Wednesday, 28 April 2010

My mind, 28/04/2010

Nothing fits.

What to do, what to do, what to do. Need money. Need food. Need sustenance. Is mere existence fine? Living a mundane, homogenised life amongst all the others bundled together, curiously immune to the suffering prevalent in many others outside these mundane, homogenised borders? How do you get the most out of existence? The clock is ticking; where do you invest your time? Hedonism, the pursuit of pleasure? Turn on the happy machine and bliss yourself into eternity - almost certainly to the cost of many, many others. If not happiness, then experiences maybe? Pinning them down in the display cabinets of memory. Pain, love, hate, suffering, bliss, depression; complete the full set to receive a complimentary hand basket on entering the garden of Eden. Being a repository for the combined experiences of collected human consciousness seems untenable, undesirable, and ultimately folly.

Faces of others are constantly projected into our lives, objects of awe and envy. All it really provides is a bigger soapbox to shout from, all that is enviable about it is a bigger 'YOU ARE HERE' marker. The power of communication, power full stop, a desirable ultimate goal? What kind of power?  The yoke of political power? The facile power of celebrity? The philosophical power of academia? Ultimately this is linked to achievement. But what is power or achievement without people to witness and/or partake in it? Is celebrity the ultimate goal? Or maybe all of this is pretentious distraction from our biological duty to pro-create. Or perhaps an even more advanced form of pro-creation, a historical legacy. And what of it all? What does it mean to be the king of the dust-specks, in an ever expanding universe? An invisible dot on an invisible dot, infinitely small.

What is the good life? How do you reap the rewards of existence?

NOTE: I have never read any existentialist texts, outside of the arguably existentialist 'The Age of Reason' by Sartre. This is not to be taken a a serious philosophical text, just a portrait of my head