Apathy my Tenacious Enemy

     Evil, true evil, should adhere the approval of the victim to be penalized in it. There is just as much harm in believing that there is only one choice for you than the brute who adopts the right of forcefully changing the minds of others. If someone were to put a gun up against your head what would you do? Do what they want or else they shoot you correct? Wrong, you take their gun, call their bluff, yell for help, pull out a bigger gun, or one of ninety-five other possibilities you partake in.

     I always lived my life on the basis that there is always another way, and my only job here was solely to think. So what is my most relentless, greatest enemy who is the face of all my evil? 

     Apathy. There are subtle moments through out the day where I succumb to the forces of lethargy. Where I lose all reason and have no desire to be productive and work. For me, hate isn't the antonym for love, for me apathy is the opposite of love. There is repeated vindications of this emotion daily.

     "I stepped into the shower and embodied myself into the rush of water that sprayed onto me. Reflecting on the slow painful moments that were behind me. I had thought I had wanted to wipe off the grime and sweat that I had held but I realized that I it wasn’t the dirt I was trying to get rid of, it was the reminder. The remainder of the sense of… just not wanting to exist. Not specifically to commit suicide, just the wish to disappear and stop being. The will to allow myself to enter the land of apathy"(2/12/2017)

    I believe that the French had a word for this… l'appel du vide. The call of the void. The urge to self-destruct during simple, everyday behaviors. But not for suicidal purposes, but rather to just stop your own existence as to relieve the stress that you bring to the others around yourself.

    There are two sides to every single argument. There is a right or wrong. But the center is always evil, for their indifference. Play is not the opposite of work, apathy is. Disfigurement is not the opposite of art, apathy is. Hate is not the opposite of love, apathy is. 

     And now, productivity will not be the opposite of me, apathy will be.

     

   

Every Night can be Another Story

     Katherine Anne Porter once wrote,”Human life may be almost pure chaos, but the work of the artist is to take these handfuls of confusions and disparate things, things that seem to be irreconcilable, and put them together in  a frame to give them some kind of shape and meaning.” 
     In this interpretation we are art, and art is not supposed to make sense to each but his own. It is not supposed to look nice, though admired, not supposed to make sense, though it has meaning. And foremost art is supposed to make you feel something, evoke an emotion that you might have not even known it was there. And the connection between these pieces of art is just as confusing and different as the art itself. But relationships, not just sexual but platonic as well, end up to be hard, they are supposed to be, are not they? After all the only thing tougher is being alone and trying to find peace in a world that has omitted your journey, restraining you to the shallow miseries of a wallflower. You can only wish that in those times of hopelessness that you have a friend, someone through walk you through it…it meaning everything. But what kind of art makes you feel the best?
     The best present that you could ever give someone, who has nothing or even everything, is your presence. An implication that even though the times are tough, you can get through the hard times, the shadows of the sun. Because when life comes at you from the darkness with the only idea in mind to unite itself with you, you struggle to find the courage needed to stop yourself from interceding in its ruins. A courage that can only be found in someone who can empathize, not sympathize… someone who will be their no matter what. A friend.
     And during these apathetic moments, I feel strange. I want to chuckle, or maybe cry out in frustration. I wanted to share my feeling with someone else. But there isn't anyone to share it with. I mean of course there is, I have friends, close friends, best friends. But that isn't how it works.
     I think it's supposed to start with you recognizing the fact that your joy is only your own power to achieve or even destroy. But what you can't do is put everyone else's needs in front of your own and act like that counts as friendship, love, or even selflessness. That's altruistic.
     Altruism declares that any action taken for the benefit of  others is good, any any action for yourself is evil. So the beneficiary of action is the only criteria for it's goodness. And so, as long as an action helps anyone other that you, anything goes. 
     And when you're stuck in these kind of crossroads you need to step away from the person you were, and think about the person you want to be, the person you were meant to become. The person that you are. And know it's okay to say, but it's even better to do. It's contentful to dream, but sublime to create. It is nice to recognize and grand to react. 
     The only perspective that matters is the present and presence. I was there. Present in my presence
     That night, laying on my back I melted my gaze into the starry night, straying long enough that there was a blend between the contrast of the stars and the sky. My cheeks became crimson from the feverish events on the balmy night before me, with the concrete cooling against my skin. What's the best kind of art you want to ask me?
     The kind of art that reminds you that tonight is the beginning of always. A binding fulfilling a longing. A celebration of the chance taken and what lies ahead. A formal engagement of the promise made long ago in my soul to myself.
     The art that makes you feel infinite.