Sunday Brunch

In the midst of chaos and laughter
There is a void in my heart 
No, let me rephrase that
My heart feels too small
Too carry all these impressions 
That's it

In the corner of this café
After a lonely Sunday 
My heart aches for some company 
No, let me rephrase that 
My heart feels too small
It needs to be filled with the presence of my beloved
That's it

Sitting by myself
Sipping overpriced coffee 
The world seems to be looking at me, waiting for me to perform
No, let me rephrase that 
My heart feels too small
To know that I don't matter to these people 
That's it

In this little corner of the world
I am sitting, sipping, waiting, dating, contemplating 
Protecting my small heart in the midst of chaos and laughter

Midnight Conversations at the Age of 19-I

Me: What are you doing? 00:46
You: Nothing. 00:46
Me: Nothing at all? 00:46
You: No. 00:46
Me: I wanna paint. 00:47
You: Oh. 00:47
Me: And leave school. 00:47
Me: And be talented as an artist, any type. 00:47
Me: And have a gallery. 00:47
Me: And sell them for thousands. 00:47
You: We all have dreams. 00:47
Me: And spend my nights in a small expensive appartment with a white cat. 00:48
Me: And only read philosophical books. 00:48
Me: And just drink tea. 00:48
Me: And only eat lunch at small cute cafes. 00:48
Me: And buy more sweaters, skirts, heels and lipstick. 00:48
Me: That's what I want. 00:48
You: Go get it then. 00:49
Me: I'll try. 00:49
Me: What do you want from life? 00:49  
You: I want a lot of things. 00:50  
You: I want to learn how to play the cello. 00:50  
You: I want to listen to more music. 00:51
You: I want to read some books. 00:51  
You: I  want to watch some great movies I didn't get to watch yet. 00:51
You: I want to go to the gym. 00:51  
You: I want to learn how to drive. 00:51  
You: I want to meet people. 00:51  
You: I want to have a special somebody. 00:51
You: I want to continue my studies and do good research. 00:52
You: I want to get an apartment for myself. 00:52
You: I want to travel the world. 00:52
You: I want to hike mountains. 00:52
You: I want to go to a polar region and see auroras. 00:53
You: I want to be alive. 00:53
Me: They're reachable. 00:55
You: Easily reachable if things were running smoothly. 00:55
Me: Yes. 1:00
Me: I know. 1:00
You: I'm off to sleep. 1:03
Me: Okay. 1:03
Me: Good night. 1:03
You: Good night. 1:03

Epistemologie Paper: Objectie tegen de Cartesiaanse Demon

Epistemologie Paper 

Stelling:  ''Het is niet noodzakelijk om een onderscheid te maken tussen de noumenale en de fenomenale wereld.'' 

·         Objectie:  

Het onderscheid tussen de fenomenale en noumenale wereld is met een goede reden gemaakt. In de antieke traditie was het verschil noodzakelijk om de kennisvoorwaardes te formuleren voor ons kenvermogen. De reikwijdte van ons kennen werd gelimiteerd tot de zogeheten ''fenomenale'' wereld. Dit was de wereld zoals die zich aan ons presenteerde, wanneer men gebruik maakte van diens zintuigen. De noumenale wereld is datgene wat in de Platoonse traditie als de ware werkelijkheid gepostuleerd werd. Dit was de werkelijkheid die onafhankelijk van de zintuigen bestond. De vraag die nu noodzakelijk gevraagd moet worden is deze: 

''Hoe kan men zeker zijn dat dit onderscheid ook redelijkerwijs gemaakt mag worden?'' 

Het onderscheid werd in de antieke traditie door Plato gemaakt. Het feit dat men in het particuliere het vermogen had om het abstractere en daarbij het volmaaktere te kennen, gaf genoeg steun om aan te nemen dat het bestaan van het abstracte ook bestaansrecht had die men kon kennen, omdat hij reeds gekend was. In de anamnesis (herinnering) kreeg het subject een Aha-Erlebnis, omdat er overeenstemming kwam tussen dat wat op particuliere wijze werd waargenomen en een bepaalde eidos (Idee of Vorm) dat in het subject besloten zat. Het was dus epistemisch noodzakelijk om te spreken van twee werkelijkheden om een weg te kunnen vormen naar het ware kennen.  

