“We are afraid to be radically honest because it will lead us to face many unpleasant things about ourselves. We are afraid to care because we have learned that in caring deeply, we can be hurt deeply. Our fear of failure causes us, as parents, spouses, students, artists to hedge or withdraw from many undertakings—even life itself, because if we really put ourselves into an enterprise that is criticized or fails, then we have been criticized and we fail. We are afraid to love because love really means leaving the safety of our solitary lives and exposing our hearts where they can be hurt and broken and softened. These are the fears that cause us to bury our lives even before we are dead.” - C. FitzSimmons Allison

Daria keeps shit real.

Condition people to expect nothing and the least little something gets them all excited. - Jane from Daria.

RIP Isis

They've disbanded.

"After you, the flood."

"On the campus of Outlaw College, professors of essential insanities would characterize the conflicting attitudes of Nina Jablonski and Leigh-Cheri as indicative of a general conflict between social idealism and romanticism. As any of the learned professors would explain, plied with sufficient tequila, no matter how fervently a romantic might support a movement, he or she eventually must withdraw from active participation in that movement because the group ethic--the supremacy of the organization over the individual--is an affront to intimacy. Intimacy is the principal source of the sugars with which this life is sweetened. It is absolutely vital to the essential insanities. Without the essential (intimate) insanities, humor becomes inoffensive and therefore pap, poetry becomes exoteric and therefore prose, eroticism becomes mechanical and therefore pornography, behavior becomes predictable and therefore easy to control. As for magic, there's none at all because the aim of any social activist is power over others, whereas a magician seeks power over only himself: the power of higher consciousness, which, while universal, cosmic even, is manifest in the intimate. It would seem that a whole human being would have the capacity for both intimacy and social action, yet sad to say, every cause, no matter how worthy, eventually falls prey to the tyranny of the dull mind. In the movement, as in the bee house or the white ant's hill of clay, there is no place for idiosyncrasy, let alone mischief.
A romantic, however, recognizes that the movement, the organization, the institution, the revolution, if it comes to that, is merely a backdrop for his or her own personal drama and that to pretend otherwise is to surrender freedom and will to the totalitarian impulse, is to replace psychological reality with sociological illusion, but such truth never penetrates the Glo-Coat of righteous conviction that surrounds the social idealist when he or she is identifying with the poor or the exploited. Since, on a socio-economic level, there are myriad wrongs that need to be righted, a major problem for the species seems to be how to assist the unfortunate, throttle the corrupt, preserve the biosphere, and effectively organize for socio-economic alteration without the organization being taken over by dullards, the people who, ironically, are best suited to serving organized causes since they seldom have anything more imaginative to do and, restricted by tunnel vision, probably wouldn't do it if they had." -Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

Freud = winner

we ought to be content to conclude that power over nature is not the only precondition of human happiness, just as it is not the only goal of cultural endeavour; we ought not to infer from it that technical progress is without value for the economics of our happiness. One would like to ask: is there, then, no positive gain in pleasure, in unequivocal increase in, my feeling of happiness, if I can, as often as 1 please, hear the voice of a child of mine who is living hundreds of miles away or if I can learn in the shortest possible time after a friend has reached his destination that he has come through the long and difficult voyage unharmed? Does it mean nothing that medicine has succeeded in enormously reducing infant mortality and the danger of infection for women in childbirth, and, indeed, in considerably lengthening the average life of a civilized man? And there is a long list that might be added to benefits of this kind which we owe to the much despised era of scientific and technical advances. But here the voice of pessimistic criticism makes itself heard and warns us that most of these satisfactions follow the model of the ‘cheap enjoyment’ extolled in the anecdote—the enjoyment obtained by putting a bare leg from under the bedclothes on a cold winter night and drawing it in again. If there had been no railway to conquer distances, my child would never have left his native town and I should need no telephone to hear his voice; if travelling across the ocean by ship had not been introduced, my friend would not have embarked on his sea-voyage and I should not need a cable to relieve my anxiety about him. What is the use of reducing infantile mortality when it is precisely that reduction which imposes the greatest restraint on us in the begetting of children, so that, taken all round, we nevertheless rear no more children than in the days before the reign of hygiene, while at the same time we have created difficult conditions for our sexual life in marriage, and have probably worked against the beneficial effects of natural selection? And, finally, what good to us is a long life if it is difficult and barren of joys and if it is so full of misery that we can only welcome death as a deliverer?

