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Fucked Up College Kids File 424
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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enlightenment
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i have moments where i understand everything
about life, the universe, and most importantly,
how the pattern weaves itself together so
tightly and unendingly. protons and quarks,
planets and poetry, music and literature,
calculus and algebra, freud and jung.. they all
become sewn together in my mind, and i can
see the threads that bind them, slim and shiny,
and i *know*, for one painful moment, why
everything is.
then i lose it.
less frequently, i have realizations about myself.
fortunately i rarely lose the lesson i learned
during that moment of self-enlightenment, but
they only happen once every few years, and the
periods between are fraught with inner pain and
an agonizing hollow sensation, as if i am merely
waiting for that next moment of knowing so that
i can piece together my reason for being before
i can go on with the actual business of living.
i had one such moment yesterday. suddenly, everything
has become clear, and it is now, today, that the
business of living can begin. i feel an inner peace
so overwhelming that i can describe it only as a
quasi religious experience, but as an agnostic, i
cannot quite attribute this sensation to god or
buddha or anything of that nature.
i have spent my entire life feeling alone. i know
that many others in this world have this same
experience, yet i felt different in a way that no
one seemed to be able to relate to. i have thoughts
that do not mesh with experience of others. my
past is dark and dirty. my brain works too quickly.
i can almost hear the thoughts and feelings of others.
i hallucinate. being around people is uncomfortable
for me because of these oddities that float around
in my mind. i feel like a freak. i thought that
i was depressed and unhappy, and that it was all
merely mental anguish that could be cured with a few
years therapy and some carefully chosen drugs.
i was wrong. i am happy this way. i like being alone.
i like creating things at 3 a.m., coffee cup in
hand. i like writing long stories that i never
bother to get published. i like reading books
that hurt my brain and working out how the author
came to the conclusions she did. i like sketching
my odd thoughts on paper. i like observing people,
but not interacting with them. my existence is
entirely cerebral and internal to myself, and it
has become obvious that i am not capable of
sharing that, that no one in this world can
comprehend the things i say and do, and i am
quite happy this way. i don't need anyone. no one
needs to understand me, because i am not to be
understood. i only have to exist, and someday i
would like to find a way to share my inner world
with others, but not now. it isn't finished yet.
demonika
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