The Primeval Minky [SSMPP™]

How can I possibly take anything seriously now?
Seriously...
Life is a bittersweet love triangle between Beauty, Tragedy, and Absurdity.
I have decided to resign from being a person for a period of time. My life is diabolically consumed by pointless things, as part of the world and as part of the self I have come to be. If you want to make ART (true friendship is an art, and one which we stumble at too often) or if you need my help in something that's really important to you, contact me at (770)561-7982 or [email protected]. Otherwise, please just leave me alone. You don't need all things you believe you do.
In the life-long pursuit of Irony, I've met quite a number of characters. Some were lovers. Some were assholes. Most were a little of both.
Everything in this world is beautiful, tragic, and absurd.
All that we experience are varying shades of these three qualities that emanate from the struggle between life and death.
Freshly made as I am, I have a sentimental memory of a memory of a memory.
I often forget where I end and the world begins.
The only thing that's relevant is where the present becomes the future.
And that's where I begin.
I'm finishing a bachelor's in psychology in the fall. I'm creating a cartoon I'm presenting to adult swim and other networks like Comedy Central.
If someone accepts it, I will then acquire the resources to make some films. If they don't, I will anyway.
I'm going to make music.
Then I'm going to write some novels.
I'm also going to write a book about the Ouroboros, the symbol of the snake chasing its tail and, in the process of performing research, I'm going to travel the world and live in each major country for at least a year.
During this period I will be going to grad school to eventually receive a doctorate in psychology, a doctorate in philosophy, a master's in english, a bachelor's in history, and a bachelor's in education. Something along those lines.
I will spend the rest of my life critiqing the history of thought, western and eastern. During this time, I will open a school that is K through Grad school located in New Hope, Pennsylvania that will be the first among many to revolutionize education and our understanding of how humans learn and why.
In later years, once the school is firmly established and people can be free to learn and live as they were always meant to: with joy, I am going to write a book where every last detail will be an attempt at a truthful account of my life. I will not publish it, nor will I probably let anyone read it, but it will be transcribed by a calligrapher in an ink made from my blood and ashes and it will be found after I am dead and gone.
.. 1
Life rolls along freely, while I skitter about in every direction fathomable, thoroughly and intimately stretching out to grip frail relics as each unfurls ever so strangely. Nothing’s slowed down to help me catch up, but I haven’t stopped skittering. Writing, and creative endeavors as such, seems to steady the pace a bit. I can see little prudence in claiming to know entirely what I want to achieve in life, quite truly, and I don’t necessarily want people to expect anything. I just want to sweep through this all-pervading core that seethes with the purest forms of tenderness and brutality. What settles into my sight are truths both beautiful and horrific. What encircles my sight are the shadows that laugh and lament, as they share the shapes of eternity. We have held our gaze behind the veil of time, the light always flickering to and fro, and we will return the gaze when the veil is pierced by the spear of resolution, that awaited point of atonement, from which all matter will shutter and scream in abnegation. But before we are fully beckoned back into ancient origin, we must live out mortality to fortify the final unfolding. So in the mean time, I want to be human, see what it’s all about, and share what I find with those other curious souls, whoever they may be. Fantasy and reality are inexorably woven into the fabrics of human experience. Thus, I share the many selves, of my own and of others, through recreating the beauty, tragedy, and absurdity that wracks humanity. I need these shadowy figures to become real, so that they can harbor forever the myriad thoughts and feelings that I simply cannot. A tear of delight cannot empty from my eye in the same moment that a tear of sorrow is emptied. Only in the world of many that I create, can such a thing occur: where one character can delight in the sorrows of another, while the other laments further because of the delight caused by their own sorrows, altogether stirring greater delight from the first. I want to show the center that envelopes the circle as it feeds upon itself, for this is everything. This is the labyrinth of personas that inhabits us all. I want to show this through whatever symbols or gestures that can come close to carrying such humanness, be it composed as a novel, a play, a cartoon, or a film. As of now, I write as I please. I have developed a few screenplays, as well as an idea for a cartoon. Most of these projects are satirical. All of them are slightly sardonic. Dark comedy is the prevailing medium. All that can be expected is a synthesis of things perceptible and intuited, and it may send one hovering above the thin threshold of madness, but it will hopefully see you through in the end.
I wish so desperately that I could be a scenester kid, and hang with my scenester friends while we talk about the scene and how cool it is, or to atleast be one of the kids who wishes so desperately to be scenester that they actually are. But I wish, and I pray, and I beg, and I IMPLORE, God make me scenester, but to no avail... oh, sigh (sniff, sniff) Maybe it's all in the haircut, but my hairstylist never understands what I really want. She lacks imagination I guess, b/c she never leaves one side of my bangs twice as long as the other, with nice slender elfish side burns. But it's okay, all my pain and toil and desperate longing has turned me emo, so now I sit around with my emo friends and we cry together over our ex girlfriends that we dated for so many weeks, almost months. It's so tragic, but so beautiful.
I have resigned from being human in the contemporary sense of the word, which means spiritless, unimaginative, and stuck in a perpetual state of hopelessness. The human being has now become the personification of the Cynic. Such is the "dominant" archetype of today's cultural paradigm. thus it is too you, the Cynic, that I speak to in particular, though this applies to pretty much everybody. You have built your own reality to surround and protect yourself from the harshness of the world for otherwise you are vulnerable to so much pain, and the possibility that you can't be understood by anyone because everyone is too stuck in their own rut to care. But you've also lost the sense of wonder for the world that, much in the manner of a child, comes from constantly discovering that the world will suprise you. But you'll never know this if your so desperate to always save face, and hide the fact that you are inevitably vulnerable, and you know it, which just makes you feel even more vulnerable. You have convinced yourself that the only rational conclusion is that all potential suprises are like flashy lights meant to distract one from agonizing boredom, a boredom that only exists for those who are "intelligent" enough to have the world figured out already. Well, here's a reality check for anyone to whom the prior is applicable: that's not intelligence, that's just apathy, and arrogance. If it works for you, then enjoy your misery. And most of this applies to the perpetually happy sheeple as well, who are probably the most miserable people you'll ever meet. You can take your American Idol and shove it anywhere but in my face. I'm often pessimistic, but I'm optimistic as well, because I cannot claim with any certainty that one is necessarily always more appropriate than the other. However, I believe that cynicism is so rampant mainly because it's convenient, and besides, not many people who aren't cynics can produce thoughts that are so biting that a cynic will let their rigidity bend in any direction. Plus, we're the "descendents" of Marx, Freud, and Nietzsche, and though I admire their brilliance (especially Nietzsche), the picture they paint of the world is bleak. I am not saying a little REALISM isn't important to maintain healthy skepticism, but so many people are afraid to try to feel anything real, or anything at all, as if there's some unspoken law against it. Well, fuck that. If an empty shell of something once alive is what it is to be human, then I resign this 5th of march. I've experienced something far more real than words and pictures on myspace and reality T.V shows, and when I recover true humanity, I'll let you know, and I can assure you it will be glorious. We are living beings trapped in a dying world, and I want out.
On another note, I probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but sometimes you don't have to fully understand the implications of something to know that the implications are there.