never unseeing and Jean Paul Sarte

I've been reading Nausea. I'm not finished yet. It's a really uncomfortable read, especially in my current situation. It felt a little too on the nose. At first, it was a little frustrating because there's a running theme of radical individualism. It's an ugly blemish of living in a modernized society. The fact that we all have to find our own meaning in this world is a brutal truth. There's no truth behind our meanings; they just dictate how we relate to the physical world. There seem to be no clear signs of authenticity in reality.

Nausea is a good name for the feeling. I consider chaos to be patterns we just can't recognize. We hold onto laws with such a tight grip, despite how bizarre it is to really think about it. Nothing about the way we socialize reflects reality accurately; it tries to subdue it. A newfound order in an existence that is seemingly chaotic. When you recognize you're limited to your interpretations of reality, it can make you dizzy. Every day is somehow both mundane and brutally painful. There are actually very few truths to take comfort in. The only two I find myself able to rely on are that I am as likely to die as I am likely to be born. We can't perform quantum computing with just our minds, so while there are definitely truths out there, the math is too vast to rely on. Math feels like a fleeting pursuit when your body is trapped in time.

While reading Nausea, I began thinking about the absurdity of existential thought. Living life as matter will make you compare yourself to infinity. Existentialism has its roots in wounded optimism. Comparing life in all of its lawlessness to an ideal of purpose and connection. We have no evidence to prove life can or ever will be like that, but we continue to try to replicate it. The performativity of the law. The idea that life is meant to be known. Desire is the root of suffering, which is so convenient in our hell. It's like nothing has to even be done for us to be miserable. There's no cure for the living, which is kind of nice because at least you know nothing is wrong with you. Nothing that would actually be worth worrying about is even in your realm of thinking.