CaptainForehead
Senior Member
- Reaction score
- 4,302
i'm so f*****g mentally ill i'm not passionate about like actually anything
I know that feel bro
i'm so f*****g mentally ill i'm not passionate about like actually anything
thats true for me as well, but i need to walk around knowing i'm not an inferior old looking version of myself. its a feeling you always carry around, which is why it affects everything, just not directly.
for example i'm about to listen to this pop punk type song, and i'll enjoy it, but nowhere near as much as if i had hair, its just f*****g bizarre and weird and clashing as f*** remembering that i'm bald and listening to this teenage sounding music. it has important, even defining, associations with being young and hot and good hair. the genre is loaded with lyrics that only young people could relate to
except for narcissistic fantasies like i said. . . . xD. tbh i was always like this to an extent, i remember obsessing over being worthy even as a little kid for some reason, i had a named fictional identity and world i regularly inhabited starting at about 10 lolI know that feel bro
idk about 100% but right now i'd say the chances are 90. and btw there's apparently a lot of argument in neuroscience and psychology over whether free will even exists or not
You know about that sort of thing in detail?Lol that doesn't mean the concept is an excuse for "I'll do nothing with my life because I have no free will" that's not how it works mang, but that being said I'd have a hard time definitively explaining it.
You know about that sort of thing in detail?
Oh yea i know that stuff, the philosophical parts, i was more referring to the neuroscience and psychology of utI don't know about detail but I suppose so, it's something I've always felt for a long time about morality and decision making, guilt and the punishment. Eventually I discovered it's called causal determinism (though there's different forms of determinism that can contradict or overlap so it gets complicated from there).
To me in the most purest form of determinism (if I understand it correctly, but what I've always considered it as and now apply this name to it) it's common sense that we have no true free will. Just like our genetics, every decision we make is affected by an environment we do not control. Even being aware of the concept of free will/determinism affects us in a way we had no choice over.
I suppose it's easiest to think of when it comes to hindsight or punishment. We scold those who make awful "decisions" when really, regardless of how sickening the crime, we can scold it as people lucky enough to not be born with psychopathic tendencies or an environment that encouraged these. When it comes to punishment, I believe because of determinism (or my "version" of it, if there is a difference) we can either focus on rehabilitation, or simply removal from harming society, but hardly "punishment" for a crime someone did not truly make a choice in committing.
I hope that gives some insight to how I see this but I always struggle to truly explain it. Away from the extremes of the judicial system, it's probably healthiest to know that every mistake and regret you've made a "decision" in doing was not truly your fault, but can learn to take positives from. And in another healthy way, being aware that no decision that you do make is truly yours, but that's not to say your "decision" won't suddenly be surprisingly pro-active from nowhere (in other words determinism is not something to fall back on for doing nothing, awareness of it ultimately makes no difference whatsoever).
The last part is what I find particularly hard to express.
Anyone figure it out? Is it actually possible?
Vent away man.
His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.(1) “For me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished.” (2) “So be it then: for you, poor B, there is no happiness in the outer world, you must create it in yourself. Only in the ideal world can you find friends.” (3) “For you there is no longer any happiness except within yourself, in your art.”
If I can vent away a few things in a different direction:
Is it actually possible?
The ancient greeks thought no man could call himself happy or claim to have lived a happy life until after his death. The reason being how quickly fortune and reputation changed hands. Thus, no man can have a true estimation of his worth from the inside. It will always appear as a series of tasks with happiness being only an absence of pain, or a phantom recollection or future hope. An entire life can be lived in expectation of better things because everything attained produces only a momentary pleasure that turns into either a burden or a bore, which then clears a path for a new desire, and this trading of one desire for another and another makes the long chain of dissatisfaction and is how we come to know life as suffering. The question then is if one can suffer happily or ennoble their suffering.
CBT
I think you’re too smart for Mind Over Mood. That’s not to say it isn’t without value, but the worksheets, depression inventory scores, hot thought record keeping, and mood ratings will feel a little underwhelming to someone already deep in self-analysis. Take being rejected at a bar—rate your mood, identify your automatic thoughts, provide evidence, and offer an alternative or balanced thought. If you can be reasonably sure you were rejected because you didn’t meet her standards what good is telling yourself maybe she just wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Maybe your depression is actually from seeing your life a little too clearly. Can you really analyze yourself out of sehnsucht?
