I love.

I love life.

I love being young, and I will love being old. I love eating, and I love being hungry. I love drinking, and I love being thirsty. I love to clean my room, I love to dirty it again. I love difficult endeavors, and I love easy distractions. I love writing, and I love reading. I love sleeping and dreaming, and I love waking. I love playing to win, and I love playing to lose. I love woman, and I love man. I love women in particular, and men in particular, and I love being able to tell which is which.

I love a quiet night spent in reflection and solitude, and I love a noisy night spent at a party with friends. I love to look out on the world and see the numerous colors and lights, and I love to be surrounded and enveloped by the choking darkness. I love being unlimited, I love being restricted. I love up, I love down. I love strength, and I love weakness. I love getting my way, and I love it when others get their own.

I love to exercise, I love to eat healthy, I love to continue this bodily existence, I love to smoke, I love to drink, I love to destroy this bodily existence.

I love love, and I love hatred.I love the ability to distinguish between the two.

I love happiness, and I love sadness. I love the intelligent, and I love the stupid. I love the great and I love the tiny. I love the rich and I love the poor. I love the winter, and the summer, and the spring and the fall. I love sound, and I love silence. I love to be clean after a shower, I love to dirty myself all over again. I love to speak, and I love to remain silent. I love people, and I love to mock them. I love myself, and I love to mock myself.

I love dinner, breakfast, and lunch. I love fashion, I love the plain dress of a beggar. I love hermitage, and I love sociality. I love communism, I love capitalism. I love objectivism, I love subjectivism. I love God, and I love man alone. I love dualism, I love monism. I love the philosopher and I love the sophist. I love sports, and I love the pleasures of the mind.

I love until the phrase "I love" no longer has meaning. For this reason, I must distinguish between my loves, and it is for this reason I am a man. I have found the basic principle, and I understand that it cannot be lost. I have in me the spark of the positive, a spark that is not available in many, and a spark that will drive me further than a man could dream, and yet not as far as he could wish.

I love life, and for this reason I will die. I have come to terms with this fact. It is for this reason that I will live forever.

Silence.

My second vow of silence began a week and a day ago. I meant to write this entry yesterday, but as it turns out I was too busy writing other things to have any time.

The vow has gone most excellently this time around. Having a room of my own means that I have the ability to retreat completely from my friends to a place that is mine, and is mine alone. Last year, I was often forced to go to the library to achieve the same thing, a place that was dangerously close to everything that I was trying to get away from. This year, I have spent hours upon hours, locked in my room, processing information and working, and there is nothing to disturb me except myself and my own desires.

I have also refined the vow, to be less of a vow of silence, and more of a vow of anti-sociality, or hermitude. As such, I am allowed to speak with people during and around class times, and I will allow myself to respond if someone greets me in the cafeteria, or otherwise wishes to speak with me, rather than simply running away and feeling bad for the people who don't know about my vow.

I have been extremely productive in this first week, though at the same time not as productive as I can be. I think that there has not been a day that I have not dedicated at least two or three hours to writing in some form or another, because my mind will simply not sit still right now. Poems fly into my head like doves, waiting patiently to be copied. The gears of my mind constantly grind at themselves, trying to figure out exactly what it is that my philosophy espouses, and I record these musings daily. Starting with the manuscript that I printed last year of the first third of my first novel, I have begun to rewrite it, better, and with a slightly revised and improved plot. All of these things converge at once, on me, and I very dutifully record them, with as much speed as my fingers can muster.

My meditations on death have not begun yet, not in earnest. I don't have much free time on the weekdays for meditation, and my first weekend was occupied more with writing than this pursuit. Yet, already I have begun to come to terms with death, not to love it or hate it, but for the time being to accept it. I have not yet conquered it, but I am on the proper path.

Yet, for all this, I am not in the proper mindset. This year I am tortured constantly, for my closer connection with people has not only allowed me to hide from them all the more effectively, but it has also made me more aware of their presence, and my lack of sociality in this life. The weekends that I enjoy with friends are gone, replaced by work. There is a part of me that knows that what I do to myself is torture, and that I must be sure not to do this for too long, not to accept this life forever. Indeed, recent developments in my philosophy have led me to a more taoist representation of the world, and the balance that I seek cannot be found in this place. It cannot be found in the social world either, which is why I despair. I try to make a proper balance, but it is too heavily weighted on both ends, it is always either leaned in one direction or the other. There is little that I can do.

