Tag Archives: Book

Murray Rothbard – Left, Right, and the Prospects for Liberty

Murray Rothbard – Left, Right, and the Prospects for Liberty.

The “Rejection Response” Poem

Reviews (my blog).

Wants (my blog).

A Memorandum on Dreams (my blog).

Source (his blog): The “Rejection Response” Poem

It’s a great day to be alive.

It is so weird how, in the course of 10 years, you can go from wondering how this elusive, distant news media works with no real way to go behind the scenes and really figure it out to actually having the ability to be news media yourself, and learning it all on the fly. So not only did you not know how they were doing it, but now you do: but you also have the ability now to do the same thing. Because of modern technology. Fucking incredible. Even, say, in the past 20 years, it is unbelievable how much easier it has gotten to be news. 20 years is such a small period of time in the scope of human history. For so long, humans never had the opportunities we have today of delivering information on such a widespread scale. Of course, some religious conservatives may argue that life was better when we were only concerned with scrapping by on bare sustenance while we toiled away in the fields, slaves to the land we were born onto, only caring about our next meal, fighting against religious governments every so often. Those were “the good ol’ days“. “Back when ‘God-fearin” wutn’t just a phrase.” But, for some reason, it is always so easy for many people to overlook the good that is right in front of their face. Even pointing out this relative goodness, as compared to the past, isn’t enough to convince them that it is, in fact, good. Capitalism is aware of this fact more so than anything else.

Setting aside all of the previous technological advances of the past that completely changed humanity, I’m just going to focus on the internet here (and only for a little bit).

The fucking internet has changed everything.

It’s pulled back all of the curtains. It is basically like reading in a newspaper that something called “cars” have been invented in another country, and then, suddenly, you’re learning how to drive on roads yourself. Everyone knows how crazy the internet is, and how revolutionary it is, but damn. I don’t have any words to express just how unique the internet is in human history. Just thinking about papyrus, and parchment, and feathers, and ink (however it was made centuries ago (see? I can even look that up (if I wasn’t so lazy))), to the printing press, and how revolutionary that was in the scheme of human history. The mass printing of paper completely changed the world forever, for the better. I cannot imagine the extent of literature that exists in the world. It’s all because of that fucking Gutenberg Press. That one event just literally changed the world forever. Why in the fuck did it take as long as it did for it to show up?

And now, we have the internet. The new Gutenberg Press. The cat of electronic communication is out of the bag. It feels so surreal to be living through such a significant part of human history. To be one of the first. To be one of the relatively young, and to have, basically, my entire life with this medium. So many are catching it on the tail-end of their lives. I’ll have my whole life with it. There could, of course, be another dark age (something I should really do more research on now that (I can because of the internet) I don’t have my fingers in my ears chanting “God is in control, God is in control”). But it is hard for me to imagine that something as revolutionary as electronic social media could just disappear. One can’t help but be in awe of what we are all experiencing. Sure, the internet may be known for “cat videos“. “How can something so dumb and trivial be so important in the context of human history?” Of course, the internet is much more than cat videos. Much, much more. It is communication on a scale never before available on this planet. Ever. For as long as this planet has been here, there has never been communication as simple to access and as wide-reaching as the communication that exists today. Think of that. Think of all of the ancient texts that didn’t have this. How they were written, distributed. Think of the ones that have been around for centuries, if not a millennium at this point. Hell, even longer than that. How remarkable is it that written ideas could last that long? Now, we have electronic storage. Previously, it was paper. And even then, the words lasted for centuriesif not longer. Think of how hard it would’ve been to make the paper, and then distribute it. By a miracle, they made it to today. Of course, maybe we don’t have an original copy. But the words keep being printed, generation after generation. It truly makes you wonder about the work that editors do, but I digress.

