I'm still pluggling away, tinkering with a matrix library (boost::numeric::ublas) to force it to read my Fractions ... I may use boost::rational instead. Trust me. None of it really seems worth the trouble, but it keeps me from feeling oppressed by the emptiness of existence itself.
I have noted your diet. I got word from my nephew. He is heading into the forests tomorrow from wherever he is. He is also losing interest in regualr meals. My heart has been heavy, and I sometimes feel the nature of our predicament intensely, where I am weary of interacting with others. It's all just too goddamn depressing!
I'm back smoking the cheap pipe tobacco after a careless few weeks (last month) of smoking one pack of class A cigarettes after another [Natural American Spirit BLACKS]. I had to give them up. TOO EXPENSIVE ... causing daily anxiety. I'm better off just suffering with the cheap crap.
The thing is, Holden, I see my nature. I see how easily any one of us can be made to feel ridiculous by our circumstances. Just having to move one's bowels ... well?
Consider the complications of just tinkering with a C++ library to suit one's purposes. Think of the kind of night that makes for. One has to be quite lonely and bored just to be able to "get into it." And yet, once I acclimate myself to the depressing mood, I understand that I am better off continuing with my little "university of one" than succumbing to total misery (and mistakenly believing that relief can be purchased).
You see Holden, I can never be certain if it is "the state of the world," the nature of existence, or just my own nervous system manipulating my feelings to get what IT wants. The mind is a tricky thing. I do not want to be the victim of my own consciousness, but I am afraid this may be the case for each and every one of us.
How to explain? Am I doing what Cioran suggested as far as Thinking Against Oneself? I have recognized that the only ingredient necessary for misery is a sense of lack. It really is maddening, so maddening that I have difficulty articulating it without repeating the same things over and over again. To open up to others about such things is to invite mockery. Many find such sensitivity the sign of a weak mind, but is it so? I mean, doesn't it take a bit of courage to question the true nature of our existence?
We are supposedly mankind, we are supposed to be these nationalities, these ethnicities with identifiable traits, but are not we more akin to things like hunger, tiredness, existential angst, frustration, discomfort, anger, etc?
I find it ironic that, if I suddenly had access to funds, my wants and demands would intensify. That is, there may be some poetic truth to the whole "blessed are the poor" thing (although it is a hard pill to swallow). When there is no hope of relief, I, or "it," this Creaturely Presence, seems to suffer LESS, not more. When I have hope of attaining some relief (whether in the form of good tobacco or something even nicer to smoke), it becomes an obesession until I get relief - and the relief does not really last, worried about it disappearing up into smoke .... I can't help but recognize myself as this foolish creature, but that's where it ends. I do not feed into the guilt, sin, and self-blame.
Are people generally ashamed of their own misery? I mean, do they mistakenly assume that they might reach a state of "having their head together"?
This life is just all too creepy. After a long time on our own, after suffering through the anxiety and frustration, we might learn not to want, or at least to want less and less.
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