See ideals for what they are: not extensions of our souls and nature, but of foreign ideas inserted into our bodies and then undernourished by truth and meaning. Ideals exist only to pull us in new directions, to lurch us out of squalor, excite us to different heights, not trap us in a nostalgic vision placated by oh-so-noble sentiments.
It’s not, it’s not so simple.
Prominent scientist’s comments about rape and paedophilia generate online controversy.
This explains to me what really really offends me. It’s people not bothering to understand what is being discussed and jumping the gun based on some preconceived ideology. And then feeling right about it.
No matter whether you’re right or wrong, you offend me because you are doing the same thing as the person who is wrong. You’re hiding behind big ideas as an excuse for thought. I would rather people didn’t have an opinion. If you have an opinion, you must be sure that you’re talking straight. I don’t think people are entitled to their opinions. They should have to earn it.
The possibility of escape haunts me. I wish to leave this behind, quickly and without fuss or frustration.
I need — freedom.
A freedom from being constantly at the mercy of stupidity — in others and in myself.
I found a solace in mathematics that little else, besides the timeless air which touched all books, could give. It was a joy above all worldly things — eternal, unclouded. Perhaps I once really did enjoy drawing and art, for its own sake, because it touched an inner shadow of myself and drew out a rapture of being — before it too succumbed to the poison of becoming. I must protect my heart from the world. Keep things true to what they are, not tear them up for the devices of others. I must keep the me that lives and the me that stumbles to survive two seperate wholes.
Every line of Baudrillard’s makes my bones grow cold. Spitefully I am haunted by an insatiable past.