2024-10-25 Journal Entry

Lately I’ve been feeling more and more called to return to that quiet part inside me. Everyone has one. It’s in your chest, or at least it’s below your head. The real wireheading is just being inundated with sights, sounds, things like that.

What I most want is just to be quiet for a bit. To put down the constant gnawing of accomplishment and being.

There’s a feeling that I believe is common to many a modern youth. It’s not quite depression, not an aversion so strong that we want to end our existence. It’s more like a desire for another attempt.

We know that deep down inside of us is this thing. It’s beyond color, beyond feeling, beyond freedom or chains. It’s that feeling of what it is to be anything at all. There’s that line from that Neutral Milk Hotel song: how strange it is to be anything at all.

We don’t appreciate that strangeness, let it blossom. If we all saw our own innate strangeness, how would we be with each other? Each of us attempting to be in a way that only we can be.

Each of us is just trying to protect that thing, but protecting it means locking it in a hard, colorless case. Nothing in or out. To see it, to feel that thing, is to be vulnerable.

We wish only to see the stars. To call them friends.

To feel the stars is to feel small. We sense for a moment that nobody’s watching. We can finally expose ourselves while nobody’s there.

Of all the stars in the universe, there’s still darkness. There are spaces in infinity.

(P.S. from the day later: I was kinda high when I wrote this)