The words keep getting older, but now they’re more easily available than ever before. Reminds me of evolution: survival of the fittest. Perhaps if the words have survived this long, they’re worth a read. Not only is it remarkable in the sense of how old the texts are, but it is easier than ever before to read them. That is truly incredible. We have something here that no one else has ever had. Human history is misery after misery after misery. One has to compare “the old days” to today, because the old days were just horrific. Medicine has changed the world. Production has changed the world. It truly is weird that I am here, on this planet, at this time, and not some time in the past. I could’ve been living with a dirt floor, in a dirt hut, eating and growing potatoes my entire life, using a rock to dig the dirt. No books to read, no meat to eat. Just eat potatoes and then die at 30 (if I’m lucky) from some disease. And that just happens again, and again, and again. But the fact that we are where we are today speaks to human ingenuity. It speaks to the humans of the past, who just wanted easier ways of doing things, or just happened upon them by means only God can understand. All of the stepping stones have led us to where we are today. They had it rough, and made it so much easier on us. We truly are blessed to have a life force, and to have it be alive today. We’re the luckiest people in history. In. History. That’s a pretty long damn time. How can that not instill awe?

The sad thing for me is that I have, so often in my life, not been able to appreciate the reality that was in front of me. I grew up thinking the world was this evil, sinful place to avoid. And it has caused me to avoid a good perspective on humanity; a good perspective on history, on the sciences, and everything else that religion always fucks up. A good perspective on relationships, sexuality: it has tainted my vision for so long that I still cling to it. Even while learning, it still clings to me. I suppose that at least being aware of it is a good thing. But I can only imagine what my perspective of the world would’ve been if I would’ve never been introduced to religious conservatism. I can only imagine it would’ve been a whole lot holier and more fulfilling than the way it has been almost my entire life. When my perspective is not being tainted by a history of religious conservatism, I can only imagine what my perspectives are going to be regarding the life I am living at the time. I can’t wait to see how it’s all going to play out for me. Incredible.

The internet shows what men can accomplish through freedom. That, perhaps, is the biggest lesson of all of this. This truly speaks to the geniuses who created these things, regardless of how much of the future they could envision.

Sometimes, the most beautiful thing is the right perspective.

Creative Confidence

I entered this world as an introvert. As I got older, comedy became my way of communicating with other people. Whenever I allowed my brain to develop a completely independent thought that wasn’t “comedy”-related, and shared that thought with others, I often found that they thought I was crazy. I started to believe this as well. And this kept me from sharing serious thoughts with others. Comedy has always been easier for me than writing something “serious”.

I have not yet determined if they were right, or if I was, and am, right. I can tell that this uncertainty hinders me creatively. But I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. If I completely express myself, completely and honestly, am I actually an insane person? Am I a danger to others? Are my honest thoughts dangerous to others? To many, that’s a weird question to ask. But to me, it’s normal. I’m learning the importance of independence. And I’m learning how I can improve as a writer. But I still have my doubts. I begin to write something, and feel as if I’ve already written it before. Then, those children of my past come back, and ask “Why do you repeat yourself so often?” And then, there’s doubts. I start to “look up” why I repeat myself so often. Ope, looks like it’s OCD. So then, I obsess over my “self-diagnosed” OCD, until I finally just say “I can’t do this anymore.” Even if I do only repeat myself with everything I write, if that’s what I feel like I should write, then that’s what I’m going to write. If I’m truly a mental patient, then as long as I feel honest with myself, I’ll have to accept that I’m more “disordered” than the general population.

I’m tired of adopting ideas about myself that come directly from others. This is partly why I have developed my “vulgar” stage: as a way to rebel from being told how I should think. What do I think? What do I honestly think and believe? It is crucial to the soul for one to develop his own thoughts and convictions. Something is always missing if one doesn’t.

It is fun to take what people believe about me and exaggerate it. I really enjoy that. I really enjoy “scaring” ignorant people. It’s dangerous, because there are some people out there crazier than I who wouldn’t hesitate to end my life. But if freedom of expression is so important, why should death be enough to scare one into silence?

I don’t want to be told how I should bring my creative visions to life. I don’t want to be afraid of being “crazy” and “repetitive”. I’ve always believed that I know what I’m talking about. If you disagree, say so. You have every right to say nasty things about me, or whatever you want. I’m not going to stop you. In fact, I encourage it. I may delete a comment, but start your own blog. I have learned that good people will always get their names smeared by bad people, so I welcome that. I welcome the miscreants to destroy my name. I fucking love it. Bring it on.

