Author Topic: Dear Diary  (Read 821 times)

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Nation of One

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Dear Diary
« on: July 07, 2014, 08:42:48 pm »


Dearest Abyss,

While out in public today, I caught myself spontaneously admiring my reflection in a tinted window ... tilting my head to one side, I was like, I know that undersized orangutan ... that's me, my best buddy.  I was saying out loud how much more I liked my reflection in this particular glass than in most mirrors ... I don't like my "human" face, but I do like my "ape" skull.  I liked that the beard was growing even longer.

 In a rather carefree manner I began speaking out loud to my reflection.  Then I noticed a trio of seniors walking in my direction.  I thought nothing of it as I was actually enjoying my own company (my reflection).  The male, evidently playing the role of patriarchal authority figure, said to me in a rather snide manner, "Talking to the bushes?"

What an ****.  Trying to ruin my fun.

My pleasant mood was immediately replaced with an urge to tell them that they were doomed, but I repressed the desire.  That's the problem with what I call Gortville (or Gortistan, as some like to call it): people think they can just make snide remarks and get away with it.  I was reminded of Thomas Ligotti's My Work Is Not Yet Done when the protagonist has an exchange with a banker:

    "May I ask why you've decided to close your account with us?" asked the gray-suited man to whom the teller had sent me.  He was sitting behind a desk in a corner of the great vaulted lobby of the bank.

    "Because I despise you," I replied, looking at him straight in the eye from behind amber-tinted eyeglasses.

    "I beg your pardon?"

    "I think you heard me.  This is a bank.  I'd rather carry my money around in my crotch than have it serve the purposes of this institution for another minute."

    The banker, somewhat petulantly, retrieved three forms from the top drawer of his desk and asked me to fill them out.  Two of the forms he kept.  The third he told me to take to the teller who had sent me to him.  "This is a waiver.  You understand that the bank can't be held responsible for cash withdrawals once you've taken possession of your funds.  Even while you're still on the bank's premises, our security guards will not be available for your protection."  As I rose to go back to the teller's window and have all my money loaded into the shoe box I had brought with me, the gray-suited man added, "We sincerely have enjoyed serving you and hope to do so again in the future."  It occurred to me that all civilization was structured so that such people could make snide remarks like that and get away with it.  They had been getting away with it for thousands of years and would continue to get away with it until the end of time. (p. 55-56).

And the gorts will continue to think they can make the madman feel awkward even though they are quite powerless to do so.
« Last Edit: July 07, 2014, 09:31:36 pm by H »
Things They Will Never Tell YouArthur Schopenhauer has been the most radical and defiant of all troublemakers.

Gorticide @ Nothing that is so, is so DOT edu

~ Tabak und Kaffee Süchtigen ~

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Nation of One

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Re: Dear Diary
« Reply #1 on: August 08, 2019, 10:42:35 pm »
It's not my fault that I love oatnut bread, peanut butter, and rasberry preserves. I am my stomach.  Whoever is feeding me must own me, no?    When I - the animal body - am no longer fed, the entire edifice upon which the ego sits perched on high would collapse.
Things They Will Never Tell YouArthur Schopenhauer has been the most radical and defiant of all troublemakers.

Gorticide @ Nothing that is so, is so DOT edu

~ Tabak und Kaffee Süchtigen ~

Nation of One

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Re: Dear Diary
« Reply #2 on: August 26, 2019, 10:03:14 am »
Another long, psychologically challenging night.

I had seen a blind dog.  All he did was walk in circles barking (actually more of a groaning sound).  In these utterances the creture was emitting, I detected pure frustration and mental torment.

I could not shake the image from my mind.  What kind of world have we been born into?   What's in store for each of us?   

I have many technical notes I would like to post here, but - hey - Why bother?   Right?

I am convinced that I am obsessed with studying math and computer programming (and parts of computer science I just barely grasp with my limited experience) because I find this land of milk and honey horrifying.   It repulses me.    No wonder I am an enemy of organized religion and the military, oppressive instituions.

