11 Oct
11 Oct
On the matters of god
A pupil gave a rather brilliant devotions during our school asembly. So beautiful that it still stirs the subject upon leaving school: What do i do when all else fails. I say when as this life is absurd and the most random of things should be expected including absolute failure. MC being a christian of course had a heavily god-centred answer: look to god, leaviu\ng my atheist- self unsatifised and somehow angered by this.
I have lived off the premise that god is not good and therefore is undeserving of my life being held in his hands. But I’m struggling to believe that this answer hold any sense anymore. Rejecting god because of the interpretations of him that humans inflicted on him is somewhat unfair, illogical to judge one based off the biased opinion summoned by others.
And is it worth it? Teh question of hope is completely defeated as the most logical answer is that there is no inherit meaning in life, existentialism. Leaving me hopeless.
How unsatisfied i am with the solution to my despair being indifference as i am very naturally inclined to the ideas that life has its good and bad. Well of course this truth can be attributed to the dogmatic brain that picks and drops and eventually results in a moral compass. Yes it is true that life is indifferent towards our perceptions of it but that is the truth that the universe holds and i am a mere fraction of it.
I no longer believe i am capable of being and doing all. I want a separate being to exist from me that can.
I may need God
Back tracking to the question of hope in terms of failure, i have grown fond of the absurdist belief. Live life happily or do not live at all. I have always thought this philosophy was rather extreme as it less no room for grey, no opportunity to question similar to many concepts of Christianity. Extremism. But by adopting this belief i have found myself on either end - extreme happiness and despair.
More Posts from Applesinterest and Others
God I hate her
Please, may she be the end of me.
I don’t want it any other way
Why it will never be me
I think one of the hardest relisations is that i will never be anyones favourite. Ive learned to let go of all of my crushes simply because they will always be overwooed by the next girl. It isnt even a case of me being hideous but rather how odd i am. I dont listen to their music, i dont have a alcohol problem ( halfjoke :/) and am more of a “soul crushing devotion” person.
Media is always teaching us to be ourselves and to be authentic but the moment one embodies themselves it falls into categories of pick mes or flat out annoying. Its just awful.
I wish i could be likeable and relatable but everything i do is labeled as weird… i would rather be uninteresting.
00:54
14 oct
It’s all on me
The Air that cloaks me is so still. I’m out past midnight and im scared. In a run down government funded hospital with floors that remind me of myself- so deeply dented and dirty that there exists nothing to cleanse it.
The low hum that the vending machine sings is accompanied with random outburst of the intercom calling for a doctor. This is a place of pain, a medium in which sickness and dread gather.
She tired to take her life. So soon, is all that I thought. Although she is physically alright, there is this distant pain that stings me- what if I had not answered the phone.
I hate to say it but she has proven them right, she is weak. But I only hate myself for thinking such and dread the fact that such thought occurred about my beloved.
I thought I would be able to catch up on sleep, but here I am seated on a steel cold bench waiting for the patient and her companion to come out. I don’t even know what they are doing to her. But I do hope she is not in pain.
Am I selfish for wanting her to stay? Yes…
But then again I think if she truly wanted to leave she would have by now. Her calling me gathered the fact that she still has hope, without hope she would be past that point.
But oh man, am I tired. Since she has not lived up to the expectations now I must. This is not words that have been directly communicated but rather suggested and installed throughout my youth.
I don’t feel much, I usually don’t when traumatic events happen, and it truly scares me. Why is that I am unable to process my emotions on that moment. It is only much later that they flood my mind and slash my skin.
Jane O. Wayne // Kate Jacobs
Maybe this is my best
She’s almost gone.
Liberated from a house that has tortured her for two decades.
Still she remains trapped in her habits, for it has always been so easy to pin it on circumstance.
An adamant refusal to acknowledge that the issue (and solution) resides within.
This will surely be a Brutal recognition
Im back after a break but I missed you guys </3
Wish I was a boy
the page
pushed to the margins
abandoned with blue strips
forced against red lines that corner me
once white, now scribbled on carelessly
in deep black ink that smudges me
dents through all of me
find me a way to erase
to start again and hope to be apprepiated
that i can be the writer and not the page
Just as he is dead to me, i am to him. His stubbornness has buried our love.