Het dubium over de zintuigen is dus geplaats. De ware werkelijkheid is tot op een bepaalde hoogte via de zintuigen kenbaar, maar voor echte kennis behoort men in contemplatie te gaan naar de begrippen die het fenomenale kenbaar maken. De vraag is wederom, hoe kan je opgesloten in je eigen ik, met enkel de zintuigen tot je beschikking, überhaupt tot zekere kennis komen over de noumenale wereld? Plato zou antwoorden dat men behoort na te denken met datgene dat even los staat van de materie als de transcendente begrippen, namelijk de rede.  

Echter, er zit een probleem in Plato’s Ideeënleer, die van te veel axioma's uitgaat, die men niet kan rechtvaardigen. Bijvoorbeeld, hoe neemt het particuliere deel aan het abstracte? Als de Ideeën intern in ons kennen besloten liggen, dan is er niet meer sprake van externe inwerking en is daarbij de voorwaarde voor een externe, abstracte werkelijkheid geëlimineerd. Aristoteles heeft de problemen verder uitgewerkt en opgelost door het kenvermogen te beperken tot datgene wat Plato ''de vergankelijke werkelijkheid'' zou noemen.  

De zoektocht naar een objectie schrijdt voort richting René Descartes. Aristoteles heeft veel problemen van de metafysica en epistemologie opgelost door het kenvermogen te verschuiven naar de materiële wereld en het daartoe te beperken. Echter, deze verandering van metafysisch wereldbeeld komt met een prijs. De axioma, die per definitie de grootste twijfel teweeg brengt, is juist die aanname, die überhaupt Aristoteles' kenwereld mogelijk maakt: de verheerlijking van de zintuigen.  

Descartes gaat als rationalist tegen dit empirisme in. Hij contempleert en komt tot een radicale conclusie, die de epistemologie deed veranderen. Volgens hem was het initieel onmogelijk zeker te zijn over wat dan ook. De meditaties brachten twijfel en vragen teweeg. Kan het zo zijn dat we dromen? Of wellicht bedrogen worden door een demon, die ons de werkelijkheid als rechtvaardig, maar onwaar doet toeschijnen? De enige toegang tot de werkelijkheid, die we hebben zijn de zintuigen. Er is immers niks wat ons in staat stelt om zeker te zijn dat ook die zintuigen niet ons bedriegen. Het is daarom meer dan noodzakelijk dat er een onderscheid wordt gemaakt tussen de noumenale en fenomenale wereld om te kunnen twijfelen. Doen we dat niet, dan laten we de optie open dat we wellicht wel tot kennis kunnen komen die te rechtvaardigen is, maar die buiten ons kenvermogen, volledig mis is. 

·          Antwoord:

De filosoof die ik moet aanhalen bij de synthese tussen het enerzijds rationele probleem van ons kenvermogen, gepostuleerd door Descartes en anderzijds de empiristische, zoals Aristoteles, is Immanuel Kant. De versmelting manifesteert zich in het idee dat twee zaken noodzakelijk zijn om van kennis te kunnen spreken, namelijk het verstand en de waarneming. Beide zijn even noodzakelijk om kennis überhaupt mogelijk te kunnen maken. In het verstand zit structuren, die voorwaardea vormen om de a posteriori kennis mogelijk te maken. Ruimte en tijd zijn bijvoorbeeld nodig voor iets om kenbaar te zijn aan het verstand. Kant refereert naar dergelijke voorwaardes voor kennis als de categorieën. De categorieën kenmerken zich verder hierin dat ze eigenschappen zijn van het verstand en niet van de noumenale wereld. De categorieën vormen de reikwijdte van ons kenvermogen; ze maken het mogelijk, dat we premièrement in staat zijn van kennis te spreken. Echter, juiste deze zelfde categorieën vormen op ambigue wijze tegelijkertijd de grens van ons kenvermogen. Alles wat buiten de categorieën valt kan niet gekend worden door het verstand. Op deze wijze is het verstand begrensd en beperkt tot de fenomenale aanblikken van de werkelijkheid. 

Enfin, het is cruciaal om in te zien dat kennis enkel bestaat in overeenstemming, niet als een ontologische waarheidsbegrip.

Of zoals hijzelf mooi formuleert in Kritik der reinen Vernunft:

Begriffe ohne Anschauung sind leer, Anschauung ohne Begriffe ist blind

We hebben dus aangenomen van Kant dat kennis beperkt is tot de overeenstemming van de werkelijkheid met het verstand en dat op deze wijze alles wat buiten het verstand valt, wat hij het Ding an Sich noemt, noodzakelijkerwijs niet gekend kan worden.

Is het nu mogelijk om een objectie te geven aan het dubium van Descartes? Zeker.

Kant heeft zekerheid weten te geven aan de zintuigen, terwijl hij tegelijkertijd de twijfel van Descartes meebrengt op elegante wijze.

Zeker, we kunnen nooit het Ding an Sich kennen, de optie is open dat we bedrogen worden. Het kan dat buiten het kenvermogen van het verstand en de werkelijkheid, de noumenale wereld een leugen is.

Echter, wat Kant wel duidelijk maakt is dat we voor zover het kenvermogen ons toelaat, we een bepaalde mate van kennis kunnen vergaren, namelijk die binnen de categorieën van het verstand vallen.

Hierdoor borrelt bij mij dan de vraag op, waarom eigenlijk het onderscheid tussen twee werkelijkheden maken? Anders dan Plato, is de scheiding van de werkelijkheden niet eentje die metafysisch bestaansrecht hebben. Kant en Descartes postuleren de mogelijkheid van een noumenale wereld enkel als concept om de reikwijdte van het kennen te kunnen begrijpen, niet als transcendente volmaakte werkelijkheid.

En wanneer dus Kant de hypothese heeft gesteld van de fenomenale wereld en de noumenale wereld en hij heeft daarbij het kennen beperkt tot de fenomenale wereld, enkel ervan uitgaand dat de noumenale bestaat uit allerlei Dingen an Sich, dan is de noumenale wereld enkel ondersteund door de redenering die uitgaat van de noodzaak van een dergelijke wereld, omdat er anders niks is wat ons fenomenaal kan toeschijnen. Als dat de reden is dat het onderscheid gemaakt moet worden tussen een conceptuele noumenale wereld en een tastbare en bovenal epistemisch kenbare ‘fenomenale’ wereld, dan lijkt het me meer dan rationeel om het kennen te beperken juist tot die fenomenale wereld, omdat de notie van een noumenale wereld enkel tot onnodige redundantie leidt. Niet omdat het alleen praktisch is, maar omdat het categoriale kenvermogen dat van ons dwingt. 

The State I: Introduction

I've caught myself thinking these days as I was walking from work to home about certain things that have been bothering me these days. These little things that have annoyed me, have all bundled up into a collective annoyance and light hatred against humanity.
What an odd claim, isn't it? To say to you hate humanity at the pathetic age of 19.
'What humanity?' one might ask. 'The three people around you? That's your representation of humanity? Oh, please. What can you know of life, choice and humanity?'
Quite a common reaction one could say, one I often even get honestly. Frankly I can't blame them and I can see where they are coming from.
Still my instant reaction out of pride would be: 'Everything! I'm dedicating my life to reading, I spend my days in reflection, I try to understand, to know, to feel and to transcendente my current existence. Logically this would mean that my opinion is of more worth, right? Since I am making the sacrifice of trying to think in nuances, with the aim to understand, not to convince. It is only logical to say that relative to all this black and white thinking, my thoughts are worth listening to. I have the answers. I know what to do. My ideals will guide us there. It's just that you don't want to listen, goddammit!'
As you see, pride plays a big role inside of me. No matter how much I twist or turn it, I can't keep myself from burning inside when I catch someone in disagreement, after I've given an opinion or a statement that I have put so much effort into.
How dares that person not see the billiance and nuances? How dares he or she still vastly want to swim inside a milky, muddy, turbid lake, when there is me, who can give them a clear and sparkly ocean?
Pride and hybris can be such a cockblock to any conversation. It causes me to loose my rationality, I grow furious, I explode in anger, I damn the humans for not wanting to understand. To say it another way, how dare they not understand me? Me and my thoughts, who just want to preserve those values, that guarantee the integrity and dignity of every single human life. Isn't it good enough that I want the best for them?
Oddly enough, pride is also something I've worked hard on gaining and keeping. On a positive note for example, I am happy I am so proud. It makes me want to transcendente whoever I am at the moment, even if that means taking distance from a statement I hold onto dearly for the sake of gaining a better understanding of the world.
I've associated pride with those thinkers who had ideals and were not afraid of persuading them. They have made their own ideals into gods they worship, ideals that I am so proud of having. Ideals unfortunately that consist out of paradoxes.

Right now there is no denying that there is a clash going on in the world in terms of morality. Terms as freedom, free will, offense and justice have gotten a new understanding to them. To me it seems that these terms mostly present themselves into contradictions. Either side or interpretation of these terms clashes with the other side,  therefore making the existence überhaupt impossible.
For example, is it possible to become so free, that we become unfree? Is this a complete wrong actualisation of the Camus' quote in which he asked us to become so free that our freedom becomes an act of rebellion? Why does it feel, that every stranger I meet and see suffocates me more than ever? Is the age? Is it my character or is it our new understanding of freedom?
I have to be clear that I am a sceptical when it comes to giving generalising statements regarding a certain trend. There are always exceptions, let that be clear. I solely speak of those that fall inside the category I speak of. 
I can say that the general crowd is suffocating me, that I am afraid of speaking my mind, because I know that the complete freedom, causes some form of restriction. It is not possible to be completely free, in the sense that the existentialists meant. Freedom, in the sense that we are damned to freedom and have to create our life. The so called "My freedom begins, where yours ends"-mentality.
Is time changing and have we become so free, that we are suffocating each other? What if we need less freedom in one sense, to enlarge the freedom elsewhere?
Namely the freedom to make mistakes. It seems that our new interpretation of freedom has caused us to become more strict when it comes to respecting each and every individual. Democracy is at its peak, everyone is a part of the system. It has been celebrated enough, I am the first to rise, when it comes to applauding democracy. But isnt it also time to highlight the ambiguity? The contradictions that exist when we make certain ideals into absolutes? This can lead to serious problem, especially when the people leading the world at the moment are not leading the will of the crowd in accordance to the rationality of the politician, but that the politicians themselves are falling into peacock behaviour.
There is an illusion that saying whatever you like is performed by all. However, only in accordance to what most want. Being politically correct, but insofar as it is redeemed okay by those leading the media.
Neo-conservatism with other words, but dipped in a sauce of liberty.
Isn't that a paradox? This has made me scared of writing. I fear to make mistakes out of scare of offending someone. This so called new notion of freedom, has made me want to shut my mouth close. Never saying anything, because the term "offense" in relation to "freedom" has lost so much meaning, that I don't dare to say what I want.
I am not going to lie, I feel very detached from the world.

However, I have often seen myself as a reasonable person. Since I believe I am in a minority, I have more than enough reason to reconsider everything I said. Perhaps there is more to it. 
Maybe it is in our right to be offended. It shows progress in first world countries, since it's explication of individualism. He, who can be offended, has dignity that can be touched. He who has dinity has been acknowledged by society as an individual, who's worth existence.
Then who am I to go against this basic human right? A right that has been created in our era of Enlightenment, the right to be provided in our most basic human needs, the right to study, to have freedom of speech etc.
Me giving any form of criticism that offends society is a stab against those ideals, isn't it?
My reply to this, is a clear no. If there is anything I admire in the world, it is the progress the western civilisation has made when it comes to the notion of human rights. 
I would never say those ideals are wrong, if anything, liberté, égalité and fraternité are what I redeem one of the core principles of my ideal state. So, what is actually my concern? 
To put it clearly, I have the fear that people have become too proud. 
In the beginning I’ve stated my own pride as something I see as a restriction, but also progressive. I am glad I am proud. I am proud that I am proud in my thoughts and opinions and I don’t expect anything else from the world.
This is however the case, my pride served as an analogy as to what has angred me. The hate I carry against humanity, is a hate that I don’t oversee from a higher point. It is something that I recognize.
Not only that, but this pride ignites anger and rage, that is self destructive. And it creates the most inhumane acts known to man, the inability to think. Therefore, letting yourself get carried by those who can fulfill your need to satisfy your pride. I can only name 1939 as a number to spark your memory. 
And I know that we will go down in history as a dark age, if we do not realise the ambiguity of our pride, the ambiguity of our freedom and let ourselves be carried by egocentric pride. 

On Rejection and Nihilism

There were, are and will be times in your life in which you will experience rejection. This in itself is a terrifying fact that we cannot escape, let alone know how the live with it and sharpen or norms to its bitter existence. 
And out of all states of mind, this one in particular bears a stingy feeling of discomfort with it. Just because of its so called destroying nature.
A sense of rejection is a state of mind that destroys hopes, aspirations and dreams. It is the grandfather of nihilism. The grieving mother that gave birth to a son it didn’t want. 
There's no denying every single one of humanity has faced rejection in some way or another. And how macabre it was to experience powerlessness. Trying but not achieving. That moving forward doesn’t guarantee that desired throne we wanted to sit upon while the a warm voice is saying: “You have done your best, my child. It was enough and more than worth it.”
And we, the gods of the new world, who reign over it behind our technological innovation, seem not to have accepted the power of defeat that so mercilessly has proven its existence over and over again to us through the centuries of failing. But that's no wonder, seeing our pride. 
And yet I ask you to remember, that one time in your life where you had shown the world your brilliance in the form of a talent you possess or by hard work. And how wonderful it felt to have finally talked yourself into being courageous. One final step forward and you would have reached your end. 

