Do you want comfort or happiness?

It might sound counterintuitive but you cannot have both. Once you are too comfy you loose the sense of risk and adventure, and you slowly vegetate into a lesser being, whatever that means. One of my favorite sayings "life begins at the end of your comfort zone" sums this up pretty neatly. On the other hand, "you have to eventually settle down" you whisper to yourself, and it becomes more of an ordeal with every trip and discovery until a week in one place becomes some kind of a phobia.

It is much easier to find comfort in happiness than happiness in comfort but I, along with other lazy and clairvoyant beings, have been more interested in the latter, be it for its assured long-term stability or for the challenges implied.

In parallel to my commitment to arts and sciences, I am trying to master, Greek, the 8th language as a challenge of neophiliac stability.

Languages are like people and countries that we revisit to remember and perpetuate great moments, especially those involving communication, putatively with other beings. When I am speaking a language I am nostalgic for the other ones I am not speaking (and ones I am not speaking to) just like being in a place and not in a myriad of other possible places. 

Non sum qualis eram, A new monologue about neophilia

I often hate myself, my kind and all that resembles me until I change into something else to eventually hate, out of neophilia.

I open the fridge for consolation by all these items therein that are unlike myself. I pick an apple that hardly resembles me in anyway though studies have shown we have more than 70% of our genes in bananas. Whether we can compare apples to bananas or to humans is of no importance since once I eat the apple, the apple becomes me. The rest of the apples would like to think vice versa. Nonetheless, that foreign body that I just ate became me and is no longer desired, the remaining apples are assured and may remain seated in the fridge.

I have nothing in common with chocolate but once it melts in my mouth we become one. I have become one with so many things that I am now many -- I think to myselves. The spell-checker annoys me to hell when it does not recognise myselves -- or should I rather introduce my selves, my very diverse selves?

The neophile keeps seeking novelty until neophilia ipsum becomes old. But what would then be the post-neophilia state?

The novelty of the novelty might be too meta for many yet many seek it whether they know it or not. I need a new kind of novelty, that similar to a second order differential equation in mathematics. I seek a novelty that can provoke my sense of existence, if any, and tickle my emotions and desires, if possible. It is like asking for a first-time heart-break but after having had many... Otherwise, is it too much to ask for the real-time visual perception of a fourth dimension?

Could lobotomy be the answer, I wonder to myselves. Perhaps auto-lobotomising one of my selves could bring a sense of renaissance to that old cranky mind of mine -- mind the mine.  Is marriage a form of lobotomy and to what extent?  For myselves, polygamy is more than justified. One for the artist of me, another for that scientist, and why not have one for that one typing this note... An accomplished Frenchman is putatively one with a wife and a mistress. Hence, wives and mistresses, it is!