I’ve been awake for some time now, and I’ve been thinking too much, or, too hard. Either way, I’ll have to start to move my muscles now. Movement doesn’t come naturally; you have to force movement to come about. Some say that there are times when our bodies move on their own, but that’s not what I mean, the unconscious movement of the heart or the lungs aren’t the type of movement I’m talking about. The one I’m talking about is how one gets up from bed; how we stretch, how we scratch our heads, how we open our eyes, how we move from lying on our backs to sitting on our asses as we become more and more woke. That’s the kind of movement I’m talking about. We can’t do all of that without any intention to move, without telling our limbs to move, without having the will to move them, and without telling them to move.
But I don’t know how to, no, I’ve merely forgotten how to do it.
Do I need to continue thinking? Would it help me move? I doubt it. Maybe it’s because I’m too doubtful of others. Suspicion would be the death of me. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve lost due to my suspicion towards them. It doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re gone, they’re very much alive and well, it’s just I don’t hear from them anymore. I don’t know how they are doing, heck I don’t even know who they are anymore. Do they remember me? I doubt that thinking about this, at this time, would help me move.
I don’t know if it’s dark or bright outside. I can’t see anything from where I am. I feel too tired to move away from where I am anyway, there’s no need to move at the moment. There’s no need to do anything when you’re stuck in a place like this, when every thought that passes through your mind already forces upon you the weight of isolation. I don’t think I’m stuck at one point in time and space anymore.
Where am I?
Longing = the agony of the nearness of the distant (Heidegger, 1967).
Maybe I’ll never find the answers to those questions, maybe I’ve already found those answers (or maybe those questions) whilst having my mind probed by the many psychologists I’ve been to. I know that there’s something wrong with my mind, but I don’t know what, and none of those psychologists had ever provided me any answers as to what is wrong with my mind. I swear to god, those people would suck me dry of my allowance, and still they can’t even help me find out what’s wrong with myself. Not to be degrading or anything, but I think years of studying psychology should be enough to make a person become, at least, more sensitive to what could be bothering someone’s mind right? Maybe I’m just too optimistic about the very enterprise of psychology; and optimism is not my thing.
I think I’m going to stop seeking psychological help, therapy doesn’t help. But coffee helps, also whiskey. Booze is a depressant, and caffeine stimulates you, taking both at the same time fucks you up though. I don’t recommend anyone to drink coffee with alcohol. Or maybe, I don’t recommend anyone to consume any psychoactive substances to help them with anything. They don’t help. If humans, the likes of you and me, can’t help someone that’s going through some inner turmoil in their heads, substances can’t. If humans can’t, nothing can. That’s what I’m trying to say. What to do then? Sleep.
Sleep is more of an escape than a need. It’s not a need if you feel the same without it. I guess that’s how I see things. It’s not a need if you’re completely fine without having or taking something. An addict would scratch their eyes and cut open their veins if they don’t get their fix, now that’s a need. Well maybe it’s addiction, but who could tell the difference between ‘need’ and ‘addiction’? I doubt they’re very different from one another. I think both of them exist on the same plane of existence.
I chuckled a bit there as I said ‘existence’, like I know what that is. I may have opinions on existence, but I don’t really get what it’s all about. Some French writers from the 60s that I read wrote whole books about existence, but I doubt I’ve ever finished even one of those books. I’m a lazy reader. I can’t really focus anyway. I guess there’s some drug out there, a miracle drug that would help me boost my focus, some cognitive enhancing snake oil.
I’ve lost count on time. How long have I been awake? An hour? Five hours? A whole day? Or is this night? I guess I’ll have to think about that too.
paham = sebenarnya saya tidak begitu tahu yang sedang kita perkarakan di sini apa, tapi karena saya sudah hidup di dunia lumayan lama, saya dapat menempati satu posisi rasional, dan saya akui mungkin salah atau benar; tetapi ambivalensi tersebut tidak akan saya tunjukkan kepada kamu pada saat ini, mungkin kamu akan memahaminya sendiri, jika dan hanya jika kamu dapat menerawang isi kepala saya apa.
ada orang-orang kurang sehat
makan dan minum sembarangan
ada orang-orang kurang sehat
yang tidak pernah kumandangkan azan
sehat atau tidak sehat itu tergantung hidupnya
kalau ingin sehat, perbanyaklah olahraga
kalau ingin tidak sehat, perbanyaklah ibadah jumat
kalau ingin lebih sehat lagi, jangan tuduh aku sedang kumat
sehat atau tidak sehat itu tidak jelas batasnya
kalau mau sehat, jangan percaya kata-kata ini
kalau mau tidak sehat, jangan sering makan dan coli
kalau mau tidak sehat lagi, jangan makan lalu bunuh diri
aku tidak tahu harus berbuat apa
kalau kau dan dia tidak saling sapa
karena kita adalah manusia yang sehat
katanya sehat, pikirnya tidak sehat
beginilah dunia sampai kiamat
Lets face it, we’re all sick and tire of that classic kind of romantic bullshit where a guy comes out of the blue to safe his sweetheart from danger (or from herself). And be it we change the two positions of guy and girl, or change it to some other non-binary vocabulary, we’re still going to be tired of that shit. Yet, be still dearly long for that exact strain of romantic bullshit. Romance is bullshit.
I don’t blame anyone for wanting that kind of emotional bond between two people, where one receives all the comfort and safety, and the other continuously gives and gives and gives, or it may be they’re more reciprocal than that, but still, bullshit. Bullshit to the core of it. There’s never going to be anyone that would sweep you off your feet to save you from anything or anyone. Those are the kind of shit that got us stuck in this age of romantic pessimism in the first place: our collective disappointment in ideal romances. So fuck that shit.
Fuck that shit and throw it in the trash bin. Crumple that shit up, throw it away as far as your bodily capabilities would let you. Take it by the neck and snap it in half. Kill it. Destroy it.
There’s nothing more than obscene idolatry in romance. That’s the only thing that matters. Worship. Worship matters. Only that and nothing else. Once you’ve found a new God to worship, to lead you to salvation, that new God would be your center of devotion.
Fuck the romantics.