I have spent most of my illustrious blog-writing career, I think, complaining about people's oppressive and unwarranted demands of me and my annoying tendency to yield to them. I believe it's fair to say that I have managed to reverse this tendency, but this achievement appears to have less to do with courage than with an exasperated pigheadedness. I have stopped doing what people want through stopping to do more or less everything. And it occurs to me that this process is probably something of a more verbalised, more rationalised recreation of what started my depression in the first place.
It's certainly less chaotic, and this time there's a girlfriend, which is an improvement. It's less drastic in general, but it's ridiculously similar, to an extent that can almost make me empathise with the idiots who go on about how everybody gets like this and "just pull yourself out" of it. It seems that when fear no longer motivates you to function like a person or else, you run the risk of undergoing a bewilderingly much more comprehensive demotivation.
One reason, I think, is that like I said, it's not that I've stopped being afraid of "standing out instead of fitting in" - like I saw suggested the other day on one of those over-formatted-sentences-pretending-to-be-pictures on facebook - or found some way of actually dealing with it, so it's mainly just down to pretending it isn't there. This is difficult, and it makes life in general that much scarier, which is also difficult, so it's kind of an exhausting prospect in general. An overwhelming pessimistic mood makes the effort seem not worth it, thereby also handily evading the scary stuff.
Another reason may be that sinking into indolence is kind of addictive, and you just need to pull yourself out of it. When I manage to drag myself out of the house for a walk, or to talk to someone, or to read or work on something, they end up, overwhelmingly, as positive experiences, but every day they struggle anew, not incredibly successfully, to justify my effort for them. In the absence of some kind of coercive force, everything is a real challenge.
This probably has to do with not separating the things I do because it's expected from the things that I do because I want to do them - effort in general seems to have humiliating hollowness associated with it. Learning to do things freely might be an uphill struggle.
Sunday, 6 May 2012
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Pain
Pain is crucial to what makes me who I am. Getting along with people and meeting standards of performance in work or in studies are skills, compulsory diversions from the real thing. Approval and "accomplishments" are both equally arbitrary and hollow pursuits. Meaningfulness is achieved - you could almost say earned - only through pain. It doesn't have to exclusively consist of pain, but if it doesn't stop on the way to pick it up it is a futile journey.
This is probably true of everybody everywhere. If you don't recognise all that you feel, you proceed under false pretences and at an alienated distance. Still, I feel that pain specifically is more central to me than to other people, or in any case far more central to me than the life that I lead and the things I say in it suggest. I'm not sure there exists any meaningful thing I can do that doesn't involve a quite significant amount of pain.
I think it has to do with my relationship to the status quo. Not so much to any specific status quo as to the basic notion of a status quo, and the need to accept its authority in practice in order to be able to function in society. Before anything more dramatic happens - even if nothing else happens - this causes me pain. It saddens me and angers me, and does something else that can only really be described as a psychic equivalent of physical pain. It is difficult to conceive of it this barely. It is more difficult than usual to send this to be published. It feels like more than an emotional vulnerability. It's an admission of emotional weakness. I feel like a slow guy having trouble keeping up with things, and being told not to worry - just to try and be more intelligent. Try and grow a thicker skin.
I realise this is also a stereotype with positive connotations. I suppose that feeling too much pain is more relatable than feeling too little, but I suspect the rift would be too wide to sustain too many people's sympathy. People lose patience.
I have difficulty dealing with my private space being invaded. People come in without knocking and shit all over your stuff. People come in expecting and demanding things they have no reason or right to. They come and expect the impossible. They demand you pretend to be someone else.
Political and religious charlatans are after my intellectual independence. Predatorial lowlifes are after my emotional inclinations, mainly my capacity for love. Giggling idiots are after my entirely personal idiosyncrasies. This is not a schizophrenic paranoia. All of these people are actually out there, and in alarmingly high numbers. Prejudiced cowards of all shapes and sizes are eagerly awaiting their opportunity to assert their superiority by killing as much of what is not yet dead in the world as they can. They all have their own personal stories and journeys they had undertaken to get to where they are, but fuck it, I'm better than them, and I don't have to pretend to be on equal terms.
I want to keep my own stuff. That's more important than anything else. The only kind of "life" I can think of where keeping your own stuff is considered conducive is that of the creative artist, or possibly the philosopher, though probably not. What I probably need to do is make a living writing. Good luck with that, huh? Socially, it means embracing the pain. It's there for a reason.