If I were to ever have a tomb stone:

Michael William Hentrich, just another chimpanzee who could read, write, and do a little math.    ::)

He found life to be overwhelming and most likely is better off dead.

I suppose that our mortality is good news, no?   No matter how much we learn, are we not destined to forget it all?    I have notebooks from two summers ago from going over "high school Geometry," and, I have to say, in all honesty, it takes a great deal of concentration to follow ...

And so I wonder if what I am studying today will be remembered or forgotten.

So many abstractions necessary ... there seems to be at least two worlds we inhabit at all times, the objective and the subjective.   So, what does it feel like to be someone like Bjourne Stroustrup, the Creator of C++?

Does he not still need to eat his pancakes?   I want to care about the code.  I want to be curious to figure out how things work, and I embrace the mornings when I am free to follow my bliss.   In order to make any kind of progress (in understanding anything) at all, I have had to detach from "final outcomes" or destinations.

There is no destination.   Until the end, I will forver be behind the eightball, surfing the Learning Curve of Sisyphus.   This world is terrible.  One must hide.  People say the world is filled with hatred, but I think it is more just mass scale frustration and the primordial burden of self-preservation.

How does one speak or write about technical matters without suppressing and ignoring the misery of existence?

« Last Edit: August 26, 2019, 11:32:41 am by gorticide »
Things They Will Never Tell YouArthur Schopenhauer has been the most radical and defiant of all troublemakers.

Gorticide @ Nothing that is so, is so DOT edu

~ Tabak und Kaffee Süchtigen ~

Holden

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Re: Dear Diary
« Reply #3 on: August 26, 2019, 12:28:26 pm »
To have known you,to have known that a man such as yourself could exist is a great relief for me.It tells me that I need not be one of the sheep.You used the word"daydreaming". I rather like it.I am liked a caged bird who likes to sing from time to time. Sometimes I like to imagine I am the young Schopenhauer in Berlin,before had  written The World as Will and Representation. still gathering information. Still pondering. It brings me  measure of solace. Sometimes I imagine that I am a math professor(remember that in these daydreams I tend not to look at the seamy side deliberately) who just lectures and no one asks him any questions and then he goes home (where he lives alone) and he does it over and over again.

Yes, its true, my real life is so grim that I don't think I can manage without daydreaming at all.

Take care.
La Tristesse Durera Toujours                                  (The Sadness Lasts Forever ...)
-van Gogh.

Silenus

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Re: Dear Diary
« Reply #4 on: August 26, 2019, 06:52:15 pm »
How does one speak or write about technical matters without suppressing and ignoring the misery of existence?

It's quite an honest question that I too have wondered about, with no answer.

Really, how does one balance the verge of madness or destructive depression (from looking SQUARE at reality) and the (biological?) need for distraction or escapism? Should we feel guilt for turning a blind eye to the pains of living, or is it an adaptation that is simply out of our control (I personally agree with the latter)?

"And the strict master Death bids them dance."

Nation of One

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Re: Dear Diary
« Reply #5 on: August 26, 2019, 10:58:08 pm »
You know, when I was much younger, before the age of 19, before I read Schopenhauer or Cioran, I devoured Albert Camus' writings.  I think he touched upon this in the Myth of Sisyphus, when he discusses how little mathematical knowledge can assist us with the really crucial question of philosophy, that is, whether or not life is worth living.

How can someone contemplating suicide commit to years of study?

There is something in technical knowledge which leaves the heart feeling empty and dissatisfied.

When I write technically, which I consider most math to be (technical writing), it is as though a huge part of me is silenced. Carl Jung was right when he wrote in his private diary that misery is quite understandable, and that this world is a very depressing place.   

Things They Will Never Tell YouArthur Schopenhauer has been the most radical and defiant of all troublemakers.

Gorticide @ Nothing that is so, is so DOT edu

~ Tabak und Kaffee Süchtigen ~