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To find yourself, think for yourself © Socrates 469 BC

repetition. repetition is everything. it is refinement. it is perfection. it is success. it is everything. repetition. repetition.repetition. all day, every day. set your mind to a task, and repeat. night, and day. make sacrifices. devote your being to its actualization. and repeat. refine. distill. repetition. drill it into my brain. repetition. reading, writing, thinking, communicating, achieving. repetition. be better. it is the only way. repeat.

my last exams tomorrow. I wake in 6 hours to eat and study for an hour and a half.

i have a strong desire to see through it all. perceptive. insightful. keen. sagacious. when i look at situations and people my intention is to look into and beyond whats happening. examine the persons intentions. examine the outlook of the situation. all the factors involved. i dont want to get caught up in a rush and miss a moment of observance. of course this mode does not consume my entire day. i am tired.

Wow. My life, quite literally, the past 30.5 hours has consisted of:
3 hours of eating.
4 hours of sleeping
4 hours of exams, Psci and Econ.
19.5 hours of studying.

I shit you not. No generous numbers here. I can here break down the studying:
4 hours of Political Science
5 hours for Geology
10.5 hours for Economics.

Now, on Saturday, I woke at 12ish, and worked on a paper from 1:00pm to 3:30am, stopping only for a to go dinner. That’s 13.5 hours to finish a 12 page paper.

This is a reminder that I can study like a champ whenever I need to, and that if I ever make an excuse why I can’t buckle down, I should be ashamed of the potential I’m robbing myself.

I also know that I never want to experience this kind of cramming again. This could have been easier if A) I didn’t have to reschedule all my exams because of a prof that mis-scheduled our exam and they reschedule it with a week until exams- after I booked my flight a month ago , and B) I studied half this hard throughout the entire semester.

I don’t wanna social life. I wanna be a obsessed with learning and academics again.

So I’m ready to sleep a lil before I work on my last two exams. My eyes burn tho. I need to let them close for a little bit.

i want to be a nerd again. i need to feel inadequate so i can work slavishly to overcompensate. fast.

I’ve been thinking an awful lot lately. Since I picked up a small pocket journal, I find myself much more at ease with my thoughts. They escape effortless in the moment. I will write an update though. Finals are next week. Two essays and three exams. I have begun studying. Tomorrow is the last official day of classes. Friday is a reading day… but its packed with exam review sessions so its basically like another day of classes. Um… I have so much on my mind. I have been giving a lot of thought to ‘place’… as well as ‘space’ (in the relational sense) and ‘time’. Can time be polluted? I think so. I think civilization has droned out the harmony by reducing space and accelerating time.

Maps. Some say the world is small. Some say its large. I believe our conception of nature’s vastness is limited by knowledge, experience, analogy. A world is defined by these limitations… however finite or infinite. What need of maps? Geographic coordinates? Did indigenous peoples lend a care to such definitions in their world? And how vast was their’s?

work in 5 hours. bed.

All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.
TE Lawrence

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be. ~ Lao Tzu

If you keep doing what you’ve always done you’ll keep getting what you’ve always gotten. You cannot remain as you are and become something greater.

what is truth? Truth is the external reality beyond our senses. We cannot fully know truth. & its meaning is subjective. So abandon your objective pursuits.

Someone wrote:

“The man who has no inner life is a slave to his surroundings.” ~Henri Frédéric Amiel

Then it follows that the man who has no outer life is a slave to himself. Is slavery to everything outside of an imaginary boundary less preferable to slavery within that same boundary?

I responded:

Yes.

It is more preferable to be a slave to yourself, the inner life that constitutes the imagination and passion and reason, then to be a slave to your surroundings, which is characterized by foreign expectations and demands.

*****
I thought about this for awhile. I need to think about this for a while longer. Not sure if I fully agree with my response. I don’t like the inferences the question makes on the quote.

I should have mentioned that this boundary isn’t imaginary, but very real. Among other things.

This is a journal from me. I have been sitting in my room for roughly 7 hours and 45 minutes, working on this Kant paper… since around 6:00pm. I’ve taken about an hours worth of breaks. My eyes feel like they’re pulsating, and my stomach has a hollow ache. The whole paper is shaping up nicely, but I dread the tedious process of anatomizing the minutia. And Kant is chocked full of it.

Me. I’m just gonna rant a lil. Hm… school ends in a 2.5 weeks… about.

I’m not freaking out about exams… yet. I probably should be. I’m just taking it day by day. While I usually spend an inordinate amount of time ruminating to myself, it’s picked up quite a bit since Thanksgiving break. I seem to have reached a new plateau (<-hate spelling that word). The field is level and my footing is firm.

I think I'm giving up the whole frat crap…aka reject the bid. I mean, I would have had a shit show with the whole scene in high school (For many jejune and inane reasons I don't need to elaborate on). And I won't knock it today… its fun. It offers a means to (re)establish your identity in an otherwise foreign land with new people. This is important. Not as important if you know who you are, I suppose. But I do see the value in it, and I refuse be one of those greek 'haters'. Different strokes for different folks.

My god am I tired. Its two in the morning… I have to wake up at 7… and I'm bent on getting this paper 75% finished tonight. fml.

So there's this girl. yea.. a girl. Normally I don't pay too much attention, but she's great. Mostly cause she's so damn nonchalant, yet playful curious. Of course she's beautiful… and intelligent. She a virtuoso from Yale. Got her master's before coming here to study English. She's 21. Its enticing.

What I find so fascinating is that, while I envisage her to be a wise and innocent woman, she's really your average youth, filled with normal juvenile considerations. Why is that fascinating? I guess because of how much I enjoy seeing my idealism melt away in the face of disappointment. This does not mean I am any less attracted to her, however. On the contrary, the melting idealism provides a kaleidoscope of new iridescent feelings to experience.

Regarding these juvenile considerations I speak of- I remember when I was not fully tainted by my inexorable indulgences. I remember I use to speak of every new experience, every new feeling and adventure, as if I were the first human traverse the unknown passages of youth and survive to tell about it. My eyes would widen, my voice would grow louder in excitement and suspense as I talked of girls, trite mischief, drugs… like they were a dark mystery that only few had the fortune of discussing.

****
Back to reflecting… I got myself a pocket sized journal. I've had them before but they were either an awkward size, too small or too large, or they were crappy quality that fell apart after a weeks of use. This one is purrrrfect. It's like a little dream catcher… but for thoughts. I just think to myself. Let the thoughts germinate awhile… and as soon as they're ready to take flight… I use my journal to impress them to paper. Its fun catching random thoughts. It also doubles for things that I remember randomly and always tell myself to write down, but never do.

Soo…

This semester was expected. And because it was expected, it happened. That may not sound to mean much, but it sums it all up.

*yawn*

No time to write. Much to do. Kant essay due in two days… haven’t started. Kant is intimidating. Relaying his writing seems a daunting task.

I read an essay by Wendell Berry, circa 1983, titled “People, Land, and Community”.

I beg anyone to go out of their way and spend time with this piece.

“Berry wants to convey the unnatural evolution that’s taken place within man and his surroundings. He emphasizes the necessity for a harmonious marriage between the the environment (land) and people- specifically their purpose. These relationships are complex and sustainable; ecological.

On page sixty-seven, Berry discusses two types of knowledge. The first type of knowledge is a harmony that is gleaned through the dynamics of love, often through a sufficient faith based commitment. On page seventy-five, when he talks of the introduction of technology and the tractor, he is referring to the second type of mechanical, quantifiable knowledge, one that introduces limitations and constraints into ones life. “…we will see that this second kind of knowledge invariable implies, and often explicitly imposes, limits upon the first kind: some possibilities must not be explored; some things must not be learned.”

The introduction of technology sabotages the natural ecological relationship between man and the land, not only physically but psychologically. The second type of knowledge, the quantifiable and technological, is inherently confined. It is limits resources to facts and figures, and considers only the economics of relationships. When the farmer introduces a piece of technology like a tractor, he imposes limits onto his first knowledge (a knowledge with no bounds), unsettling the natural harmony between his hands and the earth. The farmer has disrupted this fluid harmony by creating static relationships marked by exploitive demands characterized by haste and hurry and economic efficiency. The malignant effects seep from the farmer into his relationships within the community.

Essentially, what I believe Berry is getting at, is that placing our faith in technology, grounded in knowledge and information, we are enslaving ourselves. By creating a measurable, quantifiable world, a world dependent on technology, we establish limits on our psyche. We no longer see relationships. There is no longer fluidity. Harmony ceases to exist. We no longer experience a natural, ecological and homeostatic, symbiosis with the land, with the world.

Berry believes that we are not meant to understand such a world. He believes that the world’s complexities should be embraced on faith, and only then will a true marriage, a true unity, emerge.