Also, I must admit that poetry is a new sphere in my life, one that I have unfortunately admitted up until this point. A creative writing class with an excellent teacher has taught me the value of the poem, and has demystified the creation of one. It is for this reason that poetry is finally making its way into my life, after many years of being left to the side.

The collision of all these things is now the vision that so prominently displays itself on my mind. It is beautiful, and true, and yet it is not done yet. It is not complete, and I must work to make it whole. I have another three weeks worth of work in front of me.

On death.

It is very clear, when one examines it, that everyone has to die in the end. We do indeed have a creation, though we cannot remember it, and thus we must also have an end. But why is it that we love it so?

The purpose of every major religion has been to tell us that we will live on after we die. This seems unlikely, to my mind, as it preaches exactly what we wish to hear. Anyone who tells you what you want to hear likely wants something from you, even if it is simply your affection and fratitude. The problem is that this also cheapens the effect of living. If your greater rewards are to come next, then this life must be ignored. But if there is no life after this, what then? What possible purpose could we have for wasting this life in service of the next? And, more importantly, if the next life is the kind of one that we would enjoy, why would it do something so stupid as require that we sacrifice our first one?

I have been considering death, lately, as you can probably see. I have an admission to make. I hate it, and it terrifies me more than anything else in the world, for it is the exact negation of this world, it is the void of both nothingness and non-existence, the place in which everything that I have ever attempted will come crashing down. Death wipes clean the slate, a slate that myself, and every other self-respecting human being, has been struggling to build.

It is true, you can prolong your influence. Plato is still alive, thousands of years after his death. But if one member of a race is impermanent, than they all are. If a race is impermanent, then it tends to reason that it will end one day, on the slightest chance. Billions of years from now, the sun will explode. Unless we manage to escape our present solar system by that time, which I have heavy doubts as to, we will all be gone. That also fails to take into account human error. One maniac with a nuclear weapon in his hands could level the entire planet, were he given the chance. There are numerous scenarios like this, each of them with impeccably small odds. Yet, in the face of infinity, every odd will be tested. On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. We will all die.

What then? Plato will cease to exist, even if we manage to faithfully keep him in our minds until doomsday. So will the rest of us. Some of us, the lesser ones, we will have already been dead and forgotten before then. Others, the great men who have left their impressions behind, will be leveled in the end, along with the rest. You can delay the complete and utter demolition of your being by making it worthwhile for others to know. But when the whole race ceases to exist, so will you, and this is an inevitability.

Schopenhauer says that, having existed for an eternity as inert matter, life is some sort of mistake, and in the end we will return to this matter. We can't really fear this, not without being in the right mind, because we will be just as happy after our lives as we were before; that is, not to have a consciousness. Yet, Schopenhauer was decidedly pessimistic. His view of life is negative. Mine is positive.

There are some who claim that living forever would be a burden, a bore. They feel that life only has meaning as long as this meaning is threatened, and that once it ceases to be, then so will their meaning. the only thing I have to say to these people, is that they had no meaning in their lives to begin with. Yet, there are some who have meaning in their lives, without the threat of death. There are some who live for things other than gratification, who create their own meaning, a world from their fingertips.

I am more bored by a life that ends than by one that continues. If I lived forever, I would be satisfied. I would seek constantly, to always understand, to always learn and push myself constantly further. My only regret is that I was not born at the beginning of time, and allowed to live until its very end. This would be the perfect life for me. Yet, it is not true. I was cursed with being born in a constant present, rather than allowed to transcend time altogether. If I could not have been born immortal, then at least I would have wished to be born nearer the end of time than this. This is certainly no end time, nor is it a beginning time. It is no golden age, but nor is it a dark age. It is worlds better than the past; it is nowhere near as interesting as the future will be. With history recorded, at least for the most part, the man in the future can relive the past. for this reason, existing in the future is always preferable.

Yet, I must face the fact that I will die. It is true, and inevitable. Perhaps I will take the easy road, and accept what religion has taught me. More likely, I will take the hard road, and make every attempt to transcend death and time altogether. I must begin by desensitizing myself to the concept of my own death.

As a concept, it scares me, to the pit of my stomach. I become physically sick when I truly consider that I will die, and utterly cease to exist. There will not even be a consciousness to consider that I am dead. There will be inert matter, and I will be gone. I must think about this, I must face it, in order to move past it. I must learn to both accept and reject death, and when I am done, I will live forever, regardless of what happens to my body in sixty or so years when I likely die. I must meditate on death, and learn not to fear it.

