Existence

Human life must be some kind of mistake. The truth of this will be sufficiently obvious if we only remember that man is a compound of needs and necessities hard to satisfy; and that even when they are satisfied, all he obtains is a state of painlessness, where nothing remains to him but abandonment to boredom. This is direct proof that existence has no real value in itself; for what is boredom but the feeling of the emptiness of life? If life—the craving for which is the very essence of our being—were possessed of any positive intrinsic value, there would be no such thing as boredom at all: mere existence would satisfy us in itself, and we should want for nothing. But as it is, we take no delight in existence except when we are struggling for something; and then distance and difficulties to be overcome make our goal look as though it would satisfy us—an illusion which vanishes when we reach it; or else when we are occupied with some purely intellectual interest—when in reality we have stepped forth from life to look upon it from the outside, much after the manner of spectators at a play. And even sensual pleasure itself means nothing but a struggle and aspiration, ceasing the moment its aim is attained. Whenever we are not occupied in one of these ways, but cast upon existence itself, its vain and worthless nature is brought home to us; and this is what we mean by boredom. The hankering after what is strange and uncommon—an innate and ineradicable tendency of human nature—shows how glad we are at any interruption of that natural course of affairs which is so very tedious.

That this most perfect manifestation of the will to live, the human organism, with the cunning and complex working of its machinery, must fall to dust and yield up itself and all its strivings to extinction—this is the naïve way in which Nature, who is always so true and sincere in what she says, proclaims the whole struggle of this will as in its very essence barren and unprofitable. Were it of any value in itself, anything unconditioned and absolute, it could not thus end in mere nothing.

If we turn from contemplating the world as a whole, and, in particular, the generations of men as they live their little hour of mock-existence and then are swept away in rapid succession; if we turn from this, and look at life in its small details, as presented, say, in a comedy, how ridiculous it all seems! It is like a drop of water seen through a microscope, a single drop teeming with infusoria; or a speck of cheese full of mites invisible to the naked eye. How we laugh as they bustle about so eagerly, and struggle with one another in so tiny a space! And whether here, or in the little span of human life, this terrible activity produces a comic effect.

It is only in the microscope that our life looks so big. It is an indivisible point, drawn out and magnified by the powerful lenses of Time and Space.

On the Vanity of Existence by Arthur Schopenhauer, translated by Thomas Bailey Saunders.

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The Most Depressing 40 Minutes

Just finished listening to the new Saves The Day album, “Daybreak.”

I was depressed before… and nothing changed in the last 40 minutes. It is so so so tempting to listen to uplifting music. But at the same time all music is kinda putting me in a sad mood. So let me not taint upbeat music with this crappy mood.

Living alone is hard. I’m here for 5-6 waking hours every day. The rest of the time I’m asleep while here. But even the few hours is torture and a half. I’m talking like I drove behind a slow car to get home that’s how much I’m avoiding coming here. There’s nothing wrong with my place. In fact I love my apartment. I love the area I live in. I just can’t stand the ALONE part. There is no one to talk to these days.

The people I work with range from mid-30s to 60s. There is nothing to talk about with them… we have nothing in common. So it sustains me… but only just barely. Just barely. And as I’m driving home I feel myself dreading coming home to the emptiness. I just want to… share how my day went. Or chit chat. You know, HUMAN COMMUNICATION. I’m not asking for very much.

Can we just laugh about the commercial on TV that makes little to no sense?

But even that is a luxury.

Loneliness wears people down.

Never thought I would be saying this, but I miss college. There were people my age everywhere. I mean, we were the majority. Real life is full of people younger and older than me. I never can seem to find people my age.

What kills me is that I was there for you when you felt like there was no one for you. Now that I feel like this where are you? Where are you now?

Music of the day: Saves the Day’s “Daybreak,” Thrice’s “Major/Minor,” and Anthony Green live recordings.

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New Needs

There are some new needs in my life to maintain my happiness.

For starters, there is a serious lack of conversation in my life on the things that matter to me, the things I enjoy. These days I enjoy obscure, or foreign films that fall into very specific categories and elicit very specific emotions out of me. I enjoy listening to music far more indie than ever before… again, obscure. And I also enjoy fashion and beauty. I’m no longer in that “makeup community” – considering I no longer work at Sephora, no longer have time to do my makeup every day to the extent that I used to. But… it still interests me. And FASHION. Watching the fashion shows live on my computer monitor is as close as I’m going to get… but there is no one to converse with about it.

Imagine having great news that you just want to share… and no one is interested. That is sort of how it is. I think most of the people I know see fashion as … going to the nearest store and picking clothes that fits/is cost effective/looks pretty.

My ideas on these things are just so very different.

I cannot have conversations with myself. That’s pathetic.

Twitter is currently sustaining my life force. It’s like being involved in the hustle and bustle of what is going on in New York right now: Fashion Week. I need consistent and constant conversation, the feeling that there are things going on all around. Instead I’m here at my desk, at work, where things do not interest me. And there is no one to share my excitement with about what I thought of the fashion shows from this morning.

I mean it’s not just fashion. I watch a film, and thazzit. No one gives a damn because they’ve never seen it, don’t want to see it, or just never will.

When I say things like, “my friends aren’t into x, y, z” I start to realize I don’t even have all that many friends to approach about my interests anyway.

When did it become so hard to find someone with which I have something in common? How did I get the friends I have now? What pulled us together? And why can’t I gravitate towards people that are into the same things I am into? Why is that so difficult?

I love my friends, I would never give them up. But at some point I have to wonder, when am I going to be able to share my interests with someone? And the only reason I need consistent and constant conversation is because I’ve been so starved of it for so long now.

Shit, I graduated in December and since then… hardly any of my friends are/were around because I graduated early. So I had my family for all of these months but I mean come on… family is amazing to hang out with, spend time with, etc. but I cannot talk to them in quite the same way as I do friends.

So, I’m suffering. Yes, I’m getting my daily minimum of human interaction (at work) so I think that keeps me from falling into massive depression. But I get home and I fill up my time with the most mind-numbing bullshit. Anything to fill the void, anything to pass the time, anything to avoid feeling the very slow passing of time. Smoking helps.

All of this sounds so … sad. Not even depressing. Just sad.

So what am I going to do about it? Shit, I mean, what is there to do?

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How To Get Back To That Place

I just feel so hurt.

I never meant to cause you pain
My burden is the weight of a feather
I never meant to lead you on
I only meant to please me, however

When will I get over this? I’ve reached new and exciting stages of my life and I should appreciate them instead of dwelling.

“and in the middle of most nights when I can’t sleep, I still replay you.”

I’m torturing myself. I see that now. And I can smack my forehead all I like, sigh in extreme exasperation, walk around my apartment… none of it will do me any good. What KILLS me is that none of it was a figment of my imagination. There are countless words and instances… FUCK. Even screaming into my pillow does nothing.

Letting go of the best thing in your life and never getting it back… now that’s painful.

Can a heart break over and over again with every line I read?

I can’t live my life like this. I can’t live life, period, until I get over this. I can’t live my daily life doing this, either. But it’s even better than playing back a memory. It is the memory in itself encapsulated.

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