I always envision an assassination attempt against me, much like Larry Flynt. “Why don’t you just keep your mouth shut? Is it really worth it?”, you may ask. I believe so. I have always been willing to stand up for what I believe to be right. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me, or anything severe, but I’ve been attacked (when I was a kid) for standing up for justice. Been stabbed with a pencil, and had my face slammed into a desk, because I took back a seat that was stolen from me. I realize that’s a minor example. But it proves the principle. Even though I’m not perfect, and I’ve done some bad things, I think I can safely say that justice motivates me.

I have very deep convictions regarding comedy and writing. I have big goals. I will not stop pursuing them. It’s a very slow process, as I have said. But practice will make me better. I’ll develop my voice with practice and experience. I will be able to handle justified and unjustified criticism as I get older. It’s going to be a while before those voices of doubt go away. It’s exhausting to read and try to get better. Entering into the literature world is a huge endeavor. But I want to write, and I want to see where it takes me. I want to learn from my mistakes as a writer. I don’t want to let criticism silence or censor me. And all of this is going to be very hard to do. The thing that gives me hope is the fact that writers write over a very long period of time, so I know I’ll get better at this as I go along. I’ll just have to feel like I’m spinning my wheels until I finally, somehow, get out of the mud.

I’m not able to completely make up my mind yet, and that bugs me. I want all of my writing philosophies to be fully developed now, but they aren’t, and can’t be. There will be growing pains. That’s a part of it. But I look forward to seeing where it all ultimately goes. For whatever reason, I am confident in my abilities to write. I didn’t say I was good yet, but I’m confident that I can do some good things over time. It’s just a matter of learning how to do it, and that is hard; especially, if you’re as thin-skinned as I am. Even that callousness takes practice, and I’m impatient. But I look forward to seeing where it all goes, and I’m looking forward to how I’m going to feel about it all. I generally feel confident until I get negative feedback, but I think that’s just natural for a lot of people. I may be an engine without oil, but I’ll learn to lubricate eventually. I truly believe that I am the little engine that could, and now, it’s just a matter of proving it over a period of time. That, of course, is the hard part.

Purposeful Action

As so eloquently stated by Mises (and elaborated by Rothbard), human beings use means to achieve ends. This is known as “praxeology”. I decided to embark on writing this as, not too long ago, I was sitting and thinking about what I was doing. Now what exactly was it that I was doing? Good question. I was thinking about stuff that I do: namely, writing and making Youtube videos. I decided to do these things in an attempt to make a career that I thought I would actually enjoy. It is my life’s mission to have a job that I actually like, and not one that I hate, but need. I’ve written before about how I came to have this “philosophy” for myself.

But I sat and thought about writing, and Youtube: specifically, how unknown I am in these regards. Although I’ve, most of the time, been optimistic about my ability to succeed in my “ultimate endeavor”, on this occasion, I was not. I thought about the work that I had done, and how unknown it was. And thought about continuing to put even more fervor into my work to get things done, only to have the work continue to remain unknown. Perhaps I’m just an “immature adult” that needs to “grow up”. But, deep down, I have been convinced that I can succeed. I looked at the current level of my “success”, and was dejected. Knowing how much more work I wanted to create, and my vision of where I could take it financially, felt destroyed. I felt like I had to find something else to do. I felt like I finally need to factor in money more so than the enjoyment of the labor.

Perhaps you find that funny. I’m not going to go into detail about my current financial state. But, as I have said, my main goal is to find a career that I actually enjoy. And, currently, writing and Youtube are the only things that I can realistically (go ahead and laugh) think of. The only things that I think I can work towards that will make me happy. Any time that I’ve tried to come up with an “alternative” (specifically “realistic” ones), I have not been happy. You may say that it doesn’t matter if I’m happy or not, but I have, and will continue, to address my philosophy about “happiness”.