This is probably true of everybody everywhere. If you don't recognise all that you feel, you proceed under false pretences and at an alienated distance. Still, I feel that pain specifically is more central to me than to other people, or in any case far more central to me than the life that I lead and the things I say in it suggest. I'm not sure there exists any meaningful thing I can do that doesn't involve a quite significant amount of pain.
I think it has to do with my relationship to the status quo. Not so much to any specific status quo as to the basic notion of a status quo, and the need to accept its authority in practice in order to be able to function in society. Before anything more dramatic happens - even if nothing else happens - this causes me pain. It saddens me and angers me, and does something else that can only really be described as a psychic equivalent of physical pain. It is difficult to conceive of it this barely. It is more difficult than usual to send this to be published. It feels like more than an emotional vulnerability. It's an admission of emotional weakness. I feel like a slow guy having trouble keeping up with things, and being told not to worry - just to try and be more intelligent. Try and grow a thicker skin.
I realise this is also a stereotype with positive connotations. I suppose that feeling too much pain is more relatable than feeling too little, but I suspect the rift would be too wide to sustain too many people's sympathy. People lose patience.
I have difficulty dealing with my private space being invaded. People come in without knocking and shit all over your stuff. People come in expecting and demanding things they have no reason or right to. They come and expect the impossible. They demand you pretend to be someone else.
Political and religious charlatans are after my intellectual independence. Predatorial lowlifes are after my emotional inclinations, mainly my capacity for love. Giggling idiots are after my entirely personal idiosyncrasies. This is not a schizophrenic paranoia. All of these people are actually out there, and in alarmingly high numbers. Prejudiced cowards of all shapes and sizes are eagerly awaiting their opportunity to assert their superiority by killing as much of what is not yet dead in the world as they can. They all have their own personal stories and journeys they had undertaken to get to where they are, but fuck it, I'm better than them, and I don't have to pretend to be on equal terms.
I want to keep my own stuff. That's more important than anything else. The only kind of "life" I can think of where keeping your own stuff is considered conducive is that of the creative artist, or possibly the philosopher, though probably not. What I probably need to do is make a living writing. Good luck with that, huh? Socially, it means embracing the pain. It's there for a reason.
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Antagonism
All of my post pubescent life life I've been conducting a personal crusade against unnecessary conflict. I can remember myself, sometime in primary school, returning all the time in my mind to the expression "superfluous conflict" (well, the less obscure Hebrew variant thereof). This crusade has expressed itself mainly, possibly entirely, in refraining myself from entering into unnecessary conflict, by the surefire way of never entering into any conflict under any circumstances.
As the years have gone by, I have grown more and more sensitive to and threatened by unexpressed disapproval, concurrently with its waning manifestations, and I've taken dramatic steps of self-assertion, some of them regularly, but they've all felt thoroughly superficial. I'm so afraid of becoming part of the aggression that overwhelms me so much all of the time, that I won't reconcile myself to its place in the social world under any circumstances.
People are idiots. That's a fairly antagonistic phrase I've repeated often in the recent (well, previous) posts. They are idiots because of the unnecessary antagonism they so often create, judging and proscribing and excluding what is not merely harmless, but often exactly what would make life sweeter, richer, and less achingly, depressingly stupid. This antagonism towards antagonism is not a contradiction. Only an idiot would suggest that, at least if he were to make it into a judgemental assertion instead of letting it stew long enough in his brain for him to notice he's being a self-satisfied dickhead entirely removed from reality.
Enter me. I can handle other people's aggressive promotion of people's right to be different. In fact I admire it, relatively openly, even when this promotion is of themselves and when others deem them to be going over the line. But I think it remains a contradiction in my brain, or wherever this seemingly endless reserve of restlessness is located. Somehow, no context arises where it seems like it would be the right thing to do.
It's much easier for me to relate to the idea of it being a really shitty reality where people put others down just because an opportunity presents itself, and they don't have the self-discipline or inclination to stop themselves. I have my trouble getting my head, or I suppose my heart and soul, around the notion - accepted in principle - of it being a worthwhile life, or meaningful enterprise, defending your and other people's ability to deviate from stupid conventions, even when they're upheld by well meaning, fundamentally good people. I can't even make myself feel it as justified.
