Thoughts on Happiness

I find myself sitting up late at night, back home by the fireside. I find myself inspired tonight. Returning home has blown my mind in it’s own strange way. These university days have expanded my horizons, but reflecting by this fireside I start to realise that the place, and more specifically the people, I left behind are where I find ideas really take shape. There’s too much stimulus in one place, living on campus at university. That’s not to say that all that information in one place isn’t great, because it is, but I seem to have learnt more returning to Diss than I did this whole term.

I love watching the coals in the fire glow. The way the burn so intensely orange captures my imagination and hypnotises me. In the face of determinist theory, which I can come to see as infuriatingly irrefutable and undisputable, I take great solace in the glow of the coals. Their warmth reminds me that I am able to feel the cold; the winter winds that bite the back of the throat and make me disappear further into my coat. Watching the glowing coals I know I’m home.

I can’t sleep this evening, but it doesn’t matter because frankly I feel like I’m dreaming anyway. To some extent these past months have flashed away and left me with only a hazy impressions of memories. However, equally these last weeks have reminded me of who I am. In challenging me, forcing me to confront everything I know about the world, this philosophy degree has helped me a reach some conclusions which seem even deeper than any fleeting metaphysical eureka moment.

In finding myself living the spitting image of a daydream I once had, I was able to confront the subtler facts. There are aspects of this image more fascinating than any cigarette packs little café tables, or even books residing in student’s bags waiting to be grabbed and referenced in the heat of discussion. There is love to be considered. I always figured, whilst crafting a mental picture that is so similar to the images I’m living currently, that there was no issue as to whether she would be beside me. I supposed this blindly, because foresight has never had a good relationship with love. So, surrounded by the paraphernalia of academia I wonder where did that aspect which I considered to be fact become fiction, a fragment of my past left to rest within the archives of my mind and imagination? That question plagued me for days. That afore mentioned haze consisted of several crazed, endless ,sleepless nights. I couldn’t work out why what happened did and why a life lived with love could suddenly become so lonely. Honestly, all I really needed at those points was somebody to hold, somebody to hold me. Slowly I found peace in the philosophy I found myself reading at three A.M. The tension that I was left with after that particularly profound relationship ended faded. I began to realise that life was still amazing. Every aspect of the image seemed to fit in place, and I headed home for a break with a racing heart.

My homecoming coming was graced to the presence of a disaffected guardian angel, and together we talked late into the night. Together we put the past in its rightful placed and embraced the future. The next day we mused over the nature of art and the answer we had briefly grasped the previous evening. I remember standing on Brighton beach breathing the sweet breeze of freedom, all those weeks ago. I remember waking to memories of a dream that feels like it really happened. I remember all the times I ever felt passion. I’m happy.

You seem to have posted a diary entry (by mistake?).

Personally I'd rather read about your hopes, dreams, aspirations, achievements.

If I'd met the self-philosopher portrayed in the text at a party I'd quickly be looking for someone else to talk to - anyone!

Trouble is litnet can be a captive audience, people always looking for something new, stumbling upon something self-indulgent and cringeworthy - rambling private thoughts don't make enticing reading.

Of course you weren't expecting it to be published, perhaps not even criticised (but let's be honest - you posted because you expected it to be read and where there's fire there's usually smoke), but why then leave in spelling errors and bad diction?.

No, I sense you're up to something sneaky. On another forum it would be called trolling (apparently).

Here's an excerpt of one of mine:

3.30 can't sleep. Don't feel like reading, but what about that crazy dream with the red goblins? If it was more vivid I'd write it down, but it's just too vague - though I did enjoy the bit with policemen in the horse costume attempting to negotiate Niagra Falls. But what did it mean?

Actually so many dreams I have make me feel like a genius. Maybe I am. I wonder if Stevenson felt the same after dreaming the plot to Dr Jekyll? I bet he did!

Sometimes when I write these entries in my journal I feel as though I'm talking to myself. Good thing no-one's ever going to read them - they'd think I was a madman. Talking to yourself is underrated though - I do it to keep myself sane (I think this as though I am sane, though I may have lost the plot years ago, who would be able to tell?)

Lately I've been feeling like committing the perfect random murder, but maybe I'm actually thinking about writing a whodunnit that features a perfect murder scenario. Probably the latter. I couldn't hurt a fly even if it was my worstest enemy.

But if I was a psycho who would I choose - it would have to be someone who deserved it - a drug pusher or gun runner, someone society wouldn't miss.

Hey I think I'm on to something here. A new novel is in the works! Now I can get some sleep!

sorry man, i don't really get what you're saying? the forum was called general writing, so i posted a piece of what was basically spontaneous prose... what is trolling?

i enjoyed writing the piece. it was more just me having fun with vocabulary than anything deep. the weighty tone seemed to suit, though i guess it does seem pretty poncy.

and i enjoyed reading your excerpt, though it certainly didn't appear any less like a diary than my work.

I was a bit drowsy when I responded with my bit of nonsense. Shouldn't have posted anything really, but I was fighting inevitable sleep and therefore myself and watching Centurian at the same time - though that's no excuse.

Sometimes I do something silly for no good reason other than I'm not a mechanoid android with adenoids.

Would you have preferred it if I'd said nothing?

My excerpt was a journal entry that I thought if I'd read it as someone else it would be sufficiently amusing to break the possible tension I'd caused - perhaps in the back of my subconscience somewhere.

Ever been really tired to the point of self-mesmerism? That's all, really.

Keep on playing with words!

Incidentally: students', yeeees?

I love earwigging these debates. Though it's usually in a pub towards closing time.

And yes, a pub near a university more often than not...

Agreed with themiddleprince:), and with MystyrMystyry, even if you said it bit harshly.