To Be or Not To Be
I have sooooo much shit to do right now. You have no idea. But I choose to wax philosophic about something I was thinking about, more for me than you, as I am horribly, horribly confused as to what Prof. Savage, John Milton and Nirvana are trying to tell me. Read on if you must...
Today in Milton, we had an interesting conversation/lecture about Lycidas (I'm not being sarcastic--it really did kick ass). And Prof. Savage says (I wrote it down because it struck a cord with me, I usually do not take such detailed notes), "the longer you live, the more time you have to prove your worthlessness." Which, if you think about it, is about spot on. Because when you are young, you are filled with the grandiose views of youth, and while you may be somewhat aware of the pointlessness of existence, you have not wholly conceptualized just how that pointlessness relates to your own life. In youth, the future is always bright, is always full of questions and answers and found dreams. And not just for you. Those around you hold the same expectations for your life, and whether knowingly or unknowingly, gently prod you in that general direction. Therefore, if one dies while in the thick of this promise, there is an eternal sense of what could have been, real or imagined. But if you die in old age, everyone knows that you are nothing but a fuck up, some guy who ate up air for 95 years and did nothing but sell insurance and bet on the ponies (no one in mind, of course, just a general idea of what people amount to). So, in that case, you have proven your worthlessness.
So, what is there to stop you from ending it all when you feel that you have nothing more to prove, nothing more to attain than actually waking up in the morning, nothing at all? It seems that suicide is actually a valuable tool in the life of a human, something that can save us all from understanding our own worthlessness. If everyone died at the peak of their game, not only would we be smaller in number, but we would be greater in promise, as we would not fully comprehend the unexamined, unfulfilled life. I know this is getting into shaky ground.
I have often thought that I would rather die than get old. Now, I think, it is not merely an idea, but should be a credence. No, I'm not going to kill myself right now. Rather, I think that the knowledge that one could do just that and not go through with the strange death that is old age is illuminating and interesting. There is a certain wonder and relief in the idea that you could just kill yourself if the worthlessness got to be too much.
Please note that this not an emotional argument, but one related to a work of literature (at least vaguely).
I don't know. I have been having many thoughts about life and how mine should be lived lately. It is weird. Today I went to the Career Center, but all I could think of was laying around and being happy in my own thoughts (and bed). Maybe, in my line of thinking, a career is the first indication of the worthlessness of existence. Dear God. I just can't behind the idea that we were put here to work our fingers to the bone all the goddamn time. I am a hedonist.
So on that note, I leave you with my favorite scene from a play, from Mad Forest by Caryl Churchill. It is not existential, so do not fear. Rather, it is the perfect explanation of happiness as I see it. (Note: I will leave off the names of the speaker as they are Romanian and would just confuse.) Here, the characters are discussing what they want to do with their lives and end up discussing what it takes to make them happy.
I want to go to Peru.
Rome. And Pompeii.
A holiday by the sea.
Pause.
Sleep late in the morning.
Pause.
Paint what I see in my head.
Go into work tomorrow and everyone's better.
Gabriel walking.
Rodica talking.
They laugh.
New shoes.
Paintbrushes with fine points.
Pause.
Drive a fast car.
Be famous.
Toblerone.
Pause.
Make money.
Pause.
Learn everything in the world by the end of the week.
Pause.
Not be frightened.
The Pauses get longer.
Make Florina happy.
Long Pause.
Make Toma happy.
Silence.
Live forever.
Longer silence.
Die young.
Very long silence.
Go on lying here.
Today in Milton, we had an interesting conversation/lecture about Lycidas (I'm not being sarcastic--it really did kick ass). And Prof. Savage says (I wrote it down because it struck a cord with me, I usually do not take such detailed notes), "the longer you live, the more time you have to prove your worthlessness." Which, if you think about it, is about spot on. Because when you are young, you are filled with the grandiose views of youth, and while you may be somewhat aware of the pointlessness of existence, you have not wholly conceptualized just how that pointlessness relates to your own life. In youth, the future is always bright, is always full of questions and answers and found dreams. And not just for you. Those around you hold the same expectations for your life, and whether knowingly or unknowingly, gently prod you in that general direction. Therefore, if one dies while in the thick of this promise, there is an eternal sense of what could have been, real or imagined. But if you die in old age, everyone knows that you are nothing but a fuck up, some guy who ate up air for 95 years and did nothing but sell insurance and bet on the ponies (no one in mind, of course, just a general idea of what people amount to). So, in that case, you have proven your worthlessness.
So, what is there to stop you from ending it all when you feel that you have nothing more to prove, nothing more to attain than actually waking up in the morning, nothing at all? It seems that suicide is actually a valuable tool in the life of a human, something that can save us all from understanding our own worthlessness. If everyone died at the peak of their game, not only would we be smaller in number, but we would be greater in promise, as we would not fully comprehend the unexamined, unfulfilled life. I know this is getting into shaky ground.
I have often thought that I would rather die than get old. Now, I think, it is not merely an idea, but should be a credence. No, I'm not going to kill myself right now. Rather, I think that the knowledge that one could do just that and not go through with the strange death that is old age is illuminating and interesting. There is a certain wonder and relief in the idea that you could just kill yourself if the worthlessness got to be too much.
Please note that this not an emotional argument, but one related to a work of literature (at least vaguely).
I don't know. I have been having many thoughts about life and how mine should be lived lately. It is weird. Today I went to the Career Center, but all I could think of was laying around and being happy in my own thoughts (and bed). Maybe, in my line of thinking, a career is the first indication of the worthlessness of existence. Dear God. I just can't behind the idea that we were put here to work our fingers to the bone all the goddamn time. I am a hedonist.
So on that note, I leave you with my favorite scene from a play, from Mad Forest by Caryl Churchill. It is not existential, so do not fear. Rather, it is the perfect explanation of happiness as I see it. (Note: I will leave off the names of the speaker as they are Romanian and would just confuse.) Here, the characters are discussing what they want to do with their lives and end up discussing what it takes to make them happy.
I want to go to Peru.
Rome. And Pompeii.
A holiday by the sea.
Pause.
Sleep late in the morning.
Pause.
Paint what I see in my head.
Go into work tomorrow and everyone's better.
Gabriel walking.
Rodica talking.
They laugh.
New shoes.
Paintbrushes with fine points.
Pause.
Drive a fast car.
Be famous.
Toblerone.
Pause.
Make money.
Pause.
Learn everything in the world by the end of the week.
Pause.
Not be frightened.
The Pauses get longer.
Make Florina happy.
Long Pause.
Make Toma happy.
Silence.
Live forever.
Longer silence.
Die young.
Very long silence.
Go on lying here.
posted by Southern Belle at 3:04 PM
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