A Torrent Of Consciousness

Stream of Consciousness
Why are my hands more obsessed with tapping rhythmns and masturbating than doing work?
Why am I so neurotic?
Why do I do so much thinking and come up with so little insight?
How do you cut through or circumvent something seemingly so fundamental to your thought processes, your personality, your being?
Why am I so lazy? Have I been overworked somehow? Have I not worked enough? Did my parents raise me to be lazy? Am I too good for work?
Why is it sometimes so easy for me to cry? Pent up emotions? Low emotional barriers? Both? Neither?
Sometimes I ask questions just to ask them, because it's satisfying. Why is it satisfying?
Am I living out a movie? Have I been raised on movies, and is that where my expectations for love, sex, work, and life come from? How can I escape something like that?
I feel like this is worthwhile. Why?
Why can't I discover what I'm for? Why I'm here? I don't think I need a destiny, but shouldn't I at least be able to invent one for myself? And if it's a process, why can't I get a move on? Why can't I give a shit? Why can't I just succeed somewhere in life. Is my neuroses interfering? Am I just lost in complacency?
Isn't everyone a caged animal? A beast that's been trained and beaten into submission? I know I feel like I am. I think everyone is, essentially, but I feel like I'm the only one sometimes.
Why am I so focused on sex and everyone else isn't? Is it my problem? Is it theirs? Are they and just in denial? Do they handle it better than me?
Do I hide in my room and play video games and watch movies and listen to music to escape my failure? To escape the daunting task of taking on life? Of doing something with my life? I didn't have to deal with much when I was in high school.
Can I even think for myself? Do I need to be led by the hand all the time? Is that why I have gone nowhere? Should I have gone anywhere by now? Are my expectations of myself too high? Am I afraid or just stupid? Or just lazy?
Why do I feel simultaneously better and worse than everyone else? Why do I sometimes feel the need to attack myself, to excuse myself as an egomaniacal fool? Or declare everyone else moronic?
Are paradoxes like this simply true? Do I even know what I'm talking about here?
Do I have potential? Or am I simply an above average person who has latched on to big ideas and big words, doing my best to be exceptional by some unseen standard of my own? Sometimes I feel like I could do antyhing; be a professor, be an astrophysicist, be an economist, be a director, be a writer, if I just work at it hard enough. How does one even start? How do you begin living your life after wading through it for 20 years? Have I wasted my 20 years? Will I waste 20 more? Can I avoid it? Should I avoid it?
Can my thoughts be described as "racing"? Why do I constantly fantasize about living completely fictional moments with women I find attractive, some even fictional? Why do I sometimes see how their names might sound with my last name behind it? Why do I ponder marriages, children, living together, etc.?
Why do I sometimes think of killing? Others and myself? Why do I think about what I might say before a suicide? Why am worried if it's never a serious thought? Am I censoring myself? Am I doing the machine's job: working against myself?
Why can't I get my shit together like everyone else? Does everyone have their shit together?
Why am I worried that anyone else reading this will be incredibly disturbed? Should they be? Am I on my way to becoming psychotic, instead of just neurotic? Am I just neurotic?
Will a shrink help? Do I really have anyone to talk to? Does anyone ever listen? Do I really listen?
Do I deserve to be heard?
Am I good at anything? Do I need to be?
Do I need to be an Alpha Male? Perhaps just more like an Alpha Male? A little more Type A? Am I a freak of nature? Am I worthy of passing on my genes? Should a lazy, lustful, neurotic, egomaniacal yet self-deprecating meatbag deserve to remain in the gene pool? Should I give a shit?
Will I ever even get the chance to pass on my genes? Aside from fucking some random bitch I mean?
Why do lyrics sometimes matter less than the sounds that accompany them? Am I a simpleton? Do I just like pretty sounds and pretty lights? Animal emotion? Is my appreciation for lyrics growing naturally or because I think I should pay more attention?
Do I need professional help? Will everything sort itself out eventually? Without death? Will I ever succumb to suicide or psychosis? Will I drive myself mad? Will the world drive me mad?
Is any of this good stuff for a book or film? A song?
Why don't I like books? I haven't read an actual book for so long. Why am I seemingly more interested in film and music? Am I the spawn of American consumerism, which doesn't lend itself to literature as well?
Why don't I care?
Why do I second guess everything I say? Even the second guesses? What has trained me to be such a beast of inaction? Why am I this way? And can I change? Should I?
Am I repeating these sentiments because I want to, or because it will satisfy the drama in me? The movie-made dialog feel of repetition for the enunciation of meaning?
Is the lens by which I view the world a problem? The movie lens? Can it be useful? Does it have a place in reality? Does it make me interesting? Can it make me succesful or at least insightful? Or is it an agent of destruction, only serving to blur my perception and understanding of what is and what ought to be?
Will I ever grow a beard? Should I? Would I look good with a beard? Do I need to look good?
How many of these questions have I invented for the sake of asking instead of...I dont' know?
How much does the divorce of my parents factor into my development? Am I a mommas boy?
Would a stronger, reliable father figure in my life have had a positive influence on me? Would I be less like I am? Would I be more masculine? More Type A? More Alpha Male?
Why am I always on my toes? Why am I suspicsious of people's motives sometimes? Why does conflict unnerve me so much? Why do I pursue conflict anyways at times? To prove something to myself?
Why can't I just be a good student and worker like everyone else? What's wrong with me? Does the explanation "You're just a lazy motherfucker who needs to get their shit together" suffice? Am I just rationalizing and attempting to validate my failures by suggesting that it's something other than that explanation?
Do I just want to do what I want to do? Do I just want to do things my way? Is my resistance to being told what to do so fundamental, so powerful? Is it possible that I'm just not a "working" kind of person? As in, I want to live my life exactly how I want to live it, and do as little for others as I can? Am I freakishly selfish?
Can I survive all of this? Should I?
How does one escape? Is there anything to escape from? Is nothing wrong with me? Or is everything wrong with me? Or is it some more common middle ground? Something in the gray area?
Is this too long? Am I really expressing myself, or writing this for someone else? For something else?
Who do I show this to? Should I show it to anyone? Why?
Why not?
Should I end here? I'm getting tired and I want to do a couple of things.
This has been a torrent of consciousness.
Was that clever? Fitting? Does it matter?