YuHeng's blog

It’s Sunday and this is the Sunday that was last week’s Sunday, so almost two Sundays ago. In fact, when I think about it now, it probably is two Sundays ago. Because I’ve been too lazy to put down any entry in my diary, and I only call it my diary because I can write whatever the hell I want. And it’s mostly true. The stuff I write is all true even when the words kind of just come together, and they come together without any content, but just the feeling that they’ve adhered to each other, and the intensity of this stickiness is what I feel for when I write. So sometimes, they adhere so well that they don’t really mean much. Do you know what I mean. Anyhow, I’ve been so lazy with my uploads that I just squander in my thoughts and let them populate my world. I let them take over because there’s frankly, not much for me to do right now. I feel no sense of urgency because most things around me are ready-made. What do I even have to do? It’s not that I’m gonna quit and sit back and enjoy the show, but that I’ve got nothing to work for. And for everything that I have to work for, I’ve got nothing to work for it because the things for which I have to work, are already ready-made. So do you see? The whole process is god damn arranged, like some kind of a fabulous show. But I don’t even gotta think anymore. That’s the thing, that I’ve stopped doing something, that I’ve stopped putting myself to something, that I feel like I don’t even think anymore. I just worry. And before, I used to think a whole lot, and whether I was only thinking or worrying didn’t matter. Because I put myself to something. To poems. I’d think about this one damn poem all day and I’d get nothing out of it. But I was proud because I could put myself to something. Anyhow, I don’t mean that I’ve stopped thinking all together, but just that I don’t feel it as much as before. And feeling is so hard to feel. Because I’d feel sad and all of a sudden, happy, that there is so much to rejoice about in this world. But there’s so much to feel between feeling, and really, I don’t know what to feel anymore. Because consiocusness… I have to be consious of my consiousness, and that is just too hard for me to grasp somwetimes. I just can’t see myself because there is no one around me. I have no one to see through myself and see myself in them, that they acknowledge me, that they recognize me. And the lack of this recognition just bores me to death, that why the hell is there anyone to just see me, that if they thought about it, it is also a chancew for them to see themselves throguh me, that I am something that they have use for, that i am the object of desire, of necessity. I’m worrying again. I’ve gotta turn this into something else.