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thatwhichdoesnotsuffer
Almost everything I said was a falsehood of some form or another. It was either I was using language instrumentally in order to win arguments, or to attain dominance, or to indicate that I was intelligent or to use it for victory; for narrow, local, personal victory. And I realised that when I was in my early twenties, because in some sense a voice started in my head, and it basically continually informed me that the things I was saying weren’t, in some fundamental sense, weren’t true. And it was very disquieting because the voice that was commenting on what I was saying was making comments of that sort… I wouldn’t call them disparaging voices, it was more just a matter-of-fact commentary, but it was saying it about 95 percent of what I was saying and I thought ‘well that’s a strange conundrum’ because now I don’t know if I’m the voice that’s criticising what I’m saying or if I’m the thing that’s saying what’s being criticised - how do you figure that out?
But I decided I would take a chance and assume that the part that was suggesting I wasn’t saying things truthfully was accurate, and I started to practise only saying things that that voice wouldn’t object to. And I think that’s also equivalent, to some degree, to trying to say only those things that make you strong, instead of weak; or that do not fill you with a post speech sense of shame and regret.
Jordan Peterson (via jordanpetersonquotes)
Source: jordanpetersonquotes
thatwhichdoesnotsuffer
parabola-magazine:
““Then I suddenly had the most tremendous feeling of the pitifulness of human beings, whatever they were, their faces, pained mouths, personalities, attempts to be gay, little petulances, feelings of loss, their dull and empty...
parabola-magazine

“Then I suddenly had the most tremendous feeling of the pitifulness of human beings, whatever they were, their faces, pained mouths, personalities, attempts to be gay, little petulances, feelings of loss, their dull and empty witticisms so soon forgotten: Ah, for what? […] Suppose we suddenly wake up and see that what we thought to be this and that, ain’t this and that at all? I staggered up the hill, greeted by birds, and looked at all the huddled sleeping figures on the floor. Who were these strange ghosts rooted to the silly little adventure of earth with me? And who was I?” —Jack Kerouac from The Dharma Bums, (Penguin Books, 1958).

Pictured: Jack Kerouac (1922-1969) in New York, October 1958

Source: parabola-magazine