The Wise Fool

When Socrates said, "All I know is I know nothing", I felt it. Trust me, I was there.

I do not remember writing any of the blogposts before 2021. I was high most of the time, not on drugs but channeling the life out of my personal storehouse of gnosis that I didn't know I had. I could never comprehend what I wrote myself, and that was okay because it all makes sense to me now. This is the first time I'm looking back and not feeling like deleting the entire existence of everything I've ever created, but rather admiring the sheer balls it took to go out there and risk sounding absolutely stupid. Also, genuinely being proud of what I wrote.

Personally, I envy 2020 Sam, she was dumber but wiser than me. She was an absolute slut for… pretty much anything to be honest. She was juicy and open. When she started writing, she never understood how she got to the end of it. There was little to no planning that went into anything she wrote or created. I loved that.

And deep down I still absolutely despise thinking and using my brain. How is it rational to have to do AnaLytiCs or whatever is expected of little old me in my job that I love very much? You know what is rational? Everything that is wrong with the world- intellectualisation, denying mysticism and worshipping science. But there is nothing I despise more than structures and forts. You cannot fortify art (narrator voice: she had completely forgotten about the concept of museums).

There is beauty in not knowing where you're going with what you're trying to say. There is beauty in tangents. There is beauty in me me ME but also what what WHAT. There is beauty in that shampoo I washed my hair with this morning, and words are catharsis. There is beauty in crying like a little child and punching things. God I love punching things.

Here is something I do enjoy- raging internal storms. I love them. They make me want to dig my nails deep into something and tear it apart ligament-by-ligament.

I remember never being happy before 2021. I remember not having a sense of direction, not knowing what I wanted. Everyone was smarter than me (probably still is). Everyone has mastered the material world. I have learned to create happiness in my tiny heart now. There are rarely ever moments where I feel like I'm hitting a dead end or that any of my dreams are unattainable but it's not the same.

I don't blurt things out in my articles anymore. I don't say things without research, and honestly, that's something a nerd would do. NERD!

Nerd joke, of course.

I am coming to terms with the fact that any creative pursuit somehow involves unhappiness. It could be a work of art coming out of misery, or to create misery, or creation due to feeling misery and wanting to change that. Misery is motivation and that is perhaps why I am more happy now because I have learned to create happiness out of everything like a lotus growing in the muck.

However, happiness is too yang for me, it cuts me off from sitting in one place for extended periods of time and accidentally astral projecting. Happiness is an obstacle for the stew of colorful thoughts that I like to stew in. Happiness is a barrier for wanting to be grabbed by the throat and thrown at a wall. But happiness is what keeps me sane. Insert smiley face here.

Honestly, I believe our modern world has glorified happiness too much. Those were the days when Gods used to cut each others' heads off over a minor inconvenience. Ah the good old days! Take me back to them. Take. Me. BACK!

You know what WOULD be great right now. A swing. A swing would be just perfect. Swinging into oblivion or a swing of a sword, who knows?