n-e-at - Tumblr blog

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I made a quarantine mask for corona :)). I put lots of effort into making it look nice, and i like it a lot.

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Project for my english class. We just finished reading Dostoevsky's The Dream Of A Mysterious Man and have been assigned to submit a representation of our perfect world. It's not my best work, but i am proud of it.

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Doesn't it bother anyone else how fragile our individual mindsets are? i mean, everything you do is from your point of view. everything you see, hear, know- it's all based on relative perception. isn't it frustrating to be confined to this one mind, expected to navigate your life when so many options of how to live and how to think lie ahead of you? and moreover, it's maddening to think of how easily it is for someone's own perception to be clouded. maybe i'm just tweaking, but things like drugs, emotions, improper health; they're all factors that prove the instability of your own point of view. and those are only the things that you can sort of control, not to mention things from birth. it's all so bleak and scary to me. Like i am truly, genuinly, disillusioned with the basic mechanics of being a person with sentience. it's terrifying.

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sometimes i get to a point where I think about myself. I think about myself, who i am, what i believe, in the same old search for some meaning within myself, the same one that everyone has. I evaluate my values and  each time i do i get sucked back into that familiar game of tug of war. The one where I am constantly jostled between my morality and my family's or is it god's morality? The devil's morality? I just keep fucking speculating and thinking and worrying and contemplating when I already have other things i need to think about, i can't be having this conversation again and again and again and over and over. but that wasn't the reason i wrote this. Getting too close to the subject sucks me into it.

when i analyze myself, i find faults in everything i believe. I don't truly have a good grasp on anything i believe and when i think that premise and try to disprove it, "no! that can't possibly be true because i believe in X" I look at whatever X may be, and it's easy to find that the double knotted ropes i tie taught around all my philosophies and views are just loose loops that keep their hold only until i tug on them just a bit, at which point the string unfurls and i watch my own beliefs, my very sense of self, drift into the air and out of reach.

Each and every time i look too deep into myself and what i believe, i find for anything and everything i think, there's always an oposition. everything can go either way. and I know not whether that's a fault of mine or a fault in reality, the nature of thought. But the only thing i think i'm sure of is the premise I've illustrated

I do the math subconsciously but when i look too closely at the work i've done, nothing adds up, and i have to erase it all and start over. So for that reason, perhaps it's better to just keep out of myself. It's easier to live in bliss.

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stuck like glue to the passing of time

it's so large, the grand scheme is so vast and it's easy

to think about it and it's grandeur.

I have the privilege of seeing where time in my lifetime will end up. i don't get to see how it will end but i see

what will come before it

but this knowledge comes at the price of living slowly.

experiecing every moment that passes at excruciating speed. there is no ability to skip or scrub along a timeline. we are all doomed to live patiently.

waiting

waiting

waiting

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I can’t talk to anyone

I currently harbor a dull, throbbing resentment for everyone I know, not for the content of their character, but because I cannot seem to confide in anyone, my parents included. Not to rant that “No one understands me”, my emotions and woes are common and easy to decipher. But there is no one who’s life is any less demanding than anyone else’s, on some level. So for that reason, No one person’s response will differ from anything along the lines of “I’m really sorry you feel that way, I hope you feel better soon”. No one can spare any more than is courteous to spare. Even my parents, to an extent, have greater responsibilities. Keeping me fed, keeping a steady flow of income. Right now they haven’t the time to tend to my emotions, that’s my job.

It’s all in my head, yet what is solely within my perception coats the reality I live in. I don’t want to blame anyone. I’m the reason I feel the way I do, whether good or bad. My life at this stage is a series of copes. Everything I do right now is a means of temporary contentment. I’ll feel better soon, whenever soon is.

Even my journal somehow is feeling like a casual friend. Someone who I can’t talk to about the things I write on here. It’s just time consuming, it’s difficult finding the motivation to write. It’s easier just to type here. But It’s as if I’m compartmentalizing my inner thoughts, sectioning them off into acceptable, and unacceptable. Presentable, and private.

