It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I wish I'd thought that one up, because it's true for time, most of the time. There are those people who live in stoicism, never really feeling, or at least conveying all the goods and bads... the ups and downs. For me, it's of the utmost importance to acheive a balance. Things can't always be too good, because I'll forget what it's like for them to be bad. Take my parents for example; I can't wait until they leave eachother, so that they can see how terrible lonliness can be. They only see the bad these days. The good doesn't matter, how does that happen?
"Fat, lazy bitch, you're only good for forgetting the taxes"
"What the fuck did you do today" (she's cut off before she can even finish "today")
"WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO? WHAT THE F-" (he doesn't even finish. He walks out, lights a smoke, and mumbles something indiscernable to himself.)
This tears me up, because it's been every single day for them for a long time; because they've only got eachother, and because he'd rather be alone.
She'd rather things were perfect, or perhaps that no one cared for her. Perhaps she wishes she were alone to waste away, to rot in her chair, broke and jobless, with her marijuana and her soap operas. Life seems inconsequential when Stefano's just died at John's hands again. You can always come back, but things will never get better in soap opera land.
Is that life? Should we think that it is; that the good's only there to deter you momentarily from the rest? It's true that one couldn't exist without the other.
Purgatory is the stupidest fucking idea I've ever heard of. A place between heaven and hell, where you feel absolutely nothing... like the stoics, or like the Buddha. Was the Buddha happy to find the answer to it all? Did he really want to take himself out of this world? What's so fucking great about non-existence?
I try time and time again to be as the Buddha, or as stoics, and when the right people are looking, I can convey that. Anyone who wants to pry deeper can tear down my walls, and see the naked child crying on the inside. Perhaps feeling nothing at all would be better
at least half the time.