Author Topic: Where are you Mr H?  (Read 916 times)

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Broken Spirit

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Re: Where are you Mr H?
« on: July 14, 2015, 11:10:08 pm »
It is best that you face your authentic reaction to having been born, Holden.  You know that we are in quite a predicament.  Keep writing about it. 

Well, Trachycarpus, I have managed to liberate myself from my self-destructive drinking bouts for the moment, so I am really taking full advantage of the clear mind.  Rather than forking more money over to yet another slumlord, I have decided to stay with my aging mother who appreciates my presence.   I want to stay out of trouble which means I am isolating ... which happens to be very conducive to the current project.

Don't worry about the preservation of the actual notebooks.  85% of what I have written has been entirely for therapeutic purposes, another 10% is scholarly research, and about 5% my own philosophizing ... It took a close call with almost losing them to a slumlord to motivate me to settle down and get an inexpensive scanner.  I just want to be able to read bits of the notes now and then ... and to meditate deeply on some of it ...

Life has been an absurd blur, and I wonder if there is anything we can call a self.  So much of what I have scribbled was about what I intended to happen, and there has been one unforeseen disaster after another.  It makes me appreciate this moment.  I don't know.  I wish some of the thinkers I respect so much, like Schopenhauer and Cioran, had preserved some of their sloppy notes ... like what they worried about on a regular basis ... mundane things like what they ate ... what they slept on ...

In this age of blogs, it is clear that there is a limit to what we will be able to focus our attention on.

Sometimes I am most content just going through some technical information and learning how to issue commands in Linux.  It's ok to be in my own little world.  If I am now obsessed with literature and my own notes, well ... I have much documentation of times where I could barely hold a pen ...

I guess being in a cell this last time made an impression on me where I know what I want to do before I die or disappear.  Our lives may seem very insignificant, and, when we ponder the vastness of time and space, we are dust particles, but this does not correspond to our subjective inner experience.   Within our inner life, we are it. 

Going through my notes before burning them has been like my life flashing before my eyes ... and, while it is all so ridiculous and absurd, I have been contemplative along the way.  Like I placed on the top of this message board, "My intellect has exhausted itself in order to demonstrate its own limitations."

I face the limitations of words.  I'm cherishing tobacco, coffee, and access to literature ... pens, notebooks, and digital computers.  When I look too closely at this world, it is, as Holden suggests above, a swamp of misery.  I still enjoy learning ... I don't own a telephone or watch TV, but I am presently appreciating computer technology, incorporating it into my love of books ...

Ah, there is no security.  It is scary to witness how easily any of us can disappear into the institutions which manage the chaos.  I understand why people want to hide, and I don't blame the Hikikomoris for their total isolation from the work-a-day world.

I no longer try to convince others to escape their harness.  Why have I been blessed with the curse of unemployable personality?  I wonder when the wheels are going to fall off ...

How do you like Red Bank?  I lived there once ... in a group home called Habcore.

The library is alright there ... but there's not enough woods.  There's a bus that goes to Brookdale.  It's a shame education is so expensive.  It might be fun just to take a course for contact with like-minded individuals, huh?
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

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