I don’t know how good these rants are for my mental state, necessarily. The line barring healthy expression; cathartic purge, and unhealthy encouragement of negative thought processes is blurred. A part of me says I should focus on the positives, but would only ever writing positively just stifle me? Are the things that I’m writing, bottled up truths and emotions? Or are they childish dramatizations of the thoughts and emotions that everyone feels, and are better able to cope with?

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A replica painting I did in 9th grade for a school project. It was a copy of a Vincent Van Gogh's painting, Vase with Lilacs, Daisies, and Anemones.

I'm very very proud of it c:

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A beetle I drew for a friend. He said he wanted a neck tattoo when he's older, and wanted someone to create for him an original design. He wasn't keen on it, which is a little disappointing, but he gave me a list of things he likes so i'll try again soon :).

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It's confusing knowing what to write in my journal and what to post here. I know i want to continue writing in my journal, which I haven't been keeping up with, but I also want to continue my rants and rambles on this account. It feels like i only post here when i'm upset, which is part of the purpose of this account. That and for art. Any art i may do.

I had a good cry just a moment ago. I had thoughts and thoughts and thoughts jumbling through my head and knew what I wanted to say, but now that i've stopped crying i don't have much the words to communicate what I feel. I still don't feel completely okay and can't put my finger on exactly why. It's been like this for a while now, at my parents' office. They've been working here late lately, for necessary reasons. So I haven't often gotten a reprieve from the beige-yellow paint and dull washed out fluorescent lights. It's whenever the sun sets. I won't feel it until something small happens. I see a too-pretty picture on Instagram, or hear a song that communicates a sort of melancholy, or finish a call with someone who made me feel drained, like today. In those moments, when i experience this brief slump, it acts as a catalyst. Then the night time fog sets in. My parents are busy, My friends feel distant, and anything i want to do just feels pointless. It's only when i've expressed these thoughts that i begin to feel a little better. But the fog always comes rolling back. Typing this out is only a brief reprieve, a desperate breach before i fall back under. Not in a way that sounds pretentious or contrived- as if i'm drowning crying out 'woe is me'. But more like sitting back down into a bathtub. Just being pointless. Not doing anything productive.

I've never wanted to claim depression. I've always thought that nothing i felt was ever serious enough to be labeled as depression. I've not been diagnosed with anything at all. In fact, I can't be sure that i've had a medical checkup in a while. I'm not even sure how often you're supposed to get those done. I've considered asking my parents if i could ask a doctor about it. But so many factors limit me. I'm afraid if i do that it won't be taken seriously, that i have nothing at all and it's just hormones. My parents have never been keen on doctors either. Saying they'll just sling pills at you and ask for a check, which i can neither prove nor disprove considering i haven't visited one in so long. I also tried talking to someone online, like one of those help lines for people having negative feelings, needing someone to talk to. But it just feels like none of what i feel is serious enough for that sort of thing, so i always chicken out and never go through with it. It's also partially social anxiety. It just feels like a chore to text people, so texting another person in order to feel better just doesn't remove me enough from my problem.

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I want this blog to be a portfolio. A collection of everything i have ever created that i am proud of. I am proud of this. It's not perfect, but it's the beginning.

I read a quote from one of those genius lyrics cards on Spotify today, one for the song 'Dark Red', by Steve Lacy. On it was a quote from him that read,

"It doesn't matter what you use. There're a lot of kids who wanna make music but there's often that thought of 'I can't do this without this'"

It resonated completely with me.

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And there i stand,

head craned high

sky so big

the sky is fuckin ginormous, man.

like, do you ever think about that?

like, how you you stare up

but, you're also staring down

..cuz like our existence, the existence of everything, it expands past our scope, so.. from a larger perspective, there is no set up or down. You are simultaneously all directions at once. Schrödinger type shit, man.

And i stood there. I look up at that fukin dome..

and i just wanna be there. That's what i'd like to be. The sky, the space, the universe, everything.

and If ever there were a sensation of greater joy, then of being everything all at once- well shit i'd wanna be that too.