Do I think technology has invaded my character and consciousness? Absolutely. It relates back the other question about distraction. Technology causes the mind to be constantly drawn to demanding, limited compartments of thought. Attention is drawn away from the essence of living, into an inimical drive for efficiency, dictated by the preservation of time and production. Rather than weaving it harmoniously together, it explicitly breaks up life into fragmented, seemingly manageable, pieces.

“The real—the human—knowledge is understood as implying and imposing limits, much as marriage does, and these limits are understood to belong necessarily to the definition of a human being.”

I have been busy writing in my paper journal lately. The experience is wholly different than livejournaling. The writing seems to be more callow and undressed.

I did many things this break. When I have more time I will recap for the sake of reflection. That is something I did much of this break: reflect. It proved to be powerful.

Reflection can take on two separate modes for me. One is passive, slow, almost regressive. The other is active, aggressive, and fastidious. I use the word regressive in the former because I find that, after much sauntering, I sometimes wake, so to speak, in unfamiliar places. This requires a slight regress in order to retrace my steps, or thoughts, back to more familiar ground. The passive reflection I speak of, with its regressive tendencies, is equally effective at discovering new ground. We go through life with our attention turned towards the seemingly pertinent details of the journey. We have a good idea of where we are going, a vague road map of the path ahead and the frontier beyond, but we seldom, if ever, consider the circumspection of our surroundings as they are. We are too busy caught up in the pace. So passive reflection can be good.

I’ll ruminate on the active reflection later.

Enough rambling for now.

I bought my first Moleskine today.

I am almost embarrassed to admit it. I have been keeping a paper journal for the past decade. It started out as a way to expunge my deepest thoughts, then evolved into a monotonous log of my days, and eventually became an outlet for my creative energies- a mix of art, writing, and collections of photos and keepsakes. I have always been extremely particular about my journal, which is why I am almost embarrassed to admit that I’ve just now found out about the Moleskine. My first journal was black and leather bound. While it was ruled, I was quick to switch to a plain notebook journal where I could sketch, draw doodles in the margins, and play with fonts. I found that ruled paper for journaling is too stifling. It puts these constraints on your writing and your creativity. So I’ve had these black leather bound plain notebooks for the past ten years or so, filling up around eight journals. (Moleskine are black oilcloth bound journals with superb paper than just grabs the inspiration right out of your pen.) They’re pretty much uniform and identical. Something I like. I also am particular about using a black fountain ink pen. I like the rawness it portrays on the paper. It also doesn’t require as much energy to write as a ball point pen does. You just lightly grasp and gently drag it over the surface and it captures all the tension and hidden feelings behind every word. anyway. I leave for Florida tomorrow. It’ll be good to see the fam.

I should be updating more often.

This Monday I visited Dr. White. Turns out my drug test results were clean. I will admit, I was concerned, but not worried. Had my results returned positive, I would have accepted it as fate. Not sure how the Doc would have received it, especially after hearing about my drug history. I wouldn’t have blamed him either. It would be ironic as hell.

The day of my appointment I was apprehensive and nervous. I had been so straightforward with him throughout our discussions, making no attempt to avoid complete transparency. It came to mind that having a drug test come up positive would instantly jeopardize my integrity and dismiss my entire credibility. Though, I knew my intentions were pure and I should have nothing to worry about.

I arrived at his office a bit later than usual and sat in the waiting room. I peeked my head around the corner and noticed his office door open. It was 4:36pm. My appointment was a 4:30pm. I sat a few minutes longer till 4:41pm, checking around the corner every so often to catch the noises coming from his office. I explored my nervous thoughts: “Do I wait here, or do I go to his open door to alert him of my presence? Had my results come back positive? Was he upset I was a few minutes late? I wonder what he thinks of me, test results positive and I’m showing up late? What does this say about me”. Silly thoughts.

So, dismissing my thoughts, I coolly decided that I should take some sort of action. I cautiously approached the door and saw him sitting at his desk, tapping on the keys of the computer. I knocked on the frame. “Hey Doc”, I said impishly, and he swung around on his chair, “I apologize, but I arrived a few minutes late and wasn’t sure if I missed you and should let you know I’m here, or if I should have continued waiting in the hall for you…” Before I had finished talking, he was at the door to greet me, motioning for me to enter. “Well you’re right,” he asserted, “you were late and you should have waited, but now you’re here so that’s not important. Come, sit down.” His remarks felt chastising, yet harmlessly casual. It left me feeling like I had committed a foul act, but that since the deed was done, life will continue best if we forget it. Weird.

