Rambling man

Sometimes I feel like I'm not really living right now. Like I'm just looking back on this moment from some time in the future, but its so vivid. And so dull at times. Why would I be remembering this? I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a sitcom. Weird little things that I can easily overreact to happen. Then the rest of my time is down time. If you condense everything down to part of a half hour show half the weeks out of the year its more than enough. Maybe I'm really only alive for a few minutes every week. Maybe the rest of my life is just filler. Maybe I'm sitting somewhere right now watching the clips of my life. Maybe I'm just remembering what supposedly happened inbetween. How do I know that any of the rest of it really happened? How do I know when I am on camera? How can I tell when I am only alive in my mind?

I'm not trying to be philosophical, really. I'm not trying to get at a higher truth, really, anymore than I am trying to understand my existence as it is right at this moment. I suppose that really is a higher truth than anything else I could be thinking or writing about. How do I know that I didn't already write this? I feel like I am writing it, yet in a few minutes I will only have the memory of writing it. How do I know I'm not just remembering it right now? Maybe I am philosophisizing, I suppose I am, theres really no other word for it. What if this is the first moment of existence? A little out of what I was just speaking of, but it relates, since then everything that I am remembering now about my life is a false construct, and so this familiar feeling of typing is actually a completely new experience for me. But what if existence hasn't even started yet? What if this is only part of my backstory. Sometimes I think of myself as a character in a book. We think we understand this character and we sometimes get a lot of their past, but did that past every happen? Would the character remember all those little events that get left out of the book, would they just fill those in? Is that what I am doing? Or have I already done that, maybe my story has started already, and I am only thinking what the author told me to think? Or what they think I should be thinking? Why am I thinking philosophically right now? Is it because someone in some meta-dimension is telling me to think about it, or they think I am thinking about it? Maybe I am only thinking this because someone else is thinking it. When I write characters I sometimes wonder how they would feel about it. I guess this was the plot of that Will Ferral movie from last year. What was that called? Whatever, its still an interesting question. I suppose I should watch it and get their take on it. Stranger Than Fiction. Thats what it was called.

I remember when I was around ten or so and almost falling completly apart in the shower one day as I contemplated my own existence. I had to talk myself into believing I still existed. I didn't really mention it to anyone at the time, but thinking back on it, if in fact it actually happened, it occurs to me that it was the one of the first in how I perceive the world. I was thinking today about when I found out there was no Santa. Sometimes I think of that as a critical point in my life. I think it was the first time when I was a kid that I had to figure out what was real and what was not. I had to figure out how to prove to myself what was there and what wasn't. I don't think I ever really figured out how to do that. I don't really study philosophy though. I'm in a class right now and I don't even really like it all that much. I've never been that great of a student. I think too abstractly for scholastic studies. And I have a tendancy towards laziness that has prevented me from really getting into studies that I should have been doing for a long time. This is somewhat off topic. I think its the way my brain works, how I think, that keeps me from being able to interact that well in this world. I have a tendancy to disbelieve in almost anything, anything that I believe could be santa. It could all come crumbling down around me. But at the same time I have a strong feeling that I'm doing something that relates more to fate, that there is some sort of guiding principle in my life. I think in stereotypes. I am a stereotype in a lot of ways. Its a strange way to live. No matter what I do I can ask myself "why am I doing this? Would my stereotype have done that?" and I often realize that the answer is yes. Why do I have long hair? I grew it out because I wanted to, but the more time I spend thinking about it I realize I didn't really have a reason to do it, and that having it puts more closer to that comic-book-guy stereotype I have put myself into. So I was thinking I could move away from the comics and into other things, literature and what have ye. Of course, there are people living in the world of literature that were at points just like me. I am a cliche. I mentioned my life was a novelty act in my last post, or did I? Maybe I wrote that somewhere else, I can't remember, but I said it, wrote it down. Well its not true. Because novelty implies something new, something slightly different, but it also implies a sense of unimportance, of purposelessness. Maybe in that way I am a novelty act, but in the other sense I am not, I am not new and different, but my experience is different, however slightly. So it is a novelty for me.

Sometimes I wonder if I havn't lived in a world of stereotypes before. I often feel like I've just left this world and come back in different forms. Something akin to reincarnation. I've lived the life of every stereotype. I'm scrapping the bottom of the barrel of possibilities now, perhaps. In my version time is not so static, I can come back at any time, I could have lived through these times a hundred times before. With no memory it might as well have never happened. What about false memory? Does it matter if it happened if I think it happened? Does it really not matter if I don't think something happened? I suppose on both sides it matters if it happened or not. But on both sides the real things that matter are what I feel happened. Truthiness. If I can't perceive it it may be real but does it matter? There are too many questions here. I want to provide myself with answers, but there are none to be had, at least not yet. I feel like if I completely accept myself from an outside viewpoint, see myself for the wholeness that I am, then I can break my mold, go outside what I would normally be compelled to do. So far I am simply following the instincts inside of me, moving blindly towards a destination I'm not sure of. I can see the future, at least my future, if I only understand where I am right now in relation to it. If I could see how every particle is moving and where it is going then I could see the future. Humans are predictable creatures. I am predictable, I am following a mold that was set out long before I got here. There has to be a way to break it, but in order to do that I must discover how I got into it in the first place. And to fully break it I must fully accept that it is there, I must no longer feel that I am acting as an independant person but rather as an organism that is following prescribed instincts. All animals have something that tells them how to act, how to survive. But what when you don't think that just surviving is enough? What happens when you want to make something of life that transcends everything that you ever thought you could do? Maybe I just need to stop and to think more often. Maybe I just need to take action. And maybe I have already started to break free of my mold, simply by acknowledging that it is there.