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I don’t know what to say about this song. I have so many emotions for it, so many thank yous, so many feelings and sensations and passing thoughts in ode to it, but nothing that can be transcribed clearly into the written word. When I’m listening to this song, I like to take out the earbud with the guitar, leaving only the voice. It gives me the feeling as if there’s someone there with me, singing. At times when i feel the most alone, it’s cathartic. Coincidentally, my original intent when posting this song was to post it at the point when John Fruciante sings this set of lyrics: 

“And have you seen how the cars when they pass, they come your way, then they’re speeding away. Coming to you and then going away, but for them nothing’s changed, for them nothings changed. “

But upon picking the song, it appears that the default Spotify powered option is set to only this lyric.

These lyrics are particularly important to me. I won’t break down the metaphor, but my intent is merely to point to it, to showcase it in bold bright lights (or as bright as i can light, anyways, on a tumblr with no followers at the time of posting). I love this song like a friend. The type of friend you don’t see often, but the kind with whom you share the bond of two people who’ve cried in front of each other. Who’ve wept with a mutual understanding for one another, regardless of background. 

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Write hard and clear about what hurts

Ernest Hemingway

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I’ve reached a bit of a better understanding of myself just now, pertaining to what I wanna be in the future. 

I was thinking about the ‘corporate ladder’ path which many people take, and some may very well enjoy. I have never in my life had an opinion on this idea, nor have I really known much about it to have one. But as I get older, the clouds become less opaque, and details emerge and concepts take form, and so I think. And i kept thinking, and thinking. And it’s only really set in just this moment, how grueling life in a company would be. I couldn’t imagine, coming from a life of schedules and rules and formalities and rankings based on your work (school)- to willingly and happily enter the same environment. It boggles me that this is something someone would want to do. Not to say I don’t respect that outlook. I suppose this whole consensus feels a lot more profound to me than it really is, but I cherish it all the same, because it’s brought me clarity and a better sense of self. To imagine myself in a work environment where the joy I feel stems from pleasing my superiors enough to eventually join their ranks and please the next rack, and the next rack, to live my life on a linear grid working towards goals to meet goals, to meet goals, whose chain stretches places that are out of my control and out of my field of view- to be unable to see the fruits of my labor, to work for the sake of working, rather than working for the sake of my work. Personally, I can’t stand even the thought. Without a clear goal in mind, nor the ability to set and mark the progress of these goals, I could easily see myself feeling devoid of purpose. And I think this is a powerful realization that I've just come to, because I can better understand what i need at my core. I require an artistic outlet. Multiple artistic outlets, even. This series of posts is evidence of that. I look forward to the future, when I’m closer to my purpose. 

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For whatever reason, art isn't fulfilling me. What am I looking for? What do I crave? I can never take art at face value- whether to a fault or not. I want to know the story behind. But I don't know if i should.

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Needlessly dreary word rants that do not reflect me, but rather a state of mind

Document 1:

The worst part of coming to the slow realization that your life is and will always be bombarded with some form of suffering at all times, is that it's not even a unique predicament. Everyone around you has felt this same discontentment, and so will the generations that follow. Existence is dreary in both chronological directions- eternally. And everyone knows yet everyone pretends that it's not. I cannot even take solace in knowing that this sorrow is my own because it's a sorrow that belongs to all of humanity; which you'd think would bring us all together, but in reality it only serves to solidify the existential hopelessness vertically. Leaving billions to isolate themselves, all lementing the same cry from different cubicles.

Document 2:

Writing pessimistic word-pieces about the state of humanity and the nature of suffering has helped me to forget about my disillusions in teenage romance, but in turn has pushed me down into an even deeper slump. To take a look at the bigger picture is a curse, because i do not have the tools with which to view my circumstances in a rose colored lense. But much like a frantic movement through water with nearly bursting lungs to breach the surface and take a desperate breath in- with the same desperation, I needed to disconnect from my current affairs in exchange for a bigger picture in hopes to make some sense of it. But now that I have, i've neither found sense nor solace in all of it. Instead I poked the bear and awoke a new, more all encompassing form of dread which has left me gravely dissatisfied, not with my love life, but with my life.