I sat down and asked him how he was today, handing him the student-appointment form. Candidly, he relied “Good. Sorry we won’t be talking about your existential god crisis today. I know you don’t wanna talk about that anymore. That was fun for a bit, and I hope you figured that out, but we’re gonna talk about some more pertinent business today.”

In my head I was like… um… wait… uh… I do like talking about that. I thought that was a constructive conversation. jerk. wait.. pertinent business? my drug test…eek. what does that mean?

He asked how I had been feeling since then. I explained I started a disciplined workout regimen with a friend, and that I felt great. I told him how easy it was to be swallowed by the vacuum of stressful workloads and forget that the very cure was making time to work out. He agreed like it was a poor excuse to an obvious truth.

“So you’re drug test results came back today…,” he paused, leaving a suspension of silence hanging in the air as he rummaged through papers on his desk, then continued “clean, so we will get you a prescription written today.” Gosh. I gave a reluctant sigh of relief, simply because I had been telling myself I was clean all along and that it didn’t matter anyway.

The remainder of the appointment involved taking my blood pressure, explaining possible drug side effects, and ways to contact him in the event of an emergency such as a manic attack (wtf? I guess this is s.o.p.) or any other crisis. He printed out the prescription, explained how to fill it, and handed it to me folded. I felt like I was doing a drug deal. I just acquired a class 1 drug. Speed. Amphetamines.

I suddenly felt a wave of guilt. Guilt I quickly dodged. Psychiatrists and their drugs. He is not interested my in my well-being, per se. Psycho-pharmacology. I guess it’s not his job to care about the person, since he doesn’t fix people. His drugs do that work. Psychiatrists save the job of caring about a persons mental well-being to psychologists and therapists. Why the hell do I feel like this is a faulty way of approaching patients? This is a false dichotomy. The mind and body? The mind and brain? They are one in the same and should be treated as such. He’s probably a shitty doctor. I know there are great ones out there. Just irks me.

That doctor was too highfalutin, too self absorbed to notice the humbled and searching state of a person’s spirit when they seek the help of a doctor to guide them through their distress. Instead they are viewed as potentially damaged creatures where, upon his divinely authorized discretion, he provides the devices to cure them. Aye.

***
So he prescribed me Vyvanse, on the account that Vyvanse can not be abused since it metabolizes into dextroamphetamine only after it is processed by the liver. Initially he wanted to put me on 40 mg, which seemed like a high dose considering 20 mg of Adderall makes me feel like I’m on crack, but I explained that stimulants plague me with anxiety, so he reduced it to 30 mg. We’ll see how this works out.

My first day was pretty great. I mean, I’m still not fond of feeling like I’m on drugs, but its incredible how on-task I become. It is not a cure all by any means, and my environment and local distractions still play a major role in whether I continue to stay on task. However, when I place myself in a distraction free zone, with a check list of priorities, things get done without the hassle of battling random thoughts in my head.

At the moment I feel out of sorts. My thoughts aren’t too linear. Thanksgiving break started yesterday, but I’m at a debate tournament at Appalachian State University. I’m not debating, though. No partner since the majority of people decided to go home for break. I figured I could gain some additional experience.

blah. done.

We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action. ~Frank Tibolt

You must actively mine for inspiration. It does not fall out of the sky and into our lap. If life is dull and pallid and limp, decide on an attractive and necessary undertaking, and dig. You will find treasure.

Time is our pilot.

We hear the incessant beeping of the alarm in the morning, open our eyes and look at the time. 7am. Out of bed. Hygiene, dressing, and preparing for classes and packing bags. 7:45am. I have 25 min for breakfast. My decisions are dictated by time. Time is piloting us…

I would much rather have an excess of suffering or joy than an absence of either.

just hung out with dirt nasty and andre legacy. um… smoked a blunt with them.

dirt nasty, aka simon, is pretty much a drug addict. andre is chill as hell, i’m so drunk i cannot even tell you whats goinb on. tomorror w. ildd clarify

The gym beckoned my presence, and I responded. Never too late to get your butt in gear.

When my hall mate found out that I use to lift pretty hardcore he set out on a mission make me his workout partner. He’s been trying to goad me for the past month, and today he was victorious. And so was I, because it felt amazing. I’ll be honest though, being slightly out of shape (grossly understated) makes working out a little more difficult than usual. I am committed though. There are no legitimate excuses that could prevent me from getting back in shape.