I’ve written about my laziness before. And, clearly, that contributes to my lack of financial success in some way. But, perhaps it’s because of my youth, and the natural “rebelliousness” that comes with it, I’m not satisfied to only dream of financial success at my current “dream careers”. Nay, I also desire to, in almost every way possible, succeed in every way that should be “impossible” to succeed in. What do I mean? Well, for one, my Youtube thumbnails. I enjoy the atrocious thumbnails that I make in Microsoft Paint. The thumbnails that literally anyone could make better than me. All across Youtube, there are professional thumbnails that are pleasing to the eye. And I don’t dislike that. But, perhaps due to my “youthful contrarianness”, I can’t help but “prove to the world” that I can succeed without those “professional” thumbnails. Trivial and childish? Perhaps. And, once again, perhaps it is because of my youth, my youthful ignorance, or my ignorance. But that is also included in my “career goals”: not only proving that I can turn what I enjoy doing into a career, but that I can also do it “unprofessionally”.

The final, and much more difficult aspect of this, is, admittedly, insane. The final “contrarian” point is that I want to purposefully make people dislike me in order to make people like me. This one is much harder for me to reconcile (obviously). What do I mean? Well, I have found (as has everyone), that throughout the course of my life, I have made people feel anger, discomfort, or other negative emotions, simply by the way that I naturally wanted to be. What do I mean? Well, my sense of humor, for one. It’s very dark, perverted, profane, etc. I have experienced that it makes many people uncomfortable, and, after I started putting it on the internet, that it makes people angry. And I’ve honestly started to fuel off of these things. I think it is because if I wish to express what I naturally desire to express, then I have to fuel off of these things. I can either adapt, shut up, ignore, or use that for motivation, and because my desire to express myself honestly is so strong, I choose to fuel. It isn’t enough for me to just ignore people’s anger and discomfort. I want to magnify it. I don’t believe this is out of sadism. It is about me speaking honestly, freely, and confidently. It is my overpowering desire to not be silenced. My desire to speak is stronger than my care for the feelings of others (to a certain extent, of course). The thought of proving people wrong, succeeding in a way that no one thought possible, motivates me. It’s what drives me to continue. My love of the work is the strongest reason why I create the work. But my desire to sell the work stems from, obviously, the desire for financial security, but also just because I’m told I can’t. The typical immature, childish reason to do anything in this world. When I developed this belief (thanks to how I was raised), I listened to successful person after successful person, and tried to find something within myself that I felt like connected me to them. And a big thing that I related to was that all of them told of how they were always told that they’d never succeed. That right there clicked with me. “Hey, me too! I can succeed, too!” That was pretty much my only reason for feeling like I could relate to these successful people. It wasn’t because I believed I was particularly talented. Just that I was told that I’d never succeed in finding a “dream job”.

Perhaps, one day I’ll finally accept one (or more) of the, I’m sure, many reasons that people finally “grow up”. But I’m on a mission to find out everything for myself, regardless of the scale of the negative consequences that I may experience because of my choices.

Of course, I don’t really know how to convince anyone that I can do this. The work speaks for itself, and do I truly believe that my work as it stands is enough for success? No, I don’t. It’s a starting point, but there’s a Hell of long way to go. But I believe that I can do it. You can’t arrive at a destination without steps, and I believe that articles like this, and the work that I’ve done up to this point, are steps (it remains to be seen just exactly how big these “steps” will truly be in retrospect).

I’ve already written about how I believe my writing stacks up with “the best”, and you can read that here. I’ve also written about how I feel about my writing, and how I can get better. I’ve written a little bit about why I write, but I believe I could elaborate on that further; and I’ve also written about selling writing, but I will write more about that as well.

I’m currently at the stage where I realize how important my mental independence really is. I’m starting to realize how important my choices are, and that I have control (to what degree, I don’t know). I don’t need to be told what to write, or how, or when. I’m in control of all of that. Even if I suck, I’m in control. And it’s just going to take time and experience to figure out what I’m going to be taking, where I’m going to take it, and how I’m going to get it there (and why is important to know as well). It’s a slow process, but I’m thankful I don’t have a formal “teacher” distracting me from my own personal literary journey (no canon!)

