thoughts before bed...

The only thing that I am absolutely sure in life is that I have liked and continue liking to be confused. I love getting into dilemmas. If the life of my lonely self bound within the walls of my desolate apartment in south west Virginia once began appearing somewhat dark, then with this new life in the big city my self tries to seek silence in the sea of people that it is submerged in. I had chosen to move, scared of my diminishing self, to give it a chance to rediscover itself. But now the more it feels lost in the labyrinthine city, the less meaningful it finds things to be. Would it be darker than before? It could just be that I get bored with things after a while. Jaded and dazed I seek more connection among people. I could not ever don superficiality, so now I think that pretending to be something else could transform me fundamentally. I still seek to fulfill the absolute desires that I feel. The more I wish to become a part of my surroundings (possibly with a bit of pretense) the better I want to understand these basic desires. But since I like being confused and I still feel the pretense, I also start rejecting the desires that I perceive to be alien, those that are either invented by me or perceived to be imposed on me by others. I seek to define myself with things that I like and by rejecting what I don't like. The dilemma is because I have rejected lot of what I don't approve and I think if I ever have tried to embrace what is outside of what I understand. I have rejected people because of my preconceived notions about them and I have refrained from getting closer to people in fear of imminent failures. What is this self really trying to achieve. What is its true character that it should live. Kierkegaard may have the answer but he is very obvious, in that he rejects the problem itself. Denying the problem hardly ever solves it.

I think following passions is the right thing to do, but passions are rooted in the environment. If I write music, how can it be not about what normal people like? If I write, how can I reject populism of art? How can I enjoy anything if I seek more than enjoyment from what I do? Absolute passions don't exist. But are there no passions to be followed then? I hate being existential, but is thinking this itself the passion of being? I continue to be confused because life means nothing without a passion and passion itself diffuses the self into nothingness. The solution could be along these lines - I just need to be with people much as I like to think. The equivalence of those two conditions bridges all the gaps in between. We don't need to think that we need to think, much the way we don't need to think that we need to be with people. If that be the case, passions roll out and self restructures itself. The dream of silence can be met only if all desires meet fulfillment and the likelihood of both is equally and dismally minimal.