyrics it’s easy to see why I’ve been so down on myself. Wait, is there such a thing as too much Insomnium?
PS. I know the INTP tag is a bit over saturated, but bear with me here.
PSS. I had initially intended on writing a short story tonight, but that didn’t go so well as you can see. This blog is a direct result of my frustrations with that short story.
Probably the most compelling piece of escapism that will exist in our time.
Love; perhaps the richest of morsels our ego can fathom. It dwells within all of us, presupposing of its truths and morals, casting the purest of light into the unknown. But of course we must speak with such vague intent; a man knows not what love is, he merely knows of inspiration. All he needs then is to figure the reasons why.
Having done a bit of reading on MBTI, I’ve come across a good number of stereotypes that INTP’s are infamous for. Since I have a considerable interest on the subject, I felt the need to compare and contrast for the sake of clarity… and possibly some self-deprecation.
40 living at home in their parents basement.
Well, I’m not 40 yet, and my father doesn’t have a basement. So ha!
To an extent, sure, though I would argue that ‘deprived’ isn’t necessarily the most suitable term, given that it could possibly suggest there is nothing to gain from my reclusive nature.
I prefer “enthusiast,” but if it can’t be helped…
Strictly speaking, yes, but considering the absurdity of the word itself, I typically vibrate towards ignosticism when partaking in a social circumstance.
Well, I mean… you know…
‘Anti’ implies a conscious acknowledgement or understanding of their condition, as well as a lack of consideration for their surroundings (and possibly empathy). I would argue that there is more of an asocial tendency here. Perhaps it’s merely a play on words, in which I would be inclined to grant you, but if I were to dabble with the semantics of it all for just a moment: An anti-social person has the intention of being so, as opposed to an asocial person who is merely acting on dispositionalism. This is not to say asocial tendencies can not develop into anti-social ones, but chances are it would be unintentional. If a person’s means of self-reflection were based entirely on the negation of social aspects, existentially speaking, anti-social behavior would be likely to be accepted by that individual. Perhaps a meaningless dichotomy, but one I felt was worth mentioning.
OKAY YOU CAUGHT ME.
I utterly despise those who self identify as a ‘nerd’ or ‘geek.’ As if it was something to flaunt or be recognized for, a sense of entitlement perhaps? It’s just as bad as the people who feel the need to tell other people that they don’t care what others think, or giving yourself your own nickname, or even worse those who manage the indecency to talk about how modest they are. Don’t do it kids, you’re better than that. But if I had to confirm or deny such an accusation, I certainly could not deny it.
Actually, no, I know very little. In comparison to my father (or anyone who doesn’t understand modern technology) I may seem somewhat knowledgeable, but in any other circumstance I may as well start drooling on myself.
I’m not going to for one second pretend like I know enough about psychology to speak of such matters. While the symptoms characterized by SPD are familiar to me, in no way am I going to conclude it’s prevalent in my being.
“While I was still in the US Air Force, I started losing sleep, until I was only able to sleep maybe 2 hours a night. My doctor ordered all kinds of blood tests, and he sent me to Hawaii for a sleep study to see if I had sleep apnea. He sent me 2 weeks early for a one night sleep study, so I took the opportunity to see the sights on Oahu.
I was staying at a hotel near the airport. It had a good sized pool and a decent bar, so I decided to lay out by the pool for the first few days until I got used to the time zone difference. Several hours into my poolside lounging, a really attractive woman about my age sat down on the lounge chair next to mine. Her name was Gina, and she asked if I could put some suntan lotion on her back. I agreed, and we started talking about the usual things (what brought us to Hawaii, our jobs, etc.) After we had been chatting for a few hours, she invited me on a bus tour of the island. She said she had purchased a ticket for a friend, but the friend had decided to go to the Waikiki beach with a guy she had met the night before.
So we went on the bus tour. It took us around the perimeter of the island, stopping at points of interest. It was a pretty standard tour, but Hawaii has some beautiful scenery. One of the last stops was at a seafood stand for a lunch break. Gina and I both got some sort of shrimp pasta, and it was delicious.
