Sunday, June 13, 2010

Angle Two

This is done on the advice of a friend. Not in this way, but we all take our own paths.

I am a facade, an illusion I wish for you to see. Behind masks, walls, and smoke, I exist.
I feign whatever emotion appropriate for whomever wishes to see the emotions I seem to convey.
I feel pain, but not much else. Some days, it i
s welcomed.

I suffered a great emotional damage by my own hand that I cannot reverse.
I do my best to convince you that I'm someone who has it together- successfully doing so is my best defense.
I will lie to you- not to profit or injure, but merely to protect myself.
At the end of the day, I keep going off of inertia and promises already made. When my momentum runs out, so do I.

This is Dan in real life.

When I sleep, I am haunted by a fragment of myself. One that taunts and confuses me.
I believe that the only purpose I have any more is for the sake of others, to be an altruist. As an objectivist, this is the worst fate I can imagine.
I am going to continue until coincidence and circumstance brings me to a stop. I will keep walking until my legs
fall off.

I have no true purpose, no source of permanent happiness. The thought of having one seems foreign and gone to me. But I know it exists, or at least existed once.

I will become what I hate- when I do, I will no longer be bothered to care.

If you think you can help me, feel free to try. I warn that those who come before you have failed and I expect you to suffer the same fate of circumstance.

Investing in me is not a wise move, but it is your move to make.

Daniel, of course.

Monday, May 31, 2010

A Brief Character Study

Welcome to the first blog entry.

You might be curious of who you're reading about, where you ended up when you clicked the link prior to your arriving here. If I may have a few minutes of your time, it would be my pleasure to instruct you on our mutual subject.

Bear with me- I've found it impossible to properly define someone in a passing word.

The human mind and psyche is complex, to say the least. The conscious, subconscious, and preconscious, all vying for some validation in our everyday expression, searching for definition in personality. And yet, we stand here, on the threshold of everything we ever will or won't accomplish, watching with impatient eyes.

So here we are, watching the accumulation of the thoughts and experiences of a man expressed into text, what some may call a soul splayed across your screen like the blood splatter of an exit wound, thoughts and emotions scattered as if only gravity and inertia decided their final resting place.

The person of whom you're reading has many thoughts, many ideas and many questions, but not many answers. For as long as he could remember drawing conscious thought, your writer has questioned who he is, what he is, where he is, why he is, and how he is. So far, he's resolved he lives (begrudgingly) in the Eastern Seaboard of the United States of America, a large country with a large jurisdiction.

Aside from that, he questions the prior questions left unanswered and more, every day. He may lie awake for hours, challenging and debating the existence of existence until he passes, unceremoniously, into a shallow sleep.

He doesn't find much of worth about himself. To him, anything beyond his biological upkeep approaches frivolous. He feigns emotions, even if there are none present. He feigns whatever smile or frown is appropriate for others present. When he's alone, he could hardy define the apathy and nothingness of his mood.

He also feigns interest in things he finds uninteresting. It passes the time, while also alleviating the worries of those around him. He has a strong family, a stronger circle of friends, and a smattering of love interests. He cares about them more than he could ever care about himself.

But do not be confused, my so far faithful reader. You may perhaps submit the opinion that our person is wounded, a sort of depressed nothing that requires help. You might also suggest that he has no purpose, no drive, no ambition, and no future.

But I would not worry, if I were you. Our subject finds himself neither weak nor strong, sad or happy, futureless or ambitious. He neither looks forward to, nor dreads his future, finds no comfort or discomfort in his dealings, and does not fulfill his potential or attempt suicide.

You have before you an individual of near pure neutrality who can be as gentle as a pond at rest, or as forceful as a crashing wave.

You have before you a series of contradictions, fighting for definition in every moment of every single day.

You have before you a man who may have transcended his humanity, or perhaps thrown it away entirely.

I, however, do not struggle with the definition. I know of who I speak.

Daniel, of course.