I particularly like the moment when I turn off the computer, and all the hustles and bustles of what I have been watching settle down. In the ending of it all there's a certain color that pertains to my intellectual landscape, an expressive but colorless color.
I enjoy watching YouTube videos, pornographies, and in general anything online with considerable delight. Yet at the same time I'm always faintly aware that, whatever is depicted in those videos, while probable and vivid, isn't always true. They could be real, factual and objective events, yet they may not be true to me the same way a wheel is not true to a leg - they serve an identical goal, yet are completely divergent in design and construction.
If in these videos I seek energy, arousal and joy, it is in the aftermaths of them that I find relief, comfort and reassurance. After all, for all these years, I was able to carry on precisely because I spared myself the foolhardy notion of having to belong, so that whenever something uncanny happens, I could always have a rest in the philosophical smughole I dug for myself. Uncanny things, and the refusal of them, or rather, to put it in a more pertinent way, the reluctant acceptance of them are quite commonplace in a range of issues that I deal with. So over time, a code of conduct has been cultivated in me to take precaution in everything I encounter, that I'll be ready when they precipitate on me. This precaution, I figure, while made with the soundness of a reasonable mind, is what prevents me from calming down, and settling in, and what causes the anxiety that propels me forward.
If briefly I allow myself to look into the past when I was more innocent, I would see essentially only two things - beauty and deception from one angle, and dereliction and neglect from all the others. I used to fabricate the former as truth, and deprecate the rest as marginal and unimportant. For it is always in the former I feel a sense of sanity, coziness, or to be more accurate, from the warmth of lying on a tiger's stomach. It is not a terribly suitable way to live I entirely know, but if otherwise left on the meager, greenless soil I'm usually left with, I face no option but to either live like a salvage or die. These were once very hard questions, existential questions indeed. And only now do I have the leniency and composure to ask them.
But despite having spent an enormous amount of time probing for answers to these questions, I concede to admit that in both the questions themselves and the attempt to answer them, lies a youthful sentimentality similar to that of a sexual attraction, where the minuscule distinction of organs is enlarged to form the basis of the type of human relationship we almost religiously uphold.
I have always been firmly opposed the concept of a morality test, simply because human morality itself is an exclusive social construct that becomes invalid without context. Now, I emerge to become an opponent of questioning the meaning and teleology of life, for the meaning and teleology of life is, likewise, a social and mental construct. I believe, a truly intelligent person therefore would be able to avoid these questions altogether and indulge himself in the shallower but more quantifiable pursuits of education, family and wealth, although whether I am that person remains unknown.
Compared with other people I know, many of who could be considered exceptionally capable, I seem much more prone to retain a level of self-consciousness where there shouldn't be. One ought not to worry about the insignificance of life while creating PivotTables in Excel sheets; one ought not to deplore the rudimentariness of human sexuality while masturbating; one ought not to think eating animals and keeping them as pets as utterly incompatible facts.
The main reason, I have discovered, is that I have passion in nothing. Nothing realistic has ever interested me so much that I would fully allow myself to be passionate about it. And hence, what sustains me now is but a mere and visceral sense of shutting up, and carrying on.