Beethoven
With music being as subjective as it is, I cannot promise this will make as much an impact on you as it did me. It is worth sharing regardless, if not for consolation, than to show how such a wretched existence found redemption. Beethoven was turned down in marriage for being too ugly. He was short (5’3, 1.62m), had an unusually large head with a high, broad forehead. His complexion was dark and his face was pitted with smallpox scars. Adding to the physical inadequacies was a host of serious illnesses, worst of all—and unfathomably tragic—was his hearing loss beginning in his twenties and progressing into total deafness. A few selections from his letters reveal his state of mind: His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.
Movies
If music is too abstract, there are movies: Anomalisa is the clearest illustration of love's disillusionment I know. The Elephant Man is beautiful character study on the life of John Merrick, a disfigured man. That he penned a little poem with the line, "If I could make myself anew, I would not fail in pleasing you" is profoundly relatable to anyone who’s been rejected for their looks. And The Grey, which I thought was an action movie—a bunch of oil workers survive a plane crash in the wilderness and have to fend off wolves—but there are poignant observations on the struggle towards death. This is one of the most deeply moving death scenes I’ve watched:
First Sentence
I went to my doctor: blood. Specialist: scans. Doctor again, another specialist: more scans. Told I might have cancer. More tests. During all this, I took the opportunity to address myself as a dying man and make an honest appraisal of my life as though it was now complete. I thought about a character from Camus’ The Plague, an aspiring novelist, who believed the first sentence had to be rendered as perfectly as it appeared in his mind’s eye. Such a sentence would create the immediate impression of genius and the rest of his novel would flow more easily. In the end, when he was dying of the plague he summoned the doctor to read back his manuscript: a stack of pages made entirely out of the first sentence with variants, simplifications, and elaborations. “One fine morning in May…” —fine isn’t the right word, is it? No doctor, it’s too late, no time. Burn it. He threw his manuscript into the fireplace, then his doctor injected him with serum and told his friend he wouldn’t last the night. —That’s how best I could sum my life. I had dreamed and deliberated on my potential while squandering the time that was necessary to realizing it. And still, I believe hair will restore my self-worth and put me in a better position to refine my character so that greater opportunities will naturally follow. Still writing my first sentence.
If I can vent away a few things in a different direction:
Is it actually possible?
The ancient greeks thought no man could call himself happy or claim to have lived a happy life until after his death. The reason being how quickly fortune and reputation changed hands. Thus, no man can have a true estimation of his worth from the inside. It will always appear as a series of tasks with happiness being only an absence of pain, or a phantom recollection or future hope. An entire life can be lived in expectation of better things because everything attained produces only a momentary pleasure that turns into either a burden or a bore, which then clears a path for a new desire, and this trading of one desire for another and another makes the long chain of dissatisfaction and is how we come to know life as suffering. The question then is if one can suffer happily or ennoble their suffering.
CBT
I think you’re too smart for Mind Over Mood. That’s not to say it isn’t without value, but the worksheets, depression inventory scores, hot thought record keeping, and mood ratings will feel a little underwhelming to someone already deep in self-analysis. Take being rejected at a bar—rate your mood, identify your automatic thoughts, provide evidence, and offer an alternative or balanced thought. If you can be reasonably sure you were rejected because you didn’t meet her standards what good is telling yourself maybe she just wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Maybe your depression is actually from seeing your life a little too clearly. Can you really analyze yourself out of sehnsucht?
Beethoven
With music being as subjective as it is, I cannot promise this will make as much an impact on you as it did me. It is worth sharing regardless, if not for consolation, than to show how such a wretched existence found redemption. Beethoven was turned down in marriage for being too ugly. He was short (5’3, 1.62m), had an unusually large head with a high, broad forehead. His complexion was dark and his face was pitted with smallpox scars. Adding to the physical inadequacies was a host of serious illnesses, worst of all—and unfathomably tragic—was his hearing loss beginning in his twenties and progressing into total deafness. A few selections from his letters reveal his state of mind: His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.