For at least a year I've been pumping myself up to reply "No, fuck YOU," but an opportunity somehow never seemed to present itself. And I'm sure it has tons of times. And even where nobody said anything, I would have refrained from expressing myself fully to avoid it. My day-to-day fantasy - the one I don't write about here with defiant pride, is of a life without antagonism. It occurs to me, that in a very crucial way, this is an aspiration to a life without meaning. A life of not bothering people as much as they bother me.
Conflict in unpleasant, and has a potential of finality attached to it. I don't actually know which of these is more significant in hindering its emergence. It would mean a real life and it would mean an end to the world of ponies and rainbows in which I live, at least in terms of the actual social interactions. It didn't use to be pleasant. Not apparently far enough in my past there was unequivocal hostility whenever I let my guard down. At least some of this is bound to reproduce itself. And once I have actual memories to take with me of years in my life, they will be significant in defining who I am. It's like some strange kind of long holiday that needs to come to an end somehow.
Sometimes you need to respond in a way that is likely to ruin somebody's day. It's a novel thought. I'll see if I can manage to keep it rolling over in my head. It's probably purely a moralistic rationalisation anyway. Idiots have it coming. If they don't want the responsibility they can easily shut their stupid mouths.
As the years have gone by, I have grown more and more sensitive to and threatened by unexpressed disapproval, concurrently with its waning manifestations, and I've taken dramatic steps of self-assertion, some of them regularly, but they've all felt thoroughly superficial. I'm so afraid of becoming part of the aggression that overwhelms me so much all of the time, that I won't reconcile myself to its place in the social world under any circumstances.
People are idiots. That's a fairly antagonistic phrase I've repeated often in the recent (well, previous) posts. They are idiots because of the unnecessary antagonism they so often create, judging and proscribing and excluding what is not merely harmless, but often exactly what would make life sweeter, richer, and less achingly, depressingly stupid. This antagonism towards antagonism is not a contradiction. Only an idiot would suggest that, at least if he were to make it into a judgemental assertion instead of letting it stew long enough in his brain for him to notice he's being a self-satisfied dickhead entirely removed from reality.
Enter me. I can handle other people's aggressive promotion of people's right to be different. In fact I admire it, relatively openly, even when this promotion is of themselves and when others deem them to be going over the line. But I think it remains a contradiction in my brain, or wherever this seemingly endless reserve of restlessness is located. Somehow, no context arises where it seems like it would be the right thing to do.
It's much easier for me to relate to the idea of it being a really shitty reality where people put others down just because an opportunity presents itself, and they don't have the self-discipline or inclination to stop themselves. I have my trouble getting my head, or I suppose my heart and soul, around the notion - accepted in principle - of it being a worthwhile life, or meaningful enterprise, defending your and other people's ability to deviate from stupid conventions, even when they're upheld by well meaning, fundamentally good people. I can't even make myself feel it as justified.
For at least a year I've been pumping myself up to reply "No, fuck YOU," but an opportunity somehow never seemed to present itself. And I'm sure it has tons of times. And even where nobody said anything, I would have refrained from expressing myself fully to avoid it. My day-to-day fantasy - the one I don't write about here with defiant pride, is of a life without antagonism. It occurs to me, that in a very crucial way, this is an aspiration to a life without meaning. A life of not bothering people as much as they bother me.
Conflict in unpleasant, and has a potential of finality attached to it. I don't actually know which of these is more significant in hindering its emergence. It would mean a real life and it would mean an end to the world of ponies and rainbows in which I live, at least in terms of the actual social interactions. It didn't use to be pleasant. Not apparently far enough in my past there was unequivocal hostility whenever I let my guard down. At least some of this is bound to reproduce itself. And once I have actual memories to take with me of years in my life, they will be significant in defining who I am. It's like some strange kind of long holiday that needs to come to an end somehow.
Sometimes you need to respond in a way that is likely to ruin somebody's day. It's a novel thought. I'll see if I can manage to keep it rolling over in my head. It's probably purely a moralistic rationalisation anyway. Idiots have it coming. If they don't want the responsibility they can easily shut their stupid mouths.
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Bullshit Artistry
In the great brown land of Down Under, they have the curious habit of dubbing anybody suspected of momentary disingenuousness a "bullshit artist". In the land of English-speaking internet and pop culture, and therefore presumably in the United States of wacky Republicans, there is a tongue-in-cheek tendency to inform people that they have "failed at life". It is my intention here to try and weave both these threads of contemporary philosophy together, so as to shed further light on the childish dichotomy from my previous post, which I am totally sticking by.