(I realise I am intentionally enlarging the situation, but only with the purpose that it will the more relatable. These general lines of experience are what every human goes through before the final blow)

And when the rejection finally does take place, it is not just the sense of judgment laid upon your act in itself that may stir your emotions, it is all that positive buildup from beforehand that suddenly collapses all together. And it falls and it crumbles, draining every bit of confidence and courage you had in mere seconds. And what you’re left with is angst, followed by an emotionless state of mind that’s too shocked to even comprehend what just had happened. 

This is rejection. So familiar and mind numbing it us.  This is the grandfather of nihilism. A crusher of ideals. The stone in our path that stops us from moving forward, not being able to look into the future. Yet it makes us regret looking back and hating ever having chosen this path. Imagine this for multiple times in your life. A path that stops halfway, yet being told that if you try hard enough one day you will reach your throne and you will comfortably reign over the worries of yourself and, if you’re idealistic enough, of humanity. This lie becomes the engine of your pursuit of happiness. What you’re left with is a huge nothingness. Nothing to move forward too, but to drained to even consider another way. So you sit there in the middle of the road. Stuck between two possible extremes. 

As a considerate reader you might have seen similarities to The Myth of Sysiphus by Camus, in which Sysiphus was doomed to eternally roll a rock up a mountain, just to see it tumbling down just as he reached the end. Let me elaborate on this. 
“Let us imagine Sysiphus happy”, Camus said. Let us imagine he is considering rolling up the rock as a life project in which he can still realise himself in some sort of form, by which he is not doomed to emptiness. That even in the most miserable situations it is possible to idealise oneself and to try realise that goal. 
Let me then pose the following contra-statement. Let us imagine, I say, that it is not a miserable place we live in, but that we are in paradise. That this society of empty consumption has realised itself into our paradise, in which we have no shortcomings. Complaining would be shushed. The habitants of paradise would be pointing at the damned burning in hell telling me: “But at least, you’re not them.” By which I would subject to this argumentum ad absurdum and nod in agreement. 
Imagine in this scenario that it is us living in paradise, but we are unhappy. There is little to nothing to achieve, that truly matters to our existence in the broadest sense. Things that would truly make us worse off by missing the chase of it or understanding the meaning of the word by true experience instead of false imagery. 
In this paradise everything exists before us. Clothes to the point of overproduction. Food, as much as our hearts desire to the point where obesity is our main health concern. Hostility towards our friends, because our eyes have been blinded by the bright heavenly light of wanting more and more, but not always being able to obtain it in such a human packed place. 
The voices keep telling us, that there is better to obtain, that we aren’t working hard enough, desiring hard enough, buying hard enough in order to obtain the obtainable. Namely, the thrones of the gods who are sitting above us, exclaiming that we should be grateful for the purpose they have presented in front of us. The purpose of becoming them and that rejection of this means wanting to burn in hell. 
The question that should be asked is this hypothetical scenario is, which of the places would I rather be? Is it paradise or hell? Paradise, where idealistic views will never be realised? Or hell, where you’re stepped upon for not ever being able to participate in this nonsensical game of so called self realisation? 
Having lived in paradise, having walked against many doors with false promises, rejection after rejection after rejection, it is no wonder that there would be some among us that would choose neither.
Thus stop moving forward. Letting everything drop and sigh dissatisfied over the flaws in the so immanent perfect paradise. 

Where is Sysiphus truly now that Camus has left him? Which gates have opened before him? Is Sysiphus even truly happy? But most important of all, what is he doing?  Sysiphus doesn’t live in a sort of hell, pushing the rock for eternity. He’s not happy. He’s in paradise, he’s unhappy with his rock besides him, sitting, doing nothing, but contemplating his suicide. 

De Stoa

De Stoa. Een filosofische stroming die de weerspiegeling was van het hedonisme van Epicurus. 

Een stroming waarin de ratio menner was van de paarden der verlangens. 

Ik schrijf dit stuk omdat het me pijn doet hoe negatief geladen het beeld is van de Stoa. Machinaal en pragmatisch, waarin menselijke emoties verdrukt worden tot het niets.  Nee, ik betoog juist dat de filosoof Seneca een helder beeld had van de menselijke gewenning en gewoontes, van onze gevoelens, verlangens en idealen. Teleurstelling en zelfverwijt.

