Monday, June 13, 2011

Too Long; Didn´t Read.

I don´t always feel like writing. In fact I rarely feel like writing anything at all; I have my thoughts, they
go around and around in my head, bothering me, enlightening me, but mostly, just disguising other thoughts, without me feeling any need of writing them down.

Once, many years ago on a rainy day - not because it sounds romantic, just because it actually rains a lot in Sweden - a friend and I verbalized an obvious thought (I´ll get back to the verbalizing concept):
You only write when you feel blue. Why? Because when you´re not, you live.
You do not have the need to illustrate your life when you are enjoying it. It´s redundant.

Like Brian May put it a couple of decades ago, too much love will kill you. It´s the human nature, finding
problems where they don´t exist because there is a very small amount of this world´s population that can combine not having any problems with not creating new ones, these are called naive
If you are one of them you call them bon vivants. Reluctantly I admit that with time and power [over yourself] not only great responsibilities come, but also an exponential development of cynicism.

Maybe that´s just me. Or maybe I´m just making more excuses to justify my shortcomings in being truly happy.

I always say life is what you make of it. That is still true, but it isn´t easy and it does get worse when you
realize that the only one standing in your way is yourself - and you still do nothing about it.

This was my first thought when thinking of broken hearts. This tragic unavoidable cliché.

My second thought is that I´m being silly. That is why I never feel like writing.
If I write about trivialities it´s not worth neither my nor your time, neither my energy nor yours. It´s trivial,
pointless, useless - it´s just thoughts disguising other thoughts, as usual.

If I write some deep, poetical text with a lot of fancy adjectives (which scholars love so much) I feel like I´m still bullshitting myself, thinking I´m confronting undisguised thoughts, but I´m just covering them which something else - making something more painful doesn´t make it more truthful, just more valueable.

The more you suffer for something the more sacred it becomes, thus making it holier and less realistic. 
A Romanticized Reality. 

(This is something I understood when thinking about the experience of moving to a different country, but that´s another monologue).

Verbalizing a feeling doesn´t make you understand it better, it makes you feel something else.
I guess that´s a good thing, but then again it´s just another disguise (see the cynicism here again, it´s just not my day, I guess).

Brian May was right, according to my ever fatalist view of things: If everything is cupcakes, rainbows and unicorns, either something goes wrong - while doing my best to ignore Murphy´s Law lingering in my brain - or it´s a lie.

But if everybody believes in a lie, then it´s an undeniable truth. Then why shouldn´t we deceive ourselves if it makes us feel better? We ALWAYS do, even if we don´t notice it. Because you make your own interpretations.
See? This is why it´s pointless to me to write about deep stuff - because it´s logical and redundant. 
And everybody already knows about it. Maybe they just don´t verbalize it as often.

Freud said that "It is surely of the essence of an emotion that we should be aware of it. Yet it is beyond question that we can 'have' feelings that we do not know about." Now, I´m not a Freud fan. Although he might be right on this one thing.

What a great paradox. 

How can you have a feeling, if you don´t feel it? Isn´t that the whole concept of being alive?
To me, right now at two AM on a sunday evening, right here in my living room, I think he´s right.

It´s just disguised thoughts.
This is why I am writing now.

Still, words mean nothing without the loving, caring semantics of someone that understands you.
They mean even less because everybody can make their own interpretation of what I mean.

A universal truth is an individual truth and if that makes you feel lonely, then we are all certainly lonely together.
(But is it really loneliness that we feel? Or are we disguising something else with it?
Perhaps the fear of realizing you only feel lonely because you didn´t make it be in any other way,
because you didn´t have the strength, the courage, the will, or the knowledge of making life like you wanted it to
be). Or maybe I´m just bullshitting my way through fancy adjectives.

And this is why I published it.
What is anything worth if you can´t share it?

That´s why I never had a secret diary. I never wanted it to be secret.

I promise my next post will be trivial. 
Nevermind the silly one who thinks she has a broken heart when she doesn´t.

Good night.


Cátia Charters said...

Tenho tantas saudades tuas, Anna... De ficarmos a falar sobre tanta coisa; temas como este...
E depois de ler isto, sinto-me eu triste e sozinha...

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