I am beginning to understand that literature is a slow process; especially for me. I can’t explain why I want to write when I do, or what makes me want to write about something. But I can tell that, whatever it is I’m ultimately doing, it is a long process. There’s a lot of quitting involved. A seemingly infinite number of baby steps. There’s a method to the madness. The more mad, the better, in my opinion. Deep down, I think I know that time makes things better. The brain ages, and gets better at things, before it gets worse at things. It’s very odd. It seems out of my control. When I was younger, I remember trying so hard to do so many different things, and failing spectacularly. I was frequently discouraged, and reached many breaking points. Developed coping mechanisms that I thought I would continue for the rest of my life. But, eventually, the coping mechanisms became problems themselves, and I had to hope and pray that things changed. I finally just got better at stuff. I have no idea how: I just fucking did. And I know writing will be no different. I can already tell, as I read stuff that I started writing several years ago, just how bad it was. What has changed over those years? I honestly don’t know. I don’t feel like I’ve written enough to say that practice helped me get better. All I can say, similarly to the past, is that divine intervention just changed some things, thankfully. I have big dreams in my head, but I know it is going to take painfully slow steps to get there. But the good thing is that once they are taken, there’s no need to backtrack. The work you put in will make you feel good when you get to where you are going. But you need stops along the way, even if they are frequent and lengthy. I think breaks are just as important when working on something as the “working” on it is. They shouldn’t be avoided.

I need to learn to love the process. The struggles, although annoying, are important. It makes the task at hand more fun. Looking at a vision of the future, and all of the obstacles that stand in the way of that completed vision, are very interesting. They make the journey more fun. They just give you something to do with life, and that is very important. It’s the difference between living and feeling alive.

I don’t know when or how I’m going to get better at writing. I can tell that this is a huge challenge. I’m sure that, the more I get involved, the more of the iceberg is going to show. But, hopefully by that point, I will be prepared enough to do with the iceberg whatever the fuck it is that I intend to do with it. But the point is that I want the iceberg, and I want to see what happens as a result of it.

It’s quite humorous to think, just a few short years ago, that I thought I was a “good” writer. Now, those “good” writings are just godawful. Now, today’s writings feel good. I’m encouraged that, in the future, these words will be horrible, and I’ll have beautiful words to replace these with. It makes the journey worthwhile, even if it is hard to figure out what the first steps should be. And, of course, even if, many times, I wish to just stay at home and watch T.V. instead of traversing the tough terrain of the tundra looking for the tip of that iceberg poking through the membrane film of my mind.

Reading is a struggle as well. There’s so much to read. The brain has finite energy. “Exhaustion” is the name of the game for everyone. Writers and readers are no exception.

There’s a fine line between fate and will. I’m constantly balancing between the two. Action leads to failure. But it also leads to success. It leads to exhaustion. But it leads to purpose. It leads to bad work. But it leads to good work.

I’m just one small writer in this world. In the past, I thought I could be one of the best. Now, I don’t care as much. Just one of those weird differences that just happen with time. It’s just hard to explain. Experience. Biological growth. It’s just destiny. It’s just weird. The shitty writing of today will be funny in the future. And the future writing will have to be better, because that’s what happens when you put time and effort into something. Usain Bolt once crawled. We all just want to be retired gold medalists as soon as possible.

My mind has visions, and it’s a slow process. There’s no way around this. This is “just how it is.” But I long for the days when it’s all better than it is today. As much as I hate bringing up my age, I can “hang my hat” on the fact that I’m young, and if I live long enough, will be writing for a long time. That has to bear some fruits of quality somehow.

There’s a certain craziness I wish to unleash to the world. It’s frustrating to dream when your dreams aren’t completed. It’s hard to continue when it is so daunting; when you’re as bad at doing what you want to do as I am. The process is a slow drip; but time creates the erosion. Drips make a significant impact over time. If you stare at each drip, the process takes even longer. You can’t be an observer to your own drips. You just have to drip, and then, one day, someone else will bring the erosion to your attention, and you’ll say “Holy shit. Those drips actually fucking did something.” I can’t wait for that day to come, but the problem will be that day is only going to come after a lot of things go (such as my legs, memory, etc.). Of course, I can’t forget my lunch breaks (and I love to eat).

Of course, I want to marvel at the works of others. Learn from them; be inspired by them. In some ways, that means turning off the faucet. But, ultimately, it helps the goal. It slows down the process. Gives the process more steps. But, ultimately, it helps the process. It’s all part of the complicated process. Before you know it, there will be another change, and you’ll be better than you were before. At least, you will be if you don’t stop dripping.