Het eerste probleem waar we mee te maken hebben is de menselijke interpretatie. Vaak een zegen, wat de sociale interactie bevordert.

Echter wanneer we te maken hebben met oude denkbeelden, wereldbeeld en ladingen die de woorden hebben, moet ik grijpen naar de filosoof Wittgenstein, die het volgende meende: Woorden zijn niet enkel woorden die sociale interactie bevorderen, ze kunnen ook scheidend werken. De mens is in zijn opvoeding geprikkeld met de betekenis achter elk woord, of het nu concreet of abstract is. Maar aangezien we de mens als individu moeten nemen, is het meer dan logisch te concluderen dat hetzelfde begrip bij twee individuen een verschillend beeld opwerkt in de hersenen. Zo kan men over hetzelfde praten in de materiële wereld, maar is de abstracte wereld met zijn gedachtes bij totaal iets anders, waardoor miscommunicatie plaatsvindt.  Natuurlijk zijn we ons hier niet bewust van, omdat we menen hetzelfde begrip te hanteren. 

Dit is wat ervoor kan zorgen dat de Stoa als zielloos en machinaal geïnterpreteerd kan worden. Plaatst men het in de context, van tweeduizend jaar geleden, dan behaalt hij helder inzicht.

Want het is in deze maatschappij waarin men het neo-romantieke beeld van gevoelens niet kent, gevoelens die wij als muze van de  bohème zien.  Romantisch en menselijk, emoties die naar buiten gedragen moeten worden om onze individualiteit te bestempelen.  

Nee, dit is niet hoe men ernaar behoort te kijken. De Romeinse maatschappij was een maatschappij waarin sociale interactie het vaste principe was. Indivualiteit kende men niet omdat men deel was van het groter geheel, de Staat.

En voordat dit dystopische beelden van  Big Brother opwekt, realiseert u zich dat men de de Staat zag als speelruimte, als mogelijkheid tot zelfverwerklijking.

Dánkzij de maatschappij ben je wie je bent, dankzij de staat en de existentie van de ander heb jij een reden om elke ochtend op te staan en je in te zitten voor het leven.

Immers zoals Seneca zegt:

"Als we alle sociale interactie opgeven en breken met de mensheid, als we enkel en alleen leven voor onszelf, zitten we in een isolement dat geen enkele betekenis meer heeft. Met als gevolg dat we ook niks zinvols te doen hebben." 

-Seneca, Innerlijke Rust, blz.25

Op die wijze moet je de Romeinen zien als een onderdeel van de staat, mensen die constant in de gemeenschap leven en de druk ervaren van het handelen. Niet per se altijd direct voor de ander, maar wel op een zodanige wijze dat je nuttig bent voor zowel je zelf en de staat. En in die interpretatie van vrijheid zit de Stoa verscholen. Niet in onze neo - romantische beeld die enorm beïnvloed is door het existentialisme. Ik meen dus dat Seneca op een meta-niveau naar emoties kijkt en met zijn Romeinse beeld ontevreden is over de zaak. Net als veel andere Romeinen dat waren, waar ik ze geen ongelijk in kan geven. 

En ja, ongelijk kunnen we hem niet geven als we naar deze interactie kijken tussen mens, staat en innerlijke rust. Hevige emoties kunnen dan zeker averechts werken.

Seneca echter ontkent de relevantie van de emoties niet, maar soms kan men zich verliezen in zichzelf en de kijk op de zaak volledig achter laten.

Je mag zelfs je emoties ontarmen, omdat ze deel van je zijn, maar, let op, net als een schip op zee zijn er tijden waarin je in de storm je heldere verstand verliest en wild gaat handelen, terwijl juist dan je boven de storm moet stijgen om jezelf en de bemanning te redden.

Overigens is de moderne maatschappij vervallen in een soort hippie stadium, waarin verzet tegen elk vorm van discipline en richtlijnen gezien wordt als een beperking van de vrijheid, terwijl de opvatting hiervan onjuist is.

Niet is het beheersen van je emoties een beperking van de vrijheid, niet is het kunnen rationaliseren van je bestaan een beperking van vrijheid, niet is het willen zin geven aan je bestaan een beperking.

Ja, we gaan uiteindelijk allemaal dood (een vaak gebruikt argument), discipline en orde en handelen hebben dus geen zin.

Goed, nou en? 