My goal is this: stay disciplined (work out 4-5 times weekly), be intense while in the gym (this means no lollygagging around, and lift heavy and hard and fast), and eat healthy (no more simple carbohydrates, eat smaller portioned & more frequent meals, and more greens). Lastly is sleep, but that won’t be possible so I didn’t include it on the list.

Regarding sleep, my sleep schedule is horrendous. A typical sleep cycle: Go to bed round 2-3am, work/school at 8am-3pm, sleep 4-7pm, study/clubs/workout/dinner 7-10, study 10pm-4am, REPEAT. wow. Thats 7-8 hours a day, broken up into 3-4 hour sleep sessions. Since when was it decided that this would be healthy?

So, this paper needs to be written, and its killing me. Like, internally, anxiety and stress are killing me. I look at the six pages I have written and ask myself ‘who the hell wrote that?’ and ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ and the answers I keep coming up with are: I-don’t-know.

Another thing: ‘I’ need to stop using the first person when writing and completely annul the noun ‘I’.

So I visited my psychiatrist yesterday. The drug test wasn’t in. This means one of two things. Either a) The drug testing is taking a little longer than expected, or b)I tested positive for something, probably mj. I don’t know whether to be too worried. As much as I could care less if I was medicated, I notice myself constantly looking forward to getting that prescription and getting things done more efficiently.

More importantly. I told my doctor about my existential crisis. I explained my transition from a godly upbringing and accepting a life where god was at the center of everything, to a life of skepticism and existentialism where I am at the center of everything.

My doctor was unusually matter of fact about it. What stuck out in my mind was his initial response: ‘Well we know god does exist.’ Whoa. This was coming from an… atheist? I was trying to wrap my head around this one. He followed it up by saying “God exists as much as music exist.”
whoa again. what the hell does that mean.

He made it sound like it was something obvious. Apparently, according to him, we create god, just like we create music. It follows from some sort of logic, however fallacious, and is communicated with people universally. What I couldn’t reconcile with the parallel was the diversity of music.Does he mean the essence of music is comparable to god? I mean, music may be different to different people, but at the core there is a universally held notion that music exists, despite how it is manifested and the utility behind its creation. (also I was thinking the other day… music is the only art that happens. You cannot experience music in a moment. It is a sequence of moments that culminate into art. More on that later)

So music. The thing is, while there is a universal understanding (accept it as real or not, everyone has a conception of what (a) god is) of a higher power, like the universal understanding of music (vibrations that form some sort of rhythm), music manifests in a multitude of ways. does this mean there is a multitude of gods? Doesn’t that taint the conception of a perfect truth. Being raised in a monotheistic society, I suppose my mind cannot fully appreciate this sort of pantheism.

Anyway… my doctor even recommended pastoral counseling. I was a little shocked. I mean… I would never reject help, but I’ve definitely been through those routines time and time again and it hasn’t shed any light on the dilemmas impeding personal growth.

A revelation, or the beginning of one, began to emerge throughout our conversation.

God was necessary. Existentialism is not good. Faith is important. Blind faith, even ignorance, can be vitally important for ones happiness.

He told me to stop looking for answers and begin asking questions. I was like… wtf dude. Thats how I got to where I am today. I began to challenge and undermine my antiquated beliefs. Now I have no up or down, the earth has unhinged from the sun, and I’m falling upwards towards oblivion.

But God seems to be a construction of the mind that exists in everyone, and is necessary. God is real. He exists in people. Doesn’t that make him just as real as other idea?
But I want to know where this idea of God stems from. I understand a large part of my erudition, logic, and rational is derived from the world around me. The natural world is ordered, and observing these ordered actions and reactions has sharpened my intellect and established understanding. Emotional experiences are not governed by rational principles. They are carnal and instinctual impulses.

Where does this conception of god arise? From our lack of understanding? When we fail to comprehend the order in this world, or pathos that arise from trauma, do we manifest an ideal that assuages our confusion and provides solace? Do we name this collection of ideals, usually perfect, God?

Still confused.

I’m reading Kant though and, while he doesn’t offer up a solution to these problems, I appreciate his methodology for arriving at right action. He formulates and proposes the categorical imperative procedure where we develop maxims based on the contingencies we encounter through life. These maxims serve as principles for righteous living and a platform for action.
There’s more to it than that, but basically it’s a way for us to be our own god, yet not infringe upon the dignity of others.

I need to finish this essay.

I just spent 4 hours in the library. 3.5 hours on the internet, .5 hours working on the paper.

now I’m drinkning a beer. what the hell is happening to me? and when i get down to it, do i care?