As frustrated as I get at the amount of times I “quit” (or take a break); as frustrated as I get, I can tell when I’m dripping. I can tell when the faucet gets turned on a little bit more. I can see progress. It makes sense that the more you do something, the better you will get at it. But when you start, and you suck, it’s hard to see where, when, and how that progression is going to come.

I can see all of the visions in my head. But they can’t be done instantaneously. They can only be done with effort and experience, and only over a period of time. I’m finally able to accept that, instead of being frustrated at my inability to create good pieces of art instantaneously and just making the entire process harder on myself. I can only say the difference is experience and biology.

I literally have nothing to lose by having an optimistic attitude about my work. I wish more people would adopt that attitude for themselves (but mainly just so they’d leave me alone).

Even if I don’t succeed, the mental stimulation and spiritual satisfaction provided towards working on this goal, I truly believe, cannot be fulfilled by anything else. I don’t desire to have kids, so raising a child would not provide me with this level of fulfillment. I don’t believe any career other than the ones that I desire could. “Well, have you tried?”, you may ask. No, I haven’t. And I don’t plan to. All I plan to do is write and make people laugh at me. That’s it. That’s the challenge: getting paid to do these things. I can’t think of anything more fulfilling than trying to make this happen, and I truly don’t want to find anything “more fulfilling” than this. Aside from my lack of financial success, this is already perfect for me.

There are always voices of doubt in my head. Many of them are related to voices I have heard in the past. But there are other voices that silence them, if only momentarily. And it is during those moments that the dripping begins. I’m in this for the long haul. My love for writing is never going to leave me. This means that I am going to be doing it for life, and, as such, it will have to improve. That’s encouraging, whatever my struggles are. And, currently, those struggles are pretty significant. Small steps. Drips.

I need to work harder on developing my own voice. I want my voice to drown out the voices of all others. “You’re going to drown!”, they yell from the shore. “You’re crazy! Why don’t you pick a different hobby? You’re wasting your time!” Do I want to listen to them? No, I don’t. I just want to write. I just want to make people laugh at me. And I want to make money. These are all I care about. No amount of “advice” is going to change this. All my eggs may be in one basket, but I’m imaginative enough to see the Easter Bunny in my head. And I like that thought.

And as far as how I fit in with “the market” in the long term, although you may say that my prospects are bleak, I’m going to hold out hope, if only because I feel like I, realistically, have no other purpose. Or, perhaps less “drastically”, that I don’t want any other purpose. Feel free to equate me with a child having a temper tantrum; I’d rather be a dreamer than a miserable “adult”. I’ll take that any day of the week, even if I get strange looks as I frolic with the Easter Bunny.

Another Day

Another unproductive day. Another day of no writing. Another day of unfinished work. Another day of waiting on success to come. Another day of pondering the future.

Another day of pondering the political future. Another day of wondering how much longer the freedoms will last.

Another day of very little reading. Another day of disappointment. Another day of comparisons. Another day of longing.

Another day of exhaustion. Another day of lethargy. Another day of uncertainty. Another day wasted.

Another mundane day. Another routine day. Another hopeless day. Another day with a limited mind. Another day with stupid.

Another day with questions. Another day with failure. Another day of solitude. Another day of nowhere.

Another day with doubts. Another day with tyranny. Another day with debates. Another day with slavery. Another day with boredom. Another day with suck. Another day with breathing.

Another day with junk food. Another day with hypochondria. Another day of apathy. Another day of worry.

Another day with uncertainty. Another day with boredom. Another day with uncertainty. Another day with repetition.

Another day…

What’s the Point?

I never cease to be disappointed. I constantly find myself involved in ethical debates, if only as a listener. I find myself a listener, obviously, because I find the discussions interesting. Ethics are something that I want to ponder and discuss. But as I start to go down this road, I often feel it is in vain. I find myself realizing that some things have not changed, and some things will never change. The same problems that exist today have always existed. I find it quite annoying that technological geniuses can’t contemplate philosophically. As if every new combination of physical matter is somehow going to make humans ethically better. Then, news media reports on how the technological medium is making us worse, while seemingly ignoring the benefits it gives us. Where is the perspective?

