Insomnia’s hitting me hard so I thought I might as well write some of the thoughts swirling in my head…
I got almost 20,000 songs in total, having recently recovered most of my music library from a backup I had in Mexico. Some 2,000 of those songs I absolutely love and keep track of them with a special playlist. Funny thing but that playlist alone is worth to me more than all my thousands of (illegal) songs.
Anyway, been listening to that playlist for hours now.
Climaxing to is a better word. Music is such pure pleasure, ain’t it?
(I wonder if the pleasure will fade with age as they say—does that mean that it is fake then? Do dogs listen to music?) This is why I tell you I just can’t stop marveling at technology:
so much marvelous music, from all over the world and all over time, available for so little money to me—a 100 years ago it would have been unthinkable, to die for.
It shocked me that you didn’t know the meaning of “marveling” today girl, because it’s such an important word to me. Like, about what we talked at Ice Berry, people bore me not because they don’t share my interests but because they’re barely interested at all.
I’m so
hungry for passion, for intense and unreasonable interests, for people with dreams, for people to wonder and marvel with, you know? Pretty much all most people seem to care
(superficially, unreflectingly) about is gossip, fucking, or kids.
So people are mostly uninterested, unawed, unmoved—or when they’re not they’re unbelievably pessimistic, negative, catastrophist, paranoid, bitter… People who marvel are so exceedingly, saddeningly rare.
Any dimwit can be bitter
(and most are), it’s the easiest thing to do, human nature
(have you ever wondered how common clinical, biological chronic depression is, while its opposite, biological, chronic euphoria, is so weird as to be almost unheard of?).
Marveling, being hopeful, is the exception, it’s what takes effort and imagination and daring.