I think I will begin when I start my second vow of silence, within the next few weeks. I have planned it for winter quarter this year, as it seems more fitting, and less obtrusive into my social life. Here's to hoping that it will treat me as well as last year's.

Latecoming.

Christ, how long has it been since I updated this thing? Too long. I intended to write at least two blogs over break. Instead, I watched all of Fringe and wrote a lot. Now I'm back in school all over again. At least one thing of grand importance has happened to me. I've had a breakthrough, and a major one.

I'm over Ayn Rand. Not that I really mean this, so let me explain. Atlas Shrugged was the best thing to happen to high-school me. It was singlehandedly responsible for giving me hope for humanity, for pulling me out of the muck of my childhood, for destroying the liberal in me, for creating in me a new and better identity. But that's over.

I have spent the last couple years worshiping Ayn, although I would never admit it, and I didn't even believe it. It's true that in the very least I kept her ideas out of every argument, and managed to maintain a somewhat objective stance when talking about her. But hiding under this was the fact that I worshiped her, no matter how hard I denied it. Many of my ideas were hers, though I claimed that they were mine. Even where we did differ on opinions, mine were somehow based in the foundation that her work had laid for me.

Last quarter, I tried to get a fuller understanding of her philosophy, so that I could finally have a completely objective opinion on her work. What resulted was a realization of every bias that I have been secretly carrying. Her fiction work is fiction; it carries heavy philosophical themes, but it is far from any kind of proof or real evidence for the power of her ideas. Her philosophical work is almost disgusting to me, now. There is little proof, no evidence. It holds the ideas that it tries to prove as self-evident, and spends the rest of the time getting itself off.

Then, I picked up a text about her life, told through the eyes of Nathaniel Branden, a close colleague and sometimes lover. This opened my eyes. Ayn was essentially a terribly harsh, repressed, and biased person. She was violent in upholding her beliefs, and as her life went on, she degraded, coming to become everything that she denounces in her books. The whole time she holds herself as some sort of deity, ignoring every flaw in herself and believing that it must be some kind of strength. In short, she did not bear the characteristics of a competent philosopher.

The idea that I had most relied upon, as a result of my worship of her, was the notion that emotion is antithesis to reason. Her heroes are often coldly emotional, purely rational. It was not something that she specifically upheld, but it was one of the consequences regardless, and one that she suffered in her own life. I say suffer, because an understanding of her life proved that the separation of a being from his emotion may seem temporarily effective, yet it is far more damaging in the long run, and as any dedicated mind understands, it is the long run that is more important.

In my philosophy, there are three kinds of men. There are rational men, there are irrational men, and then there are sheep that have no real force of character, or personality of their own, they are only to be led by the previous two classes. My love of cold rationality and my championing of the rational man as the best kind of life naturally led to my attempts to emulate this life.

But I have realized now that there is a fourth class of man, the true ruler. He is the man who is both completely rational and completely irrational, the man who is superficially similar to the sheep, but only because he has transcended mankind altogether. The man who balances his emotions and reasons, while at the same time encouraging both; this is the best kind of man.

My own life has been hampered by my hatred for my emotions. Most notably is my love life, which has been troubled and confusing. My lack of emotion also hindered my writing, though at the time I believed that it was the only thing that permitted it. But this is all over now. I've come to this grand revelation, and it has fixed everything.

I am allowed to be emotional, and still be rational. This fact has just changed my life. Within the past couple of weeks, I have written better, and been more satisfied, than I have in most of my life. I have reached some sort of balance, and it has fueled me further in great force. I have been more open and real with people, and it has helped my plans as well. Everything is good.

I've arrived back at college, with a fresh outlook and far better force of will under my belt. other things have happened as well, less important ones. Romantic connections are being made, and friendships are finally developing the way I want them to. I'm reading well, writing well, working hard, and best of all, I'm happy about it.

Maybe I'll discuss a few of the things I meant to earlier, later. We'll see.

Be excellent to each other.

I recently finished my first quarter of my second year of college. It feels strange, as life always does. More and more, time passes, and I wonder whether it really happened at all. Time passes, faster and faster, and I feel like I can no longer hold onto it. I can no longer be spontaneous, do what I want, go out and break the world. I ceased to be superman in the process of becoming stronger, but I miss the days of flying and the feeling of importance.

