Thursday, July 23, 2009

I could tell you I love you. I could tell you I hate you. I could tell you I am not capable of loving, nor of hating. It all feels honest -- so how do I know what is honest?
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3 comments:

Unknown said...

who knows what's honest but the honest themselves

23 July, 2009 19:06
Koona said...

I cannot trust my own heart, nor can I live up to the greatest aspirations of my own heart. At times my heart overflows with reactions that do not reflect my deepest and truest desires. I hear, "Follow your heart," but I should not trust my heart. When allowed to pump itself along uninhibited, it blazes an uneven, sloppy, blundersome path shameful to behold, painful to tread.

26 July, 2009 14:28
Radigan Neuhalfen said...

Universal meaninglessness obtains. There is no meaning in existence except the meaning that you create for yourself (logotherapy) or the meaning that someone else created and that you accept (religion) -- but either is wilful delusion.

What is inhibited is dull and shameful; what is uninhibited is vibrant and glorious.

Uneven, even, sloppy, tight, blundersome, blunderless, aspiring, despairing, desiring, peaceful: all are irrelevant.

The awareness of existence is painful.

27 July, 2009 00:56

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