there’s a lot of time spent minimizing. there are quotes by the tumblr favorites carl sagan and neil degrasse about the immensity of our universe. but even in their words, bloated with astronomical knowledge, is a feeling of understatement. there are no words to measure the universe. it is bigger than what finite vowels or consonants we make up.
but there’s a lot of time spent minimizing.
it begins with the idea of a living space. an area agreed upon by all that it is yours to do what you want with, and allow who/what ever you choose to.
then, a space within that space. a segment dedicated to all things you.
then, a screen within that space. a square that feeds you the entertainment you’d prefer.
and, within that screen, is a series of communications that allow it to connect to an even smaller screen. one which you can take out of your space with you.
even outside your made up corner of the universe, you are allowed to minimize the world.
when you’re allowed the time to chase the tails of this thought it becomes very hard to do something and pretend it matters. over time you tell yourself things that you are, what you have to do to get what you want, etc. but these are just means of minimizing the case; that the universe is incalculably massive, and it doesn’t care.
this hollows things out. makes life seem like a personally-tailored facade. one moment, you’re a student out to set the world on fire. and in an instant, it becomes clear you’re a biological what-the-fuck that just so happens to think enough to pretend you’re not.
this is where things get dangerous. it’s very subjective right now. subjectivity is a feisty fuck. it charms you, like the warm sensations of a soft, heavy voice to the ears. tells you what you want to hear. what you’d prefer. its foreplay is fantastic.
it plays this game for a while. at first you’re not interested. you search around for the objective. but then, at your most vulnerable, it whispers the echos of everything you’ve experienced. it convinces you with its self-made knowledge of life. once pragmatic, you start to solidify. its whims are too much. you can’t even perceive where the foreplay ends, and the real fuck begins.
the proverbial first base, except, it’s your entire life.
at what point does it move on. can it even move on. does it know any other tricks, or is life reduced to your brain telling you what it thinks is true.
life is boring when you’re not mad.
we neglect just how much pain is required to make a person attractive to us. as in, for someone to be attractive, they’ll have to have endured a certain amount of emotional/physical toil. it varies from person to person, but generally if you’ve gone through more shit, you will be seen as more attractive.
i don’t think people are naive. i think they’re aware of this. but only in glimpses. and then this sort of sadistic standard for beauty is tucked away when we’re wrapped up in how much we like someone.
and then we wonder why shit’s fucked up.