This quarter was spent in a bustle of studying, working, writing, reading, and just general time-wasting. There is hardly ever a moment when I'm not busy, and even fewer that I can remember as special or interesting. Time passes, faster and faster.

On the plus side, I'm writing. I'm writing well, and I'm writing a lot. It has ceased to be a chore, and becomes something more like a chore every day. I do it for fun, and this I enjoy. Stories are actually capable of finishing themselves, and my mind actually moves in time with the things that I write. As such, I can make real progress.

I also enjoyed my classes this quarter. I picked up French for the first time in three years, and since it's the first time since I discovered my love of learning, it was the first time that I realized that I enjoy it. I enjoy speaking in other languages, I enjoy seeing the connections and differences between my language and another. I may try to learn other languages in the future.

My philosophy teacher this quarter was also the first one I have enjoyed. I may have spoken of him earlier, I do not remember. Regardless, he is the most knowledgeable person I have ever heard to speak on the topic. He speaks clearly and concisely, and he teaches well. I learned more in two weeks of his class than with two semesters of class with my previous teacher, whom you may know that I hated.

This was a breath of fresh air. It is the most comforting thing in the world to know that you are not alone, that there are others like you. I am disgusted constantly, by every person that I run into, who seems to think that they are smart, yet cannot deliver a single intelligent thought. I am even more disgusted by the people who tell me that this material is "difficult", or that they do not wish to try hard at it. I am disgusted by weakness, and I try so very hard not to let it show.

I've also had a much heavier workload this quarter, what with relearning French and everything else. This is what has contributed, in part, to the sudden flight of time. Being occupied, every instant of every day. I spent hours every day in the library, and while I do not regret it, there is something that I am missing. What it is, yet, I cannot say. This is modern alienation; I hurt, though I do not know why.

There is also the issue of my recent trouble with my girlfriend. I feel like she is one of the things that is, well, not holding me back, but contributing to this life-rut that I have become stuck in. I have become less attracted to her, and I begin to feel as if I know all that there is to her. While this is grossly untrue, I know, it is a symptom of a deeper problem.

Worse, my lack of surety about the exact nature of my sexuality has also widened the chasm. She wishes to continue having sex, though I am not so sure that I wish to. We do it less, for certain, and I am less attracted to the concept, but I begin to wonder whether I want to do it at all. Once again, I feel as if I have done all there is to do, and that it is time to move on.

I am currently in the process of writing my final papers, next week being finals week and the last week before a month long break. Hopefully, I'll have time to work on writing more during this break. There is also more news to be shared, yet it is something of which I am uncomfortable speaking at the moment, and the time is late. Goodnight.

Pan-sexuality.

Over the course of this school year, my sex drive has been slowly falling.

I can attribute this to numerous things. Firstly, I was deprived of pornography for perhaps a month as a result of the loss of my laptop. Secondly, while it pains me to admit, I am becoming tired of my girlfriend, at least in a sexual manner.

It becomes harder and harder to sexually satisfy myself. The time I must spend in bed grows longer, and my masturbatory fantasies become increasingly more absurd, exaggerated and gross. The issue is that my taste has refined itself to a point beyond reality, into the realm of the ideal, where it should not possibly go.

Sexuality is becoming a strange thing for me. For the life of myself, I cannot decide whether I am a non-sexual, or pan-sexual man. For most of my life, I have labored under the impression that beauty, in all its forms, is to be revered. I have found beauty in the forms of both women and men, and in the manner in which their minds produce a personality that also factors in. I have had no prejudice. Yet, the conclusion that follows, is that everything is beautiful, and if everything is beautiful, then nothing is.

I once looked upon the world and decided that I would like to have sex with a lot of women. I was not satisfied by the concept of being tied to any one, and acted accordingly. Then, I realized that I would like to have sex with men as well. I adjusted my views. Then, I realized that many women and men are repulsed by this idea, for sex is an important act, and for them it is cheapened by sharing it with too many. As such, I found a girlfriend to share myself with, and was thus taught my first actual and practical lessons in sex, rather than random play. But then, I began to realize that my mind had moved even further. I would not like to have sex with the world, but rather I would like to be intimate with it, an action far more meaningful, intelligent, and fun, than sex. In essence, when I now see a beautiful woman walking down the street, I would rather be close friends with her, and be physically intimate, than to actually have sex.