I was thinking a lot about the idea of the self, the self, or as its called from the inside, I. YOu know this strange little thing that everyone has, this odd tiny organ which the surgeons can't touch. One afternoon, I asked myself, what about that noise I always hear, that intolerable noise which comes from somewhere inside my head. ANd I realized that rather like a singer who accompanies his own singing with a piano or a guitar, I accompany my own life with a sort of endless tinkling or an endless noodling or murmuring - a sort of awful inner murmuring of reportage and opinions, idiotic arpeggios of self-approbation - "Yes, this is what I'm doing, this is what I'm doing, and this is the right thing to be doing now, because murmur, murmur, murmur, and this is right because murmur, murmur, murmur, and this is right becasue murmur, murmur, murmur - " I thought about all the isncere consideration which I gave to the future, to my plans, you know, and all the solemn concern I lavished each day on the events of my past - my "memories," as we call them, wiping away a few tears - and I wondered: Was this all tremendously valuable? Or was it perhaps just a bit unnecessary, when you consider the fact - rather often overlooked - that the past and the future don't actually exist? I sit around thinking about them from morning till night, but you know, where are they? Where are they? I mean, they're not here. And God knows they're certainly not anwere else, I would say. And so what is it supposed to mean to me that the trousers I'm wearing were worn "yesterday" by a man with my name, a man who did this, a man who did that, or that they'll be worn "tomorrow" by a man who is going to be doing something or other? It all means exactly nothing to me, because none of these people actually exist.- Wallace Shawn, THe Designated Mourner.

Do we really need to feel happy?

I suppose we naturally pursue the more graceful extreme of our emotions which would be happiness. But with that comes the sadness, loneliness, and depression in the absence of the stimuli that gives us that tingly feeling and shit.

So do we really need happiness? Or are we really only willing to love the idea of a thing so much that we hate when they aren't apart of our life and feel entirely at ease when we have it?

For example: love. Everyone gets lonely without it. But when we do have it, from a family member or a partner, we feel whatever the fuck it is and enjoy the fuck out of the moments so much that nothing else matters (yes metallica).

But at the same time, love must be brought on by people. And with people comes disappointment and blahzy blahzy blah.

So why can't we just be fine, not happy or in a state of bliss, with knowing we have shelter and can take care of our basic bodily functions so that we may see another day with enough energy to make it to the next and so on?

I'm slowly but surely getting over all this happiness shit. If i find a girl to love or whatever, so be it. I'll do everything I can for her, but I'm not looking to getting married and having separated sides of the room and having to watch over my possessions because I'm territorial. I'm not looking to be so attached to another person that I'm actually going to worry about their health when its not the best or go insane when they're not around and don't call.

And I'm not digging the idea of sanctioned suffering for the sake of a paycheck. I'd rather enjoy what I do and keep a fucking roof over my head, be it an apartment or a back house.

He travels the fastest who travels alone.- Rudyard Kipling

There is no reason to live, no purpose to life
only will validated through act justified by result.

see, people aren't really happy, but they try to be. They tell their selves they love every little thing their lover does even it really annoys them. They say the love hunting for jobs though they're still jobless and some other person hunting for a job can't make this month's rent. They get in relationships so as not to be alone. They get all the adrenaline riushes they can in their youth and some in their adulthood while trying to be some ideal citizen that works and doesn't complain so they don't have to fear death until their old enough to not remember what being a kid felt like because the dementia set in and they can only see death as the nearest stop on the high way coming up.

Its so perceptive and it shouldn't be that way. We shouldn't have to convince ourselves to love our pain. But we do because we're selfish and want our life to be great. We want our life to be our own. And its bullshit.

Depressing high five! [/the todd]

"Men become civilized, not in proportion to their willingness to believe, but in proportion to their readiness to doubt." - H.L. Mencken

And on a pedestal Parent miles high, they said the following:

Its about time you listen to me for a change. Shut the fuck up, I don't care how hard you've had it. It only gets harder and if that doesn't put a fear of time in you so great you can cry, then you know you're doing well. Its time you grow the fuck up. Time to take that long dick of Life, erected by the mistakes of insecure dumbfucks who don't want to admit their wrong, and smile. Time you become an adult, and stop being a careless asshole who only wants the best for the entire world. Its too big for you to save even a quarter or fifth of it, so shut the fuck up with your whining about those of your friends holding guns or syringes so tight you'd swear their life was knocking on hell's door. Its time you become an adult, you idiot, and not the one you want to be, you must push that infantile ego of yours aside and be the very sane one that all other adults are....regardless of their hatred for what they become. You must become mundane, mediocre, and keep a fragile roof over your head. You must accept the challenge, which only exists because it is never easy to deal with boredom. You must put away your outstretching arm and tighten your hand around your other hand, and hold on for dear life. Your own dear life. You must seek not the love your heart thumps for while in an otherwise empty chest. If you find a warm body to grip through decades, so be it. If not, you better not become some fucking poet or singer, bemoaning the whim of those who were better at loving than you. And lastly if you ever even fucking think about taking the easiest of easy ways to escape the hell that is life, so help me God, I will beat you within inches of death so fast, you'll only wish to be the healthy young adult you are presently.

Now get the fuck out of my womb.