aminea

Here's how I feel. I feel sad and I think sadness can not be analyzed, it can not be assigned a term or a name.

Joe Schmoe is depressed, he goes to a doctor and there's his great cure - in a pill, or some rambling about his dad potty training him wrong. And it goes away. Swoosh. Sadness isn’t depression. It’s being depressed and then having enough control of yourself to “analyze” the causes – a bad diet, unnecessary stress… whatever. I come out of it and then I realize that I’m still sad. Because I wasn’t depressed to begin with, I was sad. Sadness isn't psychological, sandess isnt biological , it's just there, it's a feeling.

Sadness is irrelevant as a psychological state. Sadness is that dark spot between Jung and Nietzsche, that lack of will to pursue either of the theories or lifestyles. I could sit there and feel complete as a being, content in a vacuum, in balance with the colorless Jungian symbology, satisfied with the split psycho-spitituality. I could be the Buddha and the fucking Christ - modern works on spirituality and psychology are an extremely sufficient source of self-discovery, that is if you're open minded, willing and patient. The great shortcoming of psychology, and most of the time the best of it, is the inability, and the perpetual avoidance of the just-world thesis. All they admit is that the world is fucked, but immediately go on to deal with some bitche's oral fixation. It is no longer enough to be at one with yourself, and it no longer a proper choice to be at one with soceity, for society, by all means, is fucked.

So where do you end up? Nihillism? No. Pessimism? No. Sadness. We can't prove anything and we don't know anything. Modern science is a tight-nit bundle of over-assumptions and averages. Modern math is fallible at every step. We live in a world we can not completely see, feel or hear; emerge ourself in knowledge that is neither correct nor ultimate. We can not be sure of anything, but it seems the most and best of us are satisfied with the mass market assumptions. Mass market infromation, in-formation, the formation in you of the data they see useful. A consumer planet where things are better because of a letter after a number or a number after a letter; a place where the worst and most abusive intentions are invisible; a flock of blind elderly that believe they can see.

As a famous song goes -
"Something has to change.
Un-deniable dilemma.
Boredom's not a burden
Anyone should bear.
Constant over stimu-lation numbs me
and I wouldn't have
It any other way." ¹

It is the constant dissatisfaction with satisfaction, like a fat baby barfing ice-cream on a sidewalk. It's the ever-nudging, persistent, itching doom-spot within my chest, it digs and and I know something is wrong. Everything is wrong.

The saddest movies are superficial. War tragedies are a theatrical sham.

Fuck all the depressed mothers of three and insecure teenagers, I'm sad. I'm just as sad as some are in love. I've got a feeling, and its a great big down. What? Paxil? Please use it to keep the poor poor, I've got shit to think about that these chemicals won't allow. And who am I after all, and who are you? Poe once said "Man is now only more active, not more happy -- nor more wise -- than he was 6000 years ago." ² I can't stand the endlessely commuting and tireleselly telecommunicating dumbfounded media drones, for they know nothing and struggle for nothing. That makes me sad.

Let’s face it, life blows. Yes, I can eat a mountain compared to half the people in the world, and have luxuries like shit flushing and soap and such. But if you’re sad, and you see how terrible and broken the world is, it doesn’t matter if you can stuff yourself senseless or feel safe on a street. Look at all the seemingly brilliant books about how the government lies to "the people" and how the rich have it all, but what’s sad is that they don’t cover a percent of all the fucked up shit people do to people to feel like better people. And I'm sad, because ever since I remember myself, I didn't need a book to know that the worlds fucked up. I used to be so sad when I was in kindergarden teachers wondered if I got beaten at home or some shit. When I was four I told my mom and my granny that next time they force me to wear a cross or go to church, Ill cut my wrists while they're asleep. Religion is for morons. And living with morons makes me sad.

Look at some dumb elite-born slut partying daily and doing whatever she wants. Look at all the half-wit people who think they’ve got it good because they can make enough to pay for rent, cable and Domino’s. That makes me sad.

Am I alone? Has this world, this race gone too far? Have we created a system which now shapes us – the fucking money and style and all that evil bullshit. Fuck Fight Club, it don’t come close to telling the story like it is. It’s like that, and worse, and its in every fucking molecule of these robotic, dimwit media drones pacing the street.

And I can write this and I can keep writing, but it makes me sad because it isn’t going to be read, and if it is, there is bound to be no relevant examples for everyone, but most importantly, some asshole will come across this and say “Gee, teenage diary. Well back to Fantasy Baseball.” Is this all there is?

It's all useless. I'm just hoping there is a mass extinction drawing close. To smash this motherfucker up in pieces, so I can have a life of a sensitive biological being, with biological needs and wants, and a mind suprisingly superior to monkeys and shit. And enjoy the intelligence. Build a fucking hut and find myself a woman. Procreate and tell my children that the worst evil is selfbetterment. Or just betterment of fucking everything. This here shitworld is too much like a tale of Ikarus that never really lost the wings, but keeps pounding into the sun like a senseless fucking cutlet. You're all climbing the invisible mountain.

And whatever, thats not enough. Because "Well his writting is broken up, and the ideas are very general, I mean come on - apocalypse of the human race? Thats just fictional, defensive and childish."

Well, hell yea it is. And it ain't happening, I just sure wish it did. So all the years your dumbass worked for that mercedes, and then used that mercedes to ask out Mercedes "from accounting", and then move into a neiborhood where everyone's got a mercedes and make children just as dumb and empty as your wife Mercedes, would go in vain. "But man all my college buddies thought she had great boobs." But man, fuck you.

Fuck all of you.

Go watch one of your retarded shows and stuff yourself.

"It’s hard to believe that there’s nobody out there. It’s hard to believe that I’m all alone."<sup>3

1</sup> Maynard of Tool - "Stinkfist"
² Edgar Allan Poe - "The Purloined Letter"
³ Red Hot Chilli Peppers - "Under The Bridge"