lucky rocketship underwear aren't gonna work

i look desperately forward to the time that they will - i remember times when they have, but no date has been set, it's so indefinite

2+2=5=god is my summary of kirkegaard's spiritual outlook
you must believe in spite of rationality to get near the place that god exists
that's sort of how cyril thinks too, i think, or feels
he says something like: if there was no necessity for faith
there would be no power or point to god
that makes sense to me, but it also seems coldly utilitarian, self-serving
it's paradoxical, kirkegaard would agree

i can neither feel or think to any purpose these days
poisoned in mind and body
and certainly soul, wherever that is
this is a bad place to be
but there could be chasms even below that
maybe that knowledge is keeping me alive
or the thought of lucky rocketship underwear being useful
like in some barely remembered happy enough time

trying to get healthy
been coughing for so long
i threw my smokes in the garbage
which i've done many times
i thought, let's see how i feel when i get my next urge to smoke
i'll look down at the garbage and think about digging them out
if i think long enough, i'll decide not to
anyway, i thought to force some future thought
maybe i won't take that shortcut to thinking i normally do

upon reflection, i realized i also had to tear them up
because if there was the convenience of pre-rolled tailors lying there
i would probably dig them out

existential xmas

a sort of camusian "why not?"
sure, why not, it'll do

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that's why pencils have erasers

rubber pretense - but it's a cleansing feel, to wash away the words that shouldn't have been said - light hurts, but it's been worse - might be a resolution, no damnit, it will be a resolution, i resolve, even jumping the gun on the new year - well, new years eve itself doesn't count - or maybe it will - it's just another brick in the wall, all in all, rubber pretense - i need an accountant to add up all the damage i've caused, maybe then i'll get the picture

the terrible prospect of struldbrugian necessity

the struldbrugs are immortal beings, or near immortal, as i remember – they live on an island once visited by gulliver – they’re a race "cursed" with immortality, living long past any sensible limit, growing more and more decrepit in both mind and body, wishing for their misery to end - i guess it was swift's way of, stating, something

those are the shitty years, denis leary said – but anything would be preferable to death, wouldn't it? therin lies the reactionary posture, the necessity for believing in the void

but you wouldn't attempt to string out a beethoven symphony as long as possible would you? water it down to nothing to make it last as long as possible? you wouldn't pad it with mediocre beethoven for longevity, you'd be happy to have heard a great symphony, and accept that it was over - it was as long as it needed to be, right? a well written symphony, not a note too many or too few

but, what if you were never ever ever going to hear any music again, for eternity? then might you string out medicore beethoven? that's the more crucial question, in this context

and plus, most of our lives aren't beethoven symphonies, some of them are too full of crap, or cut short abruptly, as least that's how it seems to me - so why not rage against the dying of the light?

"and accept that it was over..." (and go home) - well, when you extend the metaphor like that it doesn't sound so bad - what is home? where i was before i was born? a realm of spirit? but that's manichean, right?

what i mean by the title is that the idea of this being necessary, for intellectual logic, or emotional logic, or whatever... is sort of dreadful, aweful, uh, et cetera... nevermand