Movies
If music is too abstract, there are movies: Anomalisa is the clearest illustration of love's disillusionment I know. The Elephant Man is beautiful character study on the life of John Merrick, a disfigured man. That he penned a little poem with the line, "If I could make myself anew, I would not fail in pleasing you" is profoundly relatable to anyone who’s been rejected for their looks. And The Grey, which I thought was an action movie—a bunch of oil workers survive a plane crash in the wilderness and have to fend off wolves—but there are poignant observations on the struggle towards death. This is one of the most deeply moving death scenes I’ve watched:
First Sentence
I went to my doctor: blood. Specialist: scans. Doctor again, another specialist: more scans. Told I might have cancer. More tests. During all this, I took the opportunity to address myself as a dying man and make an honest appraisal of my life as though it was now complete. I thought about a character from Camus’ The Plague, an aspiring novelist, who believed the first sentence had to be rendered as perfectly as it appeared in his mind’s eye. Such a sentence would create the immediate impression of genius and the rest of his novel would flow more easily. In the end, when he was dying of the plague he summoned the doctor to read back his manuscript: a stack of pages made entirely out of the first sentence with variants, simplifications, and elaborations. “One fine morning in May…” —fine isn’t the right word, is it? No doctor, it’s too late, no time. Burn it. He threw his manuscript into the fireplace, then his doctor injected him with serum and told his friend he wouldn’t last the night. —That’s how best I could sum my life. I had dreamed and deliberated on my potential while squandering the time that was necessary to realizing it. And still, I believe hair will restore my self-worth and put me in a better position to refine my character so that greater opportunities will naturally follow. Still writing my first sentence.
If I can vent away a few things in a different direction:
Is it actually possible?
The ancient greeks thought no man could call himself happy or claim to have lived a happy life until after his death. The reason being how quickly fortune and reputation changed hands. Thus, no man can have a true estimation of his worth from the inside. It will always appear as a series of tasks with happiness being only an absence of pain, or a phantom recollection or future hope. An entire life can be lived in expectation of better things because everything attained produces only a momentary pleasure that turns into either a burden or a bore, which then clears a path for a new desire, and this trading of one desire for another and another makes the long chain of dissatisfaction and is how we come to know life as suffering. The question then is if one can suffer happily or ennoble their suffering.
CBT
I think you’re too smart for Mind Over Mood. That’s not to say it isn’t without value, but the worksheets, depression inventory scores, hot thought record keeping, and mood ratings will feel a little underwhelming to someone already deep in self-analysis. Take being rejected at a bar—rate your mood, identify your automatic thoughts, provide evidence, and offer an alternative or balanced thought. If you can be reasonably sure you were rejected because you didn’t meet her standards what good is telling yourself maybe she just wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Maybe your depression is actually from seeing your life a little too clearly. Can you really analyze yourself out of sehnsucht?
Beethoven
With music being as subjective as it is, I cannot promise this will make as much an impact on you as it did me. It is worth sharing regardless, if not for consolation, than to show how such a wretched existence found redemption. Beethoven was turned down in marriage for being too ugly. He was short (5’3, 1.62m), had an unusually large head with a high, broad forehead. His complexion was dark and his face was pitted with smallpox scars. Adding to the physical inadequacies was a host of serious illnesses, worst of all—and unfathomably tragic—was his hearing loss beginning in his twenties and progressing into total deafness. A few selections from his letters reveal his state of mind: His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.
