cubistpoet

I've been insane for about a week or two.

Yes, yes.

Fortunately, I've recovered and no longer am under the chaotic spin of my emotions. I truly detest emotions. They transform me into something other than myself. I became a pile of pieces of person on the floor and some feet stepping around in it whenever my emotions take over.

Not a party and a half.

I just get lost in the funhouse, and the best thing for me to do is get out. Sometimes, though, the funhouse makes you forget that you're even in it to begin with.

I adore the short story "Lost in the Funhouse" by John Barth. He's a much better postmodernist than the hack Donald Barthleme.

I think that I love postmodernism because it expresses something that is lurking behind my skin, an impression over which rational thought and coherency have no dominion. Only chaotic nonsense and playful reality-bending tricks will suffice.

I really can't tell real from fake, except at the most basic level. Reality is so muddled and confused that I suspect I define my life and the expectations there of as much by TV/novels/etc. than real life experience. I don't even know what "real" means anymore. Doubly so with things involving the Internet.

So how do I cope?

I laugh and smile and have fun. Shrug it off and think, "Perhaps this way is more fun if more confusing, and if nothing else I'm not the only one fumbling my way through this existence."

The key to happiness in contemporary society seems to be, to me, a smiling acceptance that the world we're living in is no worse off than the one before, in fact it's better because we all suffer together rather than displacing our suffering on colonies, slaves, women, etc.

Well... some still do, but screw them!