This arises, in part, from the sort of pan-sexuality that I have in my mind. There is an ideal beauty out there, in the intellect, but not existing in the world. This is what I am attracted to, and can never have. There is an ideal of a beautiful woman, with which I would have sex, and an ideal of a beautiful man, with which I would have sex as well. But you can't put your dick in an ideal. As such, I am required to settle for the things that are actually of this world, things that are imitations of the ideal above. Some women are more like this ideal than others, these are considered beautiful. Some are about as far from it as can be, and these are considered ugly.

But for this reason, I feel as if perhaps it is no longer time to simply settle for less. Maybe sex, as the way I envision it, was not meant for this world. Perhaps, after I die, I will go to a land of ideas, and there I will be pleased. But on this earth, there is little that can do such for me. I am beginning to wonder whether the compromise is necessary, and for this reason, I cannot decide which form of sexuality I truly endorse, pan- or non-.

Certainly, this is a choice, a choice very typical of my philosophy. There are two realities, that of the ideal, and that of the real. I believe that reality is that which should truly be pursued, for the ideal has no place in relation to others, where the nature of ethics and sex lie. Yet, at the same time, in this one thing, I prefer the ideal. I prefer it, though I feel that I should not, though every philosophical belief I hold is one of utility and reality.

I am very uncertain.

Back at school.

I haven't written anything here in the last month. Naturally, I've been quite overwhelmed by school, and haven't had the time to properly think and put down my thoughts. I've taken on a heavier workload, including a philosophy class not taught by an idiot, and a french class which requires massive amounts of work, as I have not studied French in several years.

Here I am, a month later, and things have only barely begun to settle down. I spend much more of my time working this year, and so far I am enjoying it. On the other hand, what with seeing old friends and socializing as I want, I have very little time to keep writing, or work on any of the other numerous goals in my life.

My laptop also very recently broke down, preventing me from both amusing myself and from working seriously on any kind of writing. I have had to quit world of warcraft for the time being, but at the same time I have been prevented from having constant access from numerous and useless tiny web games that I mostly used to eat up time. Worse, my attempts to continue writing on the school computers have been rebuffed by a sudden failure of my flash drive and all sorts of god-knows-what. But I am still trying.

It has become obvious to me that I must have another month of silence this year. I also feel that this one will be far more productive, mostly because this year I have a room of my own. Last year, I had nowhere to retreat to if I wished to be alone and my friends were spending time with my roommate. This year, I can be alone as often as I wish. I don't intend to do it this early on in the year, but it will happen, and it is something that I need to think about.

I also want to return to my point that my philosophy teacher this year is far better than the one I had for the last few classes. The woman that I had before was an educational communist, in the worst and most literal sense. She would tell the class to read something, and then perhaps five of the class would. Only two of those five would understand it. then, on the day that it comes time to discuss this reading, she would offer no help of her own, but rather conduct a public forum run essentially by kids who hadn't read the material, and a handful that had. Those that had read the material shared it with the class, who then expounded on it with terrifying unintelligence, for no one had told them what any of what they had read or tried to read meant, and everyone got an A for the most minor effort, except for the people who had tried, who got an A for wasted effort. This isn't teaching, this is the kind of idiocy that one can find on any street corner. I am shocked I paid money to go to this class.

Essentially, the woman did not attempt to help us understand anything. At the end of the day, we had read many things, but none of us comprehended anything, and I'm sure she didn't either. How she got the job, I have no clue.

Yet, my teacher this time is far better. He understands the material, and spends the class time explaining it to the students. Some don't read, but they are actually disadvantaged by it. Some understand it and bother to read, and they are rewarded. At the end of the day, we have learned something of the intention behind the material we absorbed, the class is challenging, and I go home happy. This is teaching, and this man I respect.

As such, I have been absorbing and understanding the great thinkers at a far better rate. My own philosophies and ideals have come into examination, and have evolved. The picture of what I intend to do with my philosophy has become clearer, and more refined. I no longer fear that my philosophical works will be ignored, because I know that they represent an intelligent and new look on things. I have removed the bits of idiocy and redundancy, and produced a cohesive vision. I only need to write it, and I will be done.

However, there is one thing that I am less thrilled by. My physical training has waned, as has my drive for sex. As I focus more on the mind, I have become unbalanced, and I am beginning to turn away from the pleasures and fruits of the body. I no longer go to the gym everyday, and I am becoming less and less driven to pleasure with my girlfriend. Yet, at the same time, I have no wish to hurt her or myself, so I wish to overcome this temporary hurdle. Hopefully, I can work through this, in order to maintain a greater level of happiness. But then, we shall see.