Movies
If music is too abstract, there are movies: Anomalisa is the clearest illustration of love's disillusionment I know. The Elephant Man is beautiful character study on the life of John Merrick, a disfigured man. That he penned a little poem with the line, "If I could make myself anew, I would not fail in pleasing you" is profoundly relatable to anyone who’s been rejected for their looks. And The Grey, which I thought was an action movie—a bunch of oil workers survive a plane crash in the wilderness and have to fend off wolves—but there are poignant observations on the struggle towards death. This is one of the most deeply moving death scenes I’ve watched:
First Sentence
I went to my doctor: blood. Specialist: scans. Doctor again, another specialist: more scans. Told I might have cancer. More tests. During all this, I took the opportunity to address myself as a dying man and make an honest appraisal of my life as though it was now complete. I thought about a character from Camus’ The Plague, an aspiring novelist, who believed the first sentence had to be rendered as perfectly as it appeared in his mind’s eye. Such a sentence would create the immediate impression of genius and the rest of his novel would flow more easily. In the end, when he was dying of the plague he summoned the doctor to read back his manuscript: a stack of pages made entirely out of the first sentence with variants, simplifications, and elaborations. “One fine morning in May…” —fine isn’t the right word, is it? No doctor, it’s too late, no time. Burn it. He threw his manuscript into the fireplace, then his doctor injected him with serum and told his friend he wouldn’t last the night. —That’s how best I could sum my life. I had dreamed and deliberated on my potential while squandering the time that was necessary to realizing it. And still, I believe hair will restore my self-worth and put me in a better position to refine my character so that greater opportunities will naturally follow. Still writing my first sentence.
If I can vent away a few things in a different direction:
Is it actually possible?
The ancient greeks thought no man could call himself happy or claim to have lived a happy life until after his death. The reason being how quickly fortune and reputation changed hands. Thus, no man can have a true estimation of his worth from the inside. It will always appear as a series of tasks with happiness being only an absence of pain, or a phantom recollection or future hope. An entire life can be lived in expectation of better things because everything attained produces only a momentary pleasure that turns into either a burden or a bore, which then clears a path for a new desire, and this trading of one desire for another and another makes the long chain of dissatisfaction and is how we come to know life as suffering. The question then is if one can suffer happily or ennoble their suffering.
CBT
I think you’re too smart for Mind Over Mood. That’s not to say it isn’t without value, but the worksheets, depression inventory scores, hot thought record keeping, and mood ratings will feel a little underwhelming to someone already deep in self-analysis. Take being rejected at a bar—rate your mood, identify your automatic thoughts, provide evidence, and offer an alternative or balanced thought. If you can be reasonably sure you were rejected because you didn’t meet her standards what good is telling yourself maybe she just wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Maybe your depression is actually from seeing your life a little too clearly. Can you really analyze yourself out of sehnsucht?
Beethoven
With music being as subjective as it is, I cannot promise this will make as much an impact on you as it did me. It is worth sharing regardless, if not for consolation, than to show how such a wretched existence found redemption. Beethoven was turned down in marriage for being too ugly. He was short (5’3, 1.62m), had an unusually large head with a high, broad forehead. His complexion was dark and his face was pitted with smallpox scars. Adding to the physical inadequacies was a host of serious illnesses, worst of all—and unfathomably tragic—was his hearing loss beginning in his twenties and progressing into total deafness. A few selections from his letters reveal his state of mind: His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.
Movies
If music is too abstract, there are movies: Anomalisa is the clearest illustration of love's disillusionment I know. The Elephant Man is beautiful character study on the life of John Merrick, a disfigured man. That he penned a little poem with the line, "If I could make myself anew, I would not fail in pleasing you" is profoundly relatable to anyone who’s been rejected for their looks. And The Grey, which I thought was an action movie—a bunch of oil workers survive a plane crash in the wilderness and have to fend off wolves—but there are poignant observations on the struggle towards death. This is one of the most deeply moving death scenes I’ve watched:
First Sentence
I went to my doctor: blood. Specialist: scans. Doctor again, another specialist: more scans. Told I might have cancer. More tests. During all this, I took the opportunity to address myself as a dying man and make an honest appraisal of my life as though it was now complete. I thought about a character from Camus’ The Plague, an aspiring novelist, who believed the first sentence had to be rendered as perfectly as it appeared in his mind’s eye. Such a sentence would create the immediate impression of genius and the rest of his novel would flow more easily. In the end, when he was dying of the plague he summoned the doctor to read back his manuscript: a stack of pages made entirely out of the first sentence with variants, simplifications, and elaborations. “One fine morning in May…” —fine isn’t the right word, is it? No doctor, it’s too late, no time. Burn it. He threw his manuscript into the fireplace, then his doctor injected him with serum and told his friend he wouldn’t last the night. —That’s how best I could sum my life. I had dreamed and deliberated on my potential while squandering the time that was necessary to realizing it. And still, I believe hair will restore my self-worth and put me in a better position to refine my character so that greater opportunities will naturally follow. Still writing my first sentence.