There are few in the “technological realm” that understand that the tools are used to make specific things better, but not humans as a whole. The tools are merely tools, able to be used for good or evil. They themselves convey no “good” or “evil”. But still yet, there are idiots that complain that tools are corrupting our youth, etc. It really makes me wonder: what’s the point of pointing all of this out?

Let me try to be more general for a second. Let’s take writing. I am writing this right now. You are reading this right now. I’m attempting to convey certain points that I wish to communicate because I want to, for various reasons, and, if you are reading this, you chose to, for various reasons, and you will come to various conclusions about what I have written here. Why am I doing this? Why are we doing this? Why do we do this? Why do we communicate? On a certain level, I understand that we’re all human. We all are similar in that regard. And part of being human means being able to speak and listen. But it bothers me that I don’t know why this is the case. Sometimes, I wish we were all automatons, incapable of communication, and that we could all still function as independent, unrelated entities. Because I find myself exhausted from communication of all sorts.

Why do I write when others have written?, I find myself asking. I compare myself to other writers. Why? Because, as writers, we all want readers. It is impossible for every reader to read every writer. So, many writers want readers to choose themselves over other writers. It’s about supply and demand. Just natural. “Pick me, pick me!” But I find myself having certain problems with this within myself. For one, I know there are countless other writers more deserving of being read than me. So why do I write? I don’t know. There are writers that I haven’t read. So why should anyone read me? I don’t know. How much time and effort should I put into writing? I certainly don’t spend a lot of time doing it: only when something strikes me, and that hasn’t been too often as of late. And what about people that lie when they write? What about people who have written insights that go unnoticed? So many things go through my head when I want to write that I sit paralyzed by my own thoughts. I want to write something significant. Meaningful. And I want to get paid. But, I suppose I’m the whining, unsuccessful author at this point in my life. And I’m starting to wonder why I’m really writing at all.

For one, I don’t know how I can expect to be read when I don’t read. I’ve written about that here. Before, I thought “Well, I’ll just write, and see what happens.” But nothing has happened. Writing now actually feels like an unproductive endeavor. And I don’t know what I can replace it with. It’s always felt natural to me when it happens. What could I possibly replace it with? Is there anything else that feels “natural” to me? Certainly, the majority of writers that write are “financially unsuccessful”. This is true for anyone that does anything. And people will choose, on an individual level, whether to continue anyway or do something else. But I don’t think I have anything else. I don’t really want to learn anything else. I’m stuck with an unproductive “skill”, for lack of a better term, and I don’t know what to do with it. I’m growing tired of writing for no, or few, readers. I listen to popular arguments, and think “You know, there’s so many good ideas from history that are being ignored. And I’m ignoring them as well. So why am I even doing this? Why do I even care if my ideas resonate?” And, the answer is, that I don’t know.

I’m growing tired of writing, because everything is becoming repetitive, and not enough people are reading my works to satisfy me. I also find reading to be dreary, because I don’t feel like I’m gaining anything from it. Even when I read things that I enjoy, I start to ask…what’s the point of this? I think I’m finally getting to the point where I care more about money than enjoying my work. I’ve worked for basically no pay with, for example, writing, and I think I’m finally done with it. I don’t care as much about it anymore. I want to do something more financially sustainable. As much as I’d love to be a professional writer, I just don’t think I want to do this anymore like I once did. I’m tired of dreaming about big paychecks. I’m tired of dreaming of writing popular things. I don’t really care about these dreams anymore. And that’s not something I would’ve ever thought I would’ve said several years ago. But the truth is is that I’ve given this as much of a shot as I’ve wanted to, and I’m just done with it now. I’m done dreaming of success. I want to actually do something that makes me successful. I know you, as the reader, don’t care. But I don’t care that you don’t care, and I don’t know why you’re reading this.

