Immaterial Consequences

I sit on top of the world's peak, at the ends of the physical realm, about as far as I could possibly go while I'm still tangled with it. I begin to meditate upon the burning question that weighs me down so heavily. Today, I come here in hopes of unraveling that within myself, which I despise the most in others. Why is it that we're so lost on this Earth? Are the physical noises so loud that nothing of substance can possibly remain within sight? We're all so obsessed with numbers. Slaving away, day by day, just to make those digits climb on that screen. So possessed by the body's needs that we end up running on a hamster wheel, going in circles.

Always chasing after that, thing. All these fucking things. That blip in the circuit, a wave of electricity, a cocktail of neurotransmitters, chemicals in a meat bag, creating a kaleidoscope of sensations. By and large, whenever I sit down to investigate anything, the only thing I end up concluding is that everything is perfect, exactly how it is. Is that not copium in the truest sense? Well, I don't want to do that today. I want to know what bothers me so much when a person says that enjoying media is a waste of time. Why does it make my stomach churn when every conversation ends up becoming about money?

What is it about the stock market that makes me sick, and why do I see those aimless people with empty minds as sub-human? Some days are filled with revelations. You can feel all the dots connecting, the stars aligning, and the cards falling into place. Other days, all you have are questions, upon questions, and no clue as to the general direction of the answers, or of anything else for that matter. Why is it that the ends are the only things that matter? Why can't I truly enjoy myself unless I can feel good about how I look in the mirror? Why can't I just enjoy the process? Even when I focus intently on that process, why does drifting from the path make me so miserable?

Does the path not end up becoming the end, in that case? I suppose the question is about acceptance and rejection. Why can't we accept things for what they are? Is it just the shackles of these physical elements, the chains of our skeletons, that keep us helplessly bound in this pitiful state? Is there any other reason why I can't stop staring at women? Why I can't stop drooling over those delicious beef burgers halfway across the globe? Why can't I stop myself even when it's all making me so miserable? If nothing else, going on long fasts and starving myself makes me feel at ease. 

But is that just a symptom of secession from that endless hell of gouging, or just another hit of dopamine from hitting some hopelessly naive fitness goal? The only thing I know for sure, is that I feel sick to my core. I want to stop so many things from happening around me. I want to scream at the top of my lungs and break some of these arbitrarily valued fucking useless objects around me. I want to hurt myself and others. I want to scream at others and give them a proper scolding. I want to tell them, "WAKE THE FUCK UP! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?" Always talking about your salary, always counting the days to the weekend, obsessed with the day you'll get married, planning vacations that you'll never take nor enjoy, making plans to talk to your friends that you can never hope to make time for, because you're so fucking busy spinning your fucking wheels in the fucking air.

I've wanted to cry for so long because I feel so lonely in this maddeningly insane concrete jungle that makes me long for death's sweet embrace. Yet I haven't gotten around to it because it sure knows how to keep me busy. I suppose this is the side effect of working in marketing. I always knew that it couldn't possibly agree with me, but I figured that I really did need the money. I figured that I'll power through this grifty bullshit until I could afford to go off as an independent artist. I'd be lying if I said it isn't taking a toll on me. Some shit just leaves your soul feeling tainted and dirty. Keep your head down, I thought, and just focus on what's right in front of you. Do this for long enough and it'll all get better.

I never imagined I'd reach a point where I honestly can't tell what's better or worse anymore. I often feel like I'm just losing myself, bit by bit, with every fucking passing day. So innocuously, so quietly the days turn into years. Try as I might to find the good in others, to accept them as they are, every person I meet makes me sick as I get to know them. Each one, makes me feel more tired than the last. You'd think that it's all so the beautiful ones I do meet are all the more enjoyable, but whether I meet them online or in real life, they just seem so hopelessly far away for some reason. That random lady on YT said that these concrete jungles make it so that people feel like connecting with other people is the only form of connection there is.

She emphasized the immeasurable joy of connecting with nature, that it's something we forget exists in our artificial cities. I can't help but say to myself that it's just the place nicking away at me, chipping away at my spirit. Yet I don't know if I believe that 100%. I don't think I know anything 100%, but sometimes the possibility does loom upon me menacingly. It's enough to make a pharaoh flinch. Or was it the Spinx that never flinched? Either/or. No matter how sick my bodily urger might make me, I've taken it upon myself to see it through to the end. No matter how painfully my knees may ache, I've already decided to taste every flavor of this endless sea. So this is my pathetic state of obesity longing for fitness stage, proceeding after my hedonistic train wreck and preceding my God-knows-what stage. 

The only thing I long for now is to dive into it head-first and take it all in for all its worth. I just want to play my role to the best of my ability, and hopefully try some more fits on for size before departing. Sure I have the goals and dreams that I long for so desperately. They might be a little different than most, but I'm no better than the rest combined in my blindingly hungry pursuit. I can't help but think of those useful titbits that may aid me in that journey. To shift my identity, said James Clear, while trying to build my habits. I make those systems, rather than make waves on the surface. To be fair, he does say a lot, but then again, my attempts have really been a massive fucking flop. Sitting down all day certainly doesn't help.

But let's review, shall we? All I really want is to achieve fitness and make money. As shallow as that is, after shitting on all those people for exactly the same, perhaps that's why they bother me so, because I can't stand the idea of chasing those ghosts. I always figured that those things were by-products of a job well done, and that a job done well was the result of enjoying the process. I guess you could say that's what I've believed. What about those beliefs hold me back still? He said in one of those posts, that if you value comfort more than accomplishment, you will never get healthier. If you see yourself as a consumer rather than a creator, you will never make money.

I can't help but feel haunted by those words. Well, at least I'm not upset about other people anymore. What I wouldn't give to just stay here in my room, "work on myself" whatever that means, and emerge as a beautiful creature to flaunt my glory to the rest and share the gift of my light. Unfortunately, as soon as I see out tomorrow, which I literally have to in order to survive, they'll start coming in my way once more, and I won't be able to stop myself from despising them. Well, I can't be too mad, because the more I hate them, the more I end up loving myself. I feel like there's more to be said, unraveled, and figured out today.

I never did cry my heart out like I wanted to either. But I'm afraid that'll be all for today. For tomorrow I'll try my best once again, and hopefully, with a lot of good luck and almighty's blessings, I can actually make it into a good day. Cheers to that and good luck to anyone who might be reading.