If I can vent away a few things in a different direction:
Is it actually possible?
The ancient greeks thought no man could call himself happy or claim to have lived a happy life until after his death. The reason being how quickly fortune and reputation changed hands. Thus, no man can have a true estimation of his worth from the inside. It will always appear as a series of tasks with happiness being only an absence of pain, or a phantom recollection or future hope. An entire life can be lived in expectation of better things because everything attained produces only a momentary pleasure that turns into either a burden or a bore, which then clears a path for a new desire, and this trading of one desire for another and another makes the long chain of dissatisfaction and is how we come to know life as suffering. The question then is if one can suffer happily or ennoble their suffering.
CBT
I think you’re too smart for Mind Over Mood. That’s not to say it isn’t without value, but the worksheets, depression inventory scores, hot thought record keeping, and mood ratings will feel a little underwhelming to someone already deep in self-analysis. Take being rejected at a bar—rate your mood, identify your automatic thoughts, provide evidence, and offer an alternative or balanced thought. If you can be reasonably sure you were rejected because you didn’t meet her standards what good is telling yourself maybe she just wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Maybe your depression is actually from seeing your life a little too clearly. Can you really analyze yourself out of sehnsucht?
Beethoven
With music being as subjective as it is, I cannot promise this will make as much an impact on you as it did me. It is worth sharing regardless, if not for consolation, than to show how such a wretched existence found redemption. Beethoven was turned down in marriage for being too ugly. He was short (5’3, 1.62m), had an unusually large head with a high, broad forehead. His complexion was dark and his face was pitted with smallpox scars. Adding to the physical inadequacies was a host of serious illnesses, worst of all—and unfathomably tragic—was his hearing loss beginning in his twenties and progressing into total deafness. A few selections from his letters reveal his state of mind: His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.
Movies
If music is too abstract, there are movies: Anomalisa is the clearest illustration of love's disillusionment I know. The Elephant Man is beautiful character study on the life of John Merrick, a disfigured man. That he penned a little poem with the line, "If I could make myself anew, I would not fail in pleasing you" is profoundly relatable to anyone who’s been rejected for their looks. And The Grey, which I thought was an action movie—a bunch of oil workers survive a plane crash in the wilderness and have to fend off wolves—but there are poignant observations on the struggle towards death. This is one of the most deeply moving death scenes I’ve watched:
First Sentence
I went to my doctor: blood. Specialist: scans. Doctor again, another specialist: more scans. Told I might have cancer. More tests. During all this, I took the opportunity to address myself as a dying man and make an honest appraisal of my life as though it was now complete. I thought about a character from Camus’ The Plague, an aspiring novelist, who believed the first sentence had to be rendered as perfectly as it appeared in his mind’s eye. Such a sentence would create the immediate impression of genius and the rest of his novel would flow more easily. In the end, when he was dying of the plague he summoned the doctor to read back his manuscript: a stack of pages made entirely out of the first sentence with variants, simplifications, and elaborations. “One fine morning in May…” —fine isn’t the right word, is it? No doctor, it’s too late, no time. Burn it. He threw his manuscript into the fireplace, then his doctor injected him with serum and told his friend he wouldn’t last the night. —That’s how best I could sum my life. I had dreamed and deliberated on my potential while squandering the time that was necessary to realizing it. And still, I believe hair will restore my self-worth and put me in a better position to refine my character so that greater opportunities will naturally follow. Still writing my first sentence.
I used to have the same problem with 90% of music/movies/TV where it's always about sex and dating. I think I've desensitized myself which is probably a good thing because I don't really care much about that anymore.
Desensitization is clearly an important part of an effective cope.
