The Contradictions in Me.

"Every sort of conscious, in fact, is a disease." -- Notes from the Underground, Dostoevsky

I embrace myself with the most acute puncture of my acupuncture points. I dissect and analyze myself in parts, separating my ego into emotions and rationality so that I can see and understand myself more clearly. If it is necessary to do some psychoanalysis here, let the adventure begin.

Why do I like math? In a shallow analysis, I like it because I have always been good at it. My will to power and desire of mastery dominate this love. In a philosophical analysis, I like it because it is clean cut, black and white, no mess around. It is a clean and transparent spider web made from thin yet elastic threads. I am a watcher beneath the web, staring up as light shines through. I grab its shadow, wobbly tracing the thin lines projected on the ground. I reach another end where only one part of myself can understand. But this journey requires much energy and focus, so I do not always succeed in conquering the line. At this moment, my compulsion comes in, my outer conscious impatiently urges me to go on. You have to you have to you have to. I do not even know where I am going. The end is not something I can perceive, though there is enormous joy in looking back from the end once I reach that secret place. On the journey, all I know is I have to go somewhere.

I like the exact opposite of rationality in philosophy. I hate the modern philosophers who spend much time concerning the truth of our knowledge. I love existentialism because it is in this life humans live and feel. It is with faith and passion I follow the line and walk the path. It makes the messiest over-crossings of the spider web beautiful. It makes my reaching fun and provides me energy. Without the rushes of my impulses, I do not know what my journeys would be. Perhaps it is without time and place that the spider threads would hang, and I would walk in a vacuum where I cannot set my foot on anything.

I live with too much consciousness. I am not supposed to discover the secret distinguishing line within me, for you see, I use rationality to describe my passions, and I use my passions to describe my rationality like they are tools for each other. They clash sometimes, because they are not willing to be used by each other. And what do I feel, the body of the two? I hesitate, I become distracted, and the compulsion repeats in me again and again as they chase each other's tails around. This is the most painful feeling. I do not know where to set my foot, on this line or another line. I do not know what courage is. All I think about is "a dangerous across, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous shuddering and stopping." -- Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nieztsche