Expectant Life

As some of you know: the last few weeks for me have be complete and utter crap.

My current dissociated state has opened a realist perspective to me, and it’s fucking with my psyche.

I would like to focus on a thought I had:

“He’s clearly oblivious to how shitty life really is.”

Expectation. Something we all have. Lord knows, as highly strung as I has the highest of all – which, when idealized in the romantic way that a fire sign like myself always does – means a greater disappointment when reality sets in.

Descartes analyzed the world into different things: and tried to unite them in an amazing synergy – in comparison to this, Heidegger begins theory with a concrete being: I am neither. A transient being, depressed by the banality of existence. I second guess my intellect when I compare my lack of acceptance of this to that of Sartre.

I suppose this is just masturbation to the theory of relativity: but my problem with that comparison, is that lack of an actual analogue to the speed of light. The theory states that light travelling in a vacuum is constant to all observers – if we expect light to travel 300 000m per second – it should. If we expect a meaning to life – where is it? What is it constant to? Why should we even exist, if a tangible thought means nothing?

Have I been expecting too much? Was I just in a bubble of rainbows and unicorns?

Probably.

I am a firm believer in not expecting too much from people, as they always disappoint. Little did I realize that we need expect less from life.  With regard to people, those who disappoint you are easy to cull, however, when ones own existence is in question, it is not so easy. I look at Christians (yes, general Christians), and their undeniable happiness, and general pleasantness and feel a little jealous. The jealousy is towards the blind faith that they put into God, and the lack of intellect that allows them to create a meaning for life. They expect to go to heaven, when in reality, your totally just going to rot in the ground.

I think Vinny H put it eloquently when he explained lol: it’s like driving a Volvo whilst dudemanbros sing Wuthering Heights in the back.

I expect the lol, but reality makes me take a slash in a gaybar with some dude looking at my penis.