"Succeeding" in life is succeeding in bullshit. Were I to be reasonable about this, I'd define it not as a steaming pile of bovine manure, but as survival skills; a faculty for successful cooperation with human beings within the various projects - economic, social, spiritual - they undertake together. It is, however, a steaming pile of bovine manure.
I suspect this is why when I have trouble doing one I inevitably end up having trouble doing the other. When the mere thought of dealing with people's bullshit exhausts me, so does going to work, buying groceries, even cooking. Everything feels polluted by idiotically fucking arbitrary expectations and conventions, in a feeling that probably isn't justified but that I'm pretty sure wouldn't arise were I a farmer growing his own food and not needing to play games even for the simple stuff.
"Survival" in our close-knit society always has an edge of competition to it - of hostility. This is where all this love and individualism business inescapably leads to a political attitude. As I once irritated a friend professing total political apathy by insisting - your desire to be left alone and not have any service to a grand ideology demanded of you, is a leftist sentiment. Social well-being can be sought after either through victory in the Darwinian conflict - reverberating through my brain at any rate as the "better bullshitting the other bullshitters" option - or through not treading on people, and demanding not to be trod on.
For the life of me I cannot begin to understand why anything else is ever considered necessary. I cannot believe that any inconveniences enabled by a looser leash on people would come anywhere near the suffering and blatant waste of life caused by the current asphyxiating bullshit-regime. Expectations and demands are okay. But it seems like common sense to stop before voicing them to make sure they're not completely fucking stupid.
But that's not how the system works. It needs the act of judging almost more than it needs its supposed protection. It gives people something to do. It makes them feel that their life isn't meaningless, that their emotions aren't confused. Rather than try and keep two contradictory thoughts in their brain for more than 3 seconds, they'll throw a cockfight, and give their religious devotion to the side they think will win, and denounce the other as more or less impure. Or ridiculous. Or "wrong".
Doing this (and avoiding it) well is demonstrating bullshit artistry. But, to paraphrase an important insight more generally, the trouble with the bullshit contest is, even if you win, you're still covered in shit.
Sometimes something or somebody is just different. That really shouldn't have to be a big deal.
"Succeeding" in life is succeeding in bullshit. Were I to be reasonable about this, I'd define it not as a steaming pile of bovine manure, but as survival skills; a faculty for successful cooperation with human beings within the various projects - economic, social, spiritual - they undertake together. It is, however, a steaming pile of bovine manure.
I suspect this is why when I have trouble doing one I inevitably end up having trouble doing the other. When the mere thought of dealing with people's bullshit exhausts me, so does going to work, buying groceries, even cooking. Everything feels polluted by idiotically fucking arbitrary expectations and conventions, in a feeling that probably isn't justified but that I'm pretty sure wouldn't arise were I a farmer growing his own food and not needing to play games even for the simple stuff.
"Survival" in our close-knit society always has an edge of competition to it - of hostility. This is where all this love and individualism business inescapably leads to a political attitude. As I once irritated a friend professing total political apathy by insisting - your desire to be left alone and not have any service to a grand ideology demanded of you, is a leftist sentiment. Social well-being can be sought after either through victory in the Darwinian conflict - reverberating through my brain at any rate as the "better bullshitting the other bullshitters" option - or through not treading on people, and demanding not to be trod on.
For the life of me I cannot begin to understand why anything else is ever considered necessary. I cannot believe that any inconveniences enabled by a looser leash on people would come anywhere near the suffering and blatant waste of life caused by the current asphyxiating bullshit-regime. Expectations and demands are okay. But it seems like common sense to stop before voicing them to make sure they're not completely fucking stupid.
But that's not how the system works. It needs the act of judging almost more than it needs its supposed protection. It gives people something to do. It makes them feel that their life isn't meaningless, that their emotions aren't confused. Rather than try and keep two contradictory thoughts in their brain for more than 3 seconds, they'll throw a cockfight, and give their religious devotion to the side they think will win, and denounce the other as more or less impure. Or ridiculous. Or "wrong".
Doing this (and avoiding it) well is demonstrating bullshit artistry. But, to paraphrase an important insight more generally, the trouble with the bullshit contest is, even if you win, