In a seaside town, on a sunny week, at work. Always at work, then back “home” at more work, under never-ending stress, playing Atlas all the time. Not today. Against all ods, today will be a day for sea toe-dipping, plenty of sun burns and a few seaside glasses.
Sometimes you have to stop and smell the seagulls.
I’ll happily trade you ten wise men for a good man. The world doesn’t lack brains. Mental brilliance is all over the place, in unprecedented supply. The world lacks plain old goodness. Good old fashioned good nature.
Attempting to be what you can’t possibly be is the root of all your troubles. Trying to appear to be what you can’t possibly be is worse. There is usefulness in everything, there is beauty to be found in the most trivial of things. There are always people that seek and find these.
The art of letting go is the hardest thing to muster. Letting go of that money you no longer have, of your high-school sweetheart or former partner, of your dead loved ones, of your misconceptions from last year. You cannot be wrong again in a forward-moving way unless you let go. You can only be wrong in your normal, static, unproductive, unaesthetic fashion.
The art of letting go is the easiest thing to muster. Just let go.
New, cool things keep showing up all the time, or old things are unearthed and headed for novelty and coolness, as they’re exposed to fresh light.
Their vast majority shall be destroyed or discredited by a vast majority of superficial bastards. Their potentiality becomes the potentiality of decay. Always and forever, because there will always be bastards, and they’ll always hold majority.
This is why things can only be kept alive within oneself.
Do not be brilliant. Brilliance expresses itself, sometimes against all odds, and perpetually eludes those who seek it. Don’t even try, you’ll put yourself in the position of being both ineffectual, and pathetic. Stick to your passion, and brilliance will follow, if ever, or not at all, unrelated to your struggle.
The best way to win is to not compete. Mind, this is not the same as not to participate.
I need something to believe in. Something mythical. Something magical. The sort of thing to put at the foundation of the good I want to do. Something to make what I do matter, because no matter of how well I do things, they remain cold and meaningless, as if there is no purpose in perfection.
We’re all animals, in more ways than one. as a result of rather basic observations, I can no longer deny it and pretend I’m fair. In truth, most of us are no better than your average stray dog in a gutter. The glitter on our civilization is nothing more than the sign of our most elevated perversion — that of concealing our bestiality.
I used to love football, I still thoroughly enjoy the black&white footage of Garincha and Pele performing in Brazil’s golden team. I stopped loving it and watching it a long while ago. Today’s soccer is no longer a joyful game, but a multi-billion commercial machine, almost lacking any entertaining features, a meaningless and ugly venture on the green field as everyone knows everything being done is done purely for the money. The aura of (local) glory that’s being manufactured and thoroughly maintained around the teams is sickeningly phony. All the “entertainment” has moved into the pages of tabloids, that thrive on the football world’s petty scandals.
Or Brad Pitt. Never. Assuming you want to. If you don’t, read no further, because your unhappiness does not come from such trivial matters.
So, you day-dream and you yearn and your eyes keep getting wet and your heart pounds faster when you think of/see your new found idol. You imagine how you could make everything perfect for him/her if only this shitty life gave you a chance. Maybe you see yourself walking in their godly shoes, maybe you see yourself as being thought of by millions as you think of your idols. You sigh and watch those dear movies and concerts, you buy the DVDs, the memorabilia and so forth. You’re a fan. That makes you a fanatic. That is to say you have come to idolatrize an image. Make no mistake, this image is of your own making; they suggested it to you and you infused it with your ill-channelled hopes and dreams, as always taking the easy way towards cheap self satisfaction. You crossed the line between entertaining yourself and tormenting yourself with the unreachable. This you did for what even a superficial analysis reveals as being nothingness. Please aknowledge that you just managed to fill the void from within with some nothingness from outside! Congratulations. I’ve once watched a show about Madonna’s (oh, what a pun!) fans. I was particularly struck by this young, beautiful woman that was a die-hard devotee. She collected everything she could get her hands on, related to her goddess, she had all the albums and compilations, T-shirts and posters, everything. She was young, truly beautiful and popular amongst her friends. She was a hell of a woman, if you ask me. She could have been someone’s goddess herself, easily. Her face inspired. Yet she strangely chose to be only some fan, with an entire existence revolving around Madonna. That was all she talked about. She once saw her idol up-close. That’s where her young life peaked. And gave her something fabulous to talk about. She didn’t look happy at all. She looked hysteric.