About an hour later, the bus tour ended and they deposited us at our hotel. Gina and I decided to go get some drinks at the bar and have them sent to my room so we could “watch TV”.
So as we got to my room, I notice that I didn’t have a couch, so I said that we would have to use my bed. As the words were leaving my lips, she got a pained look on her face, said that she’d be right back, and ran from the room.
I was kicking myself for blowing it. I couldn’t put my finger on what I had done or said that would cause her to flee in such a manner, but I knew it had to be something. Maybe my bed line wasn’t as smooth as I had thought.
Then it hit me. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut. All the food I had eaten in the last 24 hours rushed to my bowels. I booked it for the bathroom. I knew I had only a few seconds before I shit myself.
As I was about to unzip my pants, there was a furious banging at my door and Gina started screaming, “Let me in! Let me in!!!!!!!”.
Thinking that she was being chased by a rapist or something, I rushed to the door, trying desperately not to shit my pants. I opened the door and Gina rushed in, ran right into my bathroom, and locked the door.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I kicked open the door (the door frame was cheap wood and it buckled like a house of cards).
Gina was sitting on the toilet screaming at me to get out. As I took off my pants, I told her that she was either going to move forward so we could sit back to back, or that I was going to sit in her lap and shit all over her, but either way, it was going to happen in the next 10 seconds. She scooted forward, and we sat back to back, each of us having pretty explosive diarrhea.
Do you know the feeling you get when you know you are going to vomit soon? I started feeling that feeling. I looked around for something to puke in. All I could find within arms’ reach was a trash can. I hadn’t used it yet, so it was empty. I picked it up and put it in my lap.
A few seconds later, Gina said, “I’m going to throw up!!”.
I told her to turn around and face me. I turned around as well. So we sat there, face to face, having explosive diarrhea and taking turns vomiting into a trash can.
After it was over, she left my room. I never saw her again.”
Quite honestly, that has to be the most fucked up version of perfection… ever. I would have married that woman, without a modicom of doubt. The chances of sharing such a profound, revealing moment as this with another human being is astronomically minimal. After that, nothing would be sacred, everything would be honest and open - how a relationship should be. Besides, imagine how enthused you’d be to answer the inevitable ‘how’d you two meet’ questions from family and friends. Absolutely brilliant.
An acorn in itself lacks nothing, it simply is what it is. But if we are to understand it as a potential oak tree, it must be judged in terms of the oak tree that is presently lacking (is yet to be). The meaning of the acorn is based on the non-being of the oak tree, in which the acorn presently lacks. The acorn in itself does not lack the oak tree, the acorn lacks the oak tree only for a consciousness that is capable of projecting forward in time, towards the non-being of the oak tree. It’s the non-being of the oak tree that gives an acorn its meaning for consciousness, the acorn is understood as what it is by virtue of what it lacks.
Perhaps, the most difficult truth to face is that there will always be something lacking - boredom, dissatisfaction; always waiting for a current problem to become a thing of the past. You will always be looking for some kind of future fulfillment, always striving for more. That is simply the nature of consciousness, so it would seem.
A person will always lack the future in which they are constantly heading. The future which gives a person meaning to their present state and actions, as well as beyond them, which they hope (in vain) to be fulfilled. Onward into the endless march in time they go, towards a future that is presently lacking - yet, a future that will fall into the past as soon as it is reached. It could be said that this endless march cheats us of who we are, what we aim to achieve. But in all honesty, I feel that is exactly what and/or who we are - an endless march in time.
A list of speculative inquiry assessing some personality typology, because I have too much time on my hands. By no means am I an authority on the subject, I’ve merely just begun to dabble with its secrets, but thanks to the internet I can play psychologist! Even if it be on the most rudimentary of levels…
Myself - INTP
Ryan - INFP
Leondro - ISTJ
Shae - ISTP
David - ESTJ
Randall - INTJ
Amanda (red) - ISFP
Taline - ISFJ
Christopher (AIP) - ESFP
Matt (AIP) - ISFP
Dom (AIP) - ESTP
My father - ESFJ
My sister - ESFJ
My mother - INFP
So, what do you think? Am I close?