The problem is that I’m still torn. I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’m still in development. I don’t think writing things down when I’m still contemplating them (and don’t have a resolution) is a good idea (as you can probably tell by the transition from the past paragraph to this sentence). At least for me. I’d prefer it if I had it all figured out, and then, it was simply a matter of retracing my steps, or something. Deep down, I just want to be happy. I’m pretty sure that’s universal. It’s a matter of finding out what that is, and how to get it. And this is where the “fun variety of life” comes in. What makes you happy can change. Experience can change you. Lots of things can change. And some things never do. Once again, I find myself stuck. I love to write. But I’m tired of not having any readers. So do I purposefully try to obtain more readers? Or do I just continue to write what makes me happy? Do I finally give up on dreaming of having a dream career? Or do I hang on? Who do I listen to, and who do I ignore? What do I do? The point is, I’m getting tired of what I’m doing right now. But I don’t know what to do about it. I’m tired of the repetitive nature of “popular discussion”, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m constantly in a state of conflict (as I think everyone is, honestly). I want to learn, but I’m sick of reading. I want to write, but I’m sick of not being read. I want to write something meaningful, but there’s a human history full of meaningful things, so what’s the point of trying to add one thing to a history full of things? I don’t know the answer, and it bugs me. People bug me. Communication bugs me. I wish that I felt completely alone. Resistant to all outside influence. But, when I desire to learn, I can’t be. When I desire to write, I can’t be. When I need money, I can’t be. Here, I can hear you saying “Sometimes, you have to change.” But sometimes, you don’t. I want to rise above cliches. I don’t want to live my life by cliches much like conservatives live by the Ten Commandments. I’ve gone down that road before, and it doesn’t work. Taking cliches and trying to make them “more true” than they are doesn’t work. Something is missing. And I don’t know what it is. I want to say that the only thing missing is financial success. I think that’s a big part of it. But something else is missing as well. Why am I here? Why am I here with people I hate? Why can’t I be somewhere else? How can I be alone? I need answers to these questions more than anything in life. Well, besides a career, I suppose.

I’m happy with all of my work up to this point, even if, in retrospect, I don’t think it’s very good, because all of my past work has led my work to what it is today. But I can’t make someone else like it if they don’t. I’m not going to treat my work like a product to be moulded to consumer demands. So, that means that if I’m going to create, and my creations are not “in demand”, I just have to live with it. That means I’m going to have to have a new perspective about it all. I need a new way to deal with people. I just need to “grow up”, I guess. And, once again, I don’t really know why I write. I don’t know why I dream of success. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I know is that I do what I think will make me happy. That’s all that I really care about. I’m getting tired of what I’ve been doing, and something is going to have to change. I just don’t know what that is, or what will bring it about, and that is bugging me right now.

I think, much like my dad always desired for himself, that I just wish to retire away from the world on my own piece of property, and then just die in peace. I have a feeling I’m walking in my father’s footsteps. What we both wanted was just to retire, and have a nice piece of land and property. That’s what I really want. To get away from everything, and not have to worry about anything. I suppose that when that is what you desire, you’re always bound to be disappointed.

As I said, I’m not quite sure where I stand as far as a resolution of ethical issues is concerned. A part of me thinks, in some ways, it is easy. That God, who is good, will take care of the bad. But I’m also skeptical of myself when I start to think religiously. I’ve thought religiously in the past, and it only made things worse. I’ve developed new religious thoughts over the years, and I’m more prone to a “lasseiz-faire” attitude when it comes to religion. I don’t particularly care. Things don’t bother me as much. I just accept things as they are, and I feel content (which, I think, is the point of religion). But when evil is staring me in the face, it’s much harder to keep that attitude, and it’s much easier to want to do something about it. Even if there’s not really anything I can do about it.

I’m a “big picture” person. A “philosopher”. I want to understand meaning. And I want to understand the meaning behind our existence. A meaning to all of the arguing, and all of the evil. I can’t help myself, even if I’m incapable of grasping it. I don’t want to sit idly by, and say nothing, but I also don’t want to have a mental breakdown due to not being able to figure out “the problems of the world”. Currently, I’m in between these two, leaning more towards the “mental breakdown”. I’m confident that, one day, I’ll know the answer to this question, but at the moment, I can only find myself asking: “What’s the point of it all?”

Free Will Contradictions.

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

Debate.