Yes I realize this is far more than one book, but I read all of these stories in very close succession & I believe they shaped me into the guy I am today. These are all very sensitive-young-man-core, but what can I say? I was a sensitive young man.
I have a very complicated relationship with Mother & Father. When I was first introduced to Kafka, it was like meeting my soulmate. I donāt have it in me to go into much detail at this moment, but being condemned to death by drowning for failing an aging father who can sense a deeply felt resentment; waking up one day to find youāve turned into a disgusting bug after sacrificing so much for a family that cares so littleā these are ideas that deeply rattled & resonated with me personally at the age that I read them. I resolved to try to live differently.
Death of Ivan Ilych was simply further exhortation for me to not live my life according to convention, to pursue wealth, status, family life for their own sakes. I think every single one of us has it in us to become an Ivan Ilych without even realizing. I was totally rapt & manic upon finishing this one I still am today, to some degree.
Portrait of the Artist really spoke to me as well. When Stephen looks at his father & realizes heās a fool, and that he wants to be nothing like him. The moment when he sees the girl in the water & he becomes so horny he decides to dedicate his life to the pursuit of beauty, to aesthetics, to being an artist. The entire ending segment written as first person journal entries filled me with a lot of hope.
Emerson is the man. Great way to shock the materialist reductionist, the comformist, the busybody, & the consistent, conventional company man out of your system. Probably made me a more annoying person when alls said & done. Oh well.
May 12, 2024
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This one changed me, blending well with my Absurdist and Buddhist beliefs.
The thesis of Beckerās book is that human civilization is rooted in our internal defenses against the inevitability of death. We struggle to accept our impermanence and thus devise āimmortality projectsā that we hope outlive us. If we must die, we hope to be remembered via some kind of legacy that will live on symbolically. These projects could be grounded in oneās work, family, or religion.
We seek symbolic illusions that assuage our death anxiety, or we drown ourselves with triviality and hedonism. Either way, our survival instinct makes it difficult for us to face the certainty of death and the uncertainty of life.
While the topic is heavy, shining a light on the terror of death, it also helps me feel lighter. It reminds of how many of the things that feel so urgent in life are really just distractions. Everything we do is beautifully temporary. Life is building sandcastles on the beach. And while it can be beautiful and meaningful for us to create and collaborate, there is a lightness to the understanding that everything we ever do or make will one day be nullified by our ultimate annihilation.
So, in other words, donāt take yourself too seriously.
Dec 9, 2024
āµ
both books I read in book clubs this year that have definitely set me on a new trajectory in life. the only real common theme between them (one is about Marxās unpublished ecological/economic work and one is about Mazlowās unpublished expanded humanist psychology) is the theme of agency in service of communion.
individuals should strive to meet their needs and be their best/truest selves, but this also naturally allows them to aid others in meeting their needs and being their best/truest selves. this concept has been huge for me lately and I have these books to thank for that!
Dec 13, 2024
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Recently, I read Siddhartha & Catcher in the Rye. Both protagonists, Siddhartha & Holden, were relatable for different reasons. Siddharthaās quest for knowledge and Holdenās recognition of the performative nature of everyone around him - of their inauthenticity.
Holden is frustrating though - heās a stagnant character through and through - and the lack of growth leaves him in a mental hospital at the end of the story. A setting Iām sure many of us on here are familiar with.
I donāt want to ruin Siddhartha for anyone, but the lessons about balance resonated deeply with me as a Libra āļø
Jan 20, 2024
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sometimes you just need to read some real shit straight from the realest person you know .
Feb 24, 2025
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This is a confession post, not a recommendation, not even much of an anti-recommendation. Tbh it reads like a humilation ritual. Honestly just keep scrolling; it's not worth reading. I'm just posting it because I think I had a point when I first started writing this, one which I lost pretty wuickly. But I spent a good couple of minutes typing this all out, so I'll post it anyway. Thank God I'm anon. If you do read it, please forgive me.
My friend Tyler brought a joint to the super bowl party last night. He handed it to me & told me about how it had weed diamonds in it while I smoked, he told me that it was some good shit and that I wouldn't have to smoke so much of it since I've got such a low tolerance & all, but I could also smoke as much as I liked, seeing as he had a bunch more & that it was the super bowl & we had a bunch of wings on the way anyway, so might as well smoke some more weed so you know what? yeah, i smoked some more weed since what's the harm anyway it's just weed after all.
I've been a mess all day. I've been slow & stupid & disgustingly horny since I woke up this morning; but really honestly since I smoked the weed. If you're one of those types that "actually becomes more functional when you're smoking weed" & that I should "just let people enjoy things" I don't know what to say to you. I'm going to be weird for 4 weeks now and it's all my fault. This happens every time.
Even when it doesn't turn me into a non-verbal paranoiac nutcase, even when it's enjoyable to me in that moment-- I become something lower than a beast. I stand over the platter of chicken wings & gorge until I am sick and then I gorge even more. My stomach becomes distended & my face and fingers are covered in thai curry buffalo chicken fat goo. I waddle around & fart & I find this very funny. I confuse the sound of my own voice with that of my younger sisters & this is incredibly disqueting to me. Do I really sound like that? I become a big confused overgrown fat baby.
I'm going to be be weird for four weeks now. Slow. I was supposed to meet up with my friends to watch Luka's debut for the Lakers. I'm stitting at my desk typing this up; procrastinating going to the gym (which I can NOT neglect [especially after my evening of spiritual obesity]) & the game starts in 5 minutes. Stupid. Typing out this confession right now is painfully difficult. Every word that I type has the appearance of a whitehead that can't be popped to me. This textbox full of blemishes so infuriatingly, stubbornly, immutably DISGUSTING. I feel sick just reading back what I'm writing here. Once again, if you've made it this far, forgive me. This is a confession, not a recommendation. Disgustingly horny. This one I won't elaborate on. Forgive me.
It's not because I smoked weed. The smoking of the weed was just the first movement in a sequence that had already begun before I'd even accepted the joint from Tyler. My own spiritual weakness is the mantle upon which all of these failings hang. I'm not this way because I smoked weed, I'm this way because I'm the type of guy that smokes weed even though I know what it will do to me. There are 999,999,999 other weeds in my life that I am all too willing to permit myself. I haven't eaten anything but bread & butter all day. The lakers game is starting soon. Off to the gym I go.
Feb 11, 2025
šŖ±
Mar 4, 2025