You know what I hate? Bands. Shit, never mind. Let's talk about something I like. That would be food. Don't you just love food? I love stuffing myself with mashed potatoes, Doritos, sour cream, grilled cheese sandwiches and greasy chinese food. Mmm that does it. Dancing is fun too, but mostly when you're drunk, or if you're buzzed enough that you can successfully act really drunk.
Lately I've been calling everyone I see a jerk, which is also fun. I'm writing a novel right and the preface is primarily a long rant about the components of jerkdom and its inhabitants. The rest of the novel is random imaginary puss with no theme, but it is nonetheless connected in a structured way. One of my goals in writing is to include a lot of seemingly symbolic references when in reality they have no relevance at all to anything. Pointlessness is my escape. Considering the unconscious there will no doubt be some indications to my personal psyche, but the effort is there.
Perhaps the whole ideal is a reflection of an outlook at life. How we all claim to 'know' there's 'something else' out there when in fact it the evidence points in the opposite direction for most. The world is so elaborate and intricate that even most physicists will claim it the work of an 'higher intelligence'. The laws of physics, mathematics and chemistry certainly work together amazingly enough to be called an 'intelligence', but the unknown will always be termed as 'supernatural'. Many prefer not to think about it and would rather think positive, which is the completely sane thing to do anyways.
Another aspect of pointlessness is language, definitions and word association. Everyone expects a coherent storyline or a familiarity to relate to in order to be able to criticize or evaluate whatever stimulates their senses. Beyond poetry and art there isn't much to express the indefinable, or relate specific moods or emotional states even to ourselves. Besides that, unfamiliar situations are what make most people uncomfortable. It's not a fear of the unknown, but just a pessimistic anticipation of the already known worst scenarios that could happen.
I don't really see how any of this relates to the novel I'm writing, but I know that if anything interesting is to come out of it I'm going to have to relate it somehow to everyone's innermost fears and fantasies. In that case, I'm proud to say that it'll be pretty boring. I don't actually think it will be, though, because it has references to roads, trees, houses, friends, strangers, quilts, water and other things that we're all familiar with.