If I can vent away a few things in a different direction:
Is it actually possible?
The ancient greeks thought no man could call himself happy or claim to have lived a happy life until after his death. The reason being how quickly fortune and reputation changed hands. Thus, no man can have a true estimation of his worth from the inside. It will always appear as a series of tasks with happiness being only an absence of pain, or a phantom recollection or future hope. An entire life can be lived in expectation of better things because everything attained produces only a momentary pleasure that turns into either a burden or a bore, which then clears a path for a new desire, and this trading of one desire for another and another makes the long chain of dissatisfaction and is how we come to know life as suffering. The question then is if one can suffer happily or ennoble their suffering.
CBT
I think you’re too smart for Mind Over Mood. That’s not to say it isn’t without value, but the worksheets, depression inventory scores, hot thought record keeping, and mood ratings will feel a little underwhelming to someone already deep in self-analysis. Take being rejected at a bar—rate your mood, identify your automatic thoughts, provide evidence, and offer an alternative or balanced thought. If you can be reasonably sure you were rejected because you didn’t meet her standards what good is telling yourself maybe she just wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. Maybe your depression is actually from seeing your life a little too clearly. Can you really analyze yourself out of sehnsucht?
Beethoven
With music being as subjective as it is, I cannot promise this will make as much an impact on you as it did me. It is worth sharing regardless, if not for consolation, than to show how such a wretched existence found redemption. Beethoven was turned down in marriage for being too ugly. He was short (5’3, 1.62m), had an unusually large head with a high, broad forehead. His complexion was dark and his face was pitted with smallpox scars. Adding to the physical inadequacies was a host of serious illnesses, worst of all—and unfathomably tragic—was his hearing loss beginning in his twenties and progressing into total deafness. A few selections from his letters reveal his state of mind: His last published work was a set of string quartets. The middle movement from the penultimate quartet was written after he overcame a nearly fatal stomach illness. The piece contrasts two opposing motives—illness and overcoming. In the final sections, the illness motive is no longer complemented with overcoming; it is the final illness. In a life without love, health, happiness, and eventually even music and sound, he endured the full weight of human suffering and still found in it value enough to write a hymn of thanks for being alive (he would die the following year). I can't recall another piece of music that so artfully captures the human condition and the spirit of tragic optimism than this, in particular, the passage that unfolds from 12:02 on.
Movies
If music is too abstract, there are movies: Anomalisa is the clearest illustration of love's disillusionment I know. The Elephant Man is a tragic character study of John Merrick, a horribly, disfigured man. That he penned a little poem with the line, "If I could make myself anew, I would not fail in pleasing you" is profoundly relatable to anyone who’s been rejected for their looks. And The Grey, which I thought was an action movie—a bunch of oil workers survive a plane crash in the wilderness and have to fend off wolves—but there are poignant observations on the struggle towards death. This is one of the most deeply moving death scenes I’ve watched:
First Sentence
I went to my doctor: blood. Specialist: scans. Doctor again, another specialist: more scans. Told I might have cancer. More tests. During all this, I took the opportunity to address myself as a dying man and make an honest appraisal of my life as though it was now complete. I thought about a character from Camus’ The Plague, an aspiring novelist, who believed the first sentence had to be rendered as perfectly as it appeared in his mind’s eye. Such a sentence would create the immediate impression of genius and the rest of his novel would flow more easily. In the end, when he was dying of the plague he summoned the doctor to read back his manuscript: a stack of pages made entirely out of the first sentence with variants, simplifications, and elaborations. “One fine morning in May…” —fine isn’t the right word, is it? No doctor, it’s too late, no time. Burn it. He threw his manuscript into the fireplace, then his doctor injected him with serum and told his friend he wouldn’t last the night. —That’s how best I could sum my life. I had dreamed and deliberated on my potential while squandering the time that was necessary to realizing it. And still, I believe hair will restore my self-worth and put me in a better position to refine my character so that greater opportunities will naturally follow. Still writing my first sentence.
Why do you browse such garbage websites.
Why do you browse such garbage websites.
Nearly all of the quotes are bullshit and have nothing to do with reality.