Wil dat zeggen dat ik mijn bestaan de prullenbak in moet werpen? Wil dat zeggen dat ik moet ontkennen dat mezelf moet vervolmaken? Wellicht wel, maar dat doe ik niet. En wel om deze inspirerende uitspraak van Seneca:

"Niet durven doen wat je wilt of niet bereiken wat je wilt, blijven hopen en daar helemaal in opgaan. (...) Ja, zo krijg je mensen die hun eigen vrijheid haten. (...) En wat krijg je dan? Reizen zonder duidelijk doel, mensen die de kusten afzakken, nu eens over zee dan weer via land. (...)

Zoals Lucretius het zei:

"Op die manier vlucht ieder voor zichzelf."

We moeten dus beseffen, niet de locaties zijn ons probleem maar wijzelf. Wij zijn niet sterk genoeg om alles vol te houden. We kunnen niet langdurig tegen hard werk of leuke dingen of one zelf of wat dan ook. (...) door vaak van plan te veranderen kwamen ze weer uit op hetzelfde en hadden ze dus geen ruimte meer voor iets nieuws. Zo kregen ze weerzin van het leven, tegen de hele wereld, en rees bij hen dat decadente gevoel: "Meer van hetzelfde...Hoelang nog?"

En aangezien de wereld onze speelruimte is, onze enige kans misschien om iemand te zijn. Niet omdat het zinvol is voor de wereld,  of fuck it, zelfs voor de Staat of de Ander.

Nee, het gaat erom dat wij onszelf in dermate in waarde achten dat we onszelf en de zinloosheid ontarmen en kunnen inzien, ik mag elke kant opgaan die ik wil, want stilstaan kan ik ook na de dood. 

Contemplation During a Lonely Night

''Il y a des jours où Dieu est si loin, qu'il semble absent''
There are days where God is so far that he seems absent
-Simone de Beauvoir

Unfortunately for me He never felt present. Fortunately maybe, however that's hard to tell on days where you feel like a raindrop falling from far only to be hit by the solid cold ground.
Never have I felt more alone, than realising that growing up doesn't mean solely growing up as a child, but mentally as an adult.
God would be the father figure making sure that all goes well, that I am safe.
For now I feel like I'm an orphan of life. Nothing seems to satisfy me in the slightest. Even worse, I feel empty and joyless. Sucked and drained, but most of all I am afraid.
I barely have enough energy to enjoy anything, but just enough to spend my nights contemplating and worrying. Wasteful nights if you ask me.
Some people weren't made for human interaction, I think I'm part of them,
I never am more confronted with my loneliness and angst than in the middle of the joyful crowd.
I know that escaping and isolation are meaningless, but what else is there in life?
I believe that's indeed what we see as growing up and facing the challenges of a possibly meaningless and empty life, yet giving our all to it.
Amusing if you ask me, for I can't judge whether that's genius madness or mental madness.
Even now as I am writing I can finally sense a form of peace overwhelming me; I am safe.
It has the same cosy feeling I had when mother would hug me tightly before going to sleep, the same warmth, the same isolation inside my own little world.
Growing up is leaving the safe spot from mother's nest and moving on to sharing the bed with a dozen strangers at the off chance that one might be the one for you.
Is it bad? No of course not, for who is there to judge you and your choices?
To say what is right from wrong, to comfort you when you spend your nights crying and seeking for some kind of answer to your ignorance of life.
I sense a balance between not caring at all, very nihilistic of course and on the other side a lot of fear for the unknown. Fear for mistakes I might never forgive myself.
Indeed, there is no God to judge me, but that makes it worse because I know myself.
There where He would give me comfort and salvation, I would never forgive myself. Not because I am perfect, but because I would not be able to look myself in the eyes and see nothing but filth.
And suddenly I would lose my touch for existence, because I apparently never knew what it meant to be alive as I indeed made those mistakes.
They haven't happened yet, but this would indeed be how I would reason with myself.

Oh desperate times, lovely lonely times.
Please world, leave me at rest and I will never provoke you again. I too bear fault at being curious, but not being able to forsee and accept the consequences of my childish curiosity.
Eventhough I am very doubtful in terms of morality, I can't forgive myself for seeing the world and its people as my toys any longer.
I used to be nihilistic and an opportunist, only using the world to satisfy my own needs, but even that doesn't work as much as it should.
Therefor my subconsciousness only desires punishment of the Self.
Egocentric behaviour should be considered as a lonely act, therefor damned to a lonely existence.
And honestly, loneliness has never sounded more liberating.

The Student by The Bitter One (A Parody on Communistic Literature.)

The Student

By: The Bitter One

Weighed down by misery and looking at the grey sky our hero trudges towards home to consume the same meal that he has eaten for the last three days.

The muscles exhausted from sleep deprivation and fingers filthy from the ash and soot he joins the group of dreary looking students. Their shoulders are hanging low, deeply hidden in their high collars and with grave pace they move their cold feet, while leaving a deep trace of greyish wet snow behind.

Covered in a cloud of steam, the school spews the students out, who, after having served the school, will come back the next day to fulfill their mechanical duties once more.

Irritated and contemptuous grumbles could be heard among the students as they turned their head away from the last bell that indicated their temporary freedom.

The day has ended and the sun is slowly setting. The irritated grumbles turn into warm fiddle-faddle.

The classroom has sucked all energy out of our students and with apple-red cheeks their teeth are dripping with saliva, ready to attack the few pieces of bread their family can offer.

After many years of intense labor, most students have peace with the fact that there is no denying in the grave suppression they all have to undergo and that every step they take to end the day, is a step closer to their grave.

This is also true for our hero, for years of labor have robbed him from his appetite and his desire to drink warm wine.

Other days, when school has ended, the students speak to each other in a serious manner.

Never deviating from the grades and that which manifested itself the closest in their existence: the physical labor that has to be done to the fat-stomached schoolchiefs.

Rarely does a smile break through their monotone mannerism of speech and when this does happen on an unusual day, the aggression is compensated at home towards the younger sibling or parent who dare to ask them how their day was.

And after having lived like this for sixty-five years, they all die, knowing that they themselves have contributed the most out of all students to society.

So too would our hero have lived, as the most loyal worker of all.

He is the most handsome, the strongest and the most intelligent, but also impatient and rude towards any form of authority.

It so happened one day, that he comes across a very moody fellow student who makes a vile remark regarding his clothing.

Severe and disrespectful as he is, our hero responds the surly looking young lady.

Her piercing dark eyes look tired and she turns away from the nasty comeback our hero makes.

However, something is still bothering him, for he has noticed that there was some truth to her words.

There is indeed something wrong with the way he is dressed.

And you see, he tells himself, it’s not only me who is dressed this way, it is also the fellow student who made the moody remark and the students walking across the hallway.

She is right, he claims, indeed we are all dressed horribly.

Horribly the same.

And he notices the students, hungry like wolves, ready to revolt against the regime. Hungrily and impatient to feast on the corpses of their to be former schoolchiefs.

From that moment on, our hero knows what he is ought to do.

Burning with flames of desire, he makes a way through the thick layer of ash-grey know and as he throws his arms into the sky he exclaims:

‘’Comrades...!’’ he has just begun his sentence or a big crowd of students gather around our hero.

He looks at them in aw not knowing what to expect next.

And with grave disappointment he witnesses the most shallow act imaginable at that time and moment when they take out their mobile cellphones to film the spectacle.

Our hero feels at that exact moment all hope melt away and he lowers his arms in sadness.

His shoulders are hanging low, deeply hidden in his high collar and with grave pace he moves his cold feet, while leaving a deep trace of greyish wet snow behind.

Random Thoughts #3 Dreamer

Dreamer

This story begins the moment I die.
I feel cold. And uncertain. 
My body can't move, as if metal chains have strapped themselves on me. 
Where am I? 
Unable to move. 
My head is fixated to the ceiling. It is beautifully decorated with seashells, mermaids and turtles, slowly moving and swimming above me. Elegantly and gracefully. 
I can't advert my eyes. I don't want to. 
Not yet.
By my eyes feel heavy, they're slowly coming together. 
Please don't. 
The same force is pushing on my chest. I can't breath. 
I can't think.

My eyes have slowly closed, yet my mind is all conscious.
Torture, as the force keeps pushing more and more.
Heavenly grace, where to escape?
My mind is trying to come up with a plan to escape.

I’m know I am inside a room, I can hear the rain dripping against the window.

There is a storm coming up. 
Water? Coming closer indeed. 
It's coming for me.

The room is slowly filling itself up with water, everything is covered in water including me.

I can’t move. I am drowning. 
My legs and arms are solid rock, but fortunately I still have my consciousness.
Unfortunately, I mean.

It’s one of those, I sigh.

The water is filling up the entire chamber and it is slowly reaching for my face.

First my legs and arms, then my hair. Lastly face is embraced.

I take a deep last breath before I will be taken away by the rising water.
I can't breath.


When I wake up, my body is covered in sweat.
With a restless sigh I look around the room.
No water, I am not drowning.
I am concious.
Fortunately, 

Another restless night.