It would seem that most metaphysicians in the historical literature would agree that since the world is largely subjective, what matters, when it comes to morality, is internal view. Iapos;m evil because I think I"m evil, or good because I think Iapos;m good. Solipsism in a nut shell... Iapos;m alive because I think Iapos;m alive... I think therefore I am. But what about other people. As far as society is concerned Iapos;m a 36 year old obese man, more the picture of mussorgsky than a 21 year old college student. But what am I inside, does that matter? For example, say that I self-perceive as a 21 year old college student, and I go to the outside world and ask "who am I?" and they respond that "you are a 36 year old obese alcoholic." Which view takes credibility, does it even make sense to talk about such things? Perhaps both views are equally valid.... Self perception and the perception of others. Perhaps others believe that Iapos;m psychotic, this is unlikely, but per say...Iapos;m some type of number crunching sociopath, blunted to all emotional view of human life. Is it logical for me to live up to such a defining reputation, or should I persist in acting in accord with my internal self-perception knowing that it will cause me to fail to be defined, to exist without social role.
I love life, but Iapos;m also tired of it. I love existing in the abstract, but am tired of the way it forces me to exist. Iapos;m tired of loving people who will never love me, which is to say will never allow my love to flavor their perception of me. Will never bother to amend their perception of me to accord with my perception of them. Itapos;s stupid of me.. I could choose to believe that they loved me, and then refuse to validate any contrary information? is that optimal... Thatapos;s what doublethink is about... The power to say two and two makes five, and to believe it if convenient. What a strange crux, but I guess nothing matters. I can forsee my whole day tommorow with perfect clarity... Its strange and lonely paths pan out for me into that infinity of 24 hours. Everyone is beautiful, but then they get drunk (like I am now) and cease to be interesting or alternately forswear alcohol to live a life of perception, until everything becomes so important that even a passing comment takes on all the importance of a battle... To live and die by the imaginary or imagined perceptions of others, people who may or may not really exist at all. Do I exist, I suppose I must because my life is so boring it couldnapos;t possibly be the perception of another. I have no center in reality, and therefore must exist, because I am unaligned with (and within) the world. Because I live with this forceful disconnect with the world around me, I must be real. I commonly fantasize about being a figment of someone elseapos;s mind. My life would be so much easier if I were fake, it would have meaning because it would be about something, or more properly someone.
Thatapos;s what love is about, itapos;s about illusion. When you love someone you believe yourself to be esteemed in their eyes, to exist around them, or because of them. And this covers love in all its forms, the love of a woman for a man, a parent for a child, a man for god... Maybe even god for man? It doesnapos;t matter whether thereapos;s any reality at all... All that matters is we can create a construct which provides esteem, and by esteem I mean the forceful estimation of beauty and character... Non-invisibility. In the end I will kill myself, just like orwellapos;s narrator I forsee my end from my beginning, and know the mannor, if not the time, of my death. I suspect it will be some time into the future, a lifetime away, Iapos;;ll be at least 40 by then... Probably late 40apos;s, but Iapos;m certain that my midlife crisis will kill me, so it could be more properly termed an end-life crisis. Maybe this is crazy... As an old man Iapos;ll have the whole world to see and all the time to see it, thatapos;s truly wonderful. Itapos;s a damn paradox of longing. On the one hand I hate the fact that I donapos;t exist in the world, and therefore lack meaning, on the otherhand, I hate being connected with the world and having my actions reduced to mear mechanical movements, unable to perceive things in whole. No matter which side I take Iapos;m screwed. To acquire meaning by basing oneapos;s life around an object is to loose purpose because one loses self-determination. But what is determination when one cannot find meaning. I think this is why people are religious... Iapos;ll have to think on it when Iapos;m sober.
Until then, I go to sleep knowing that I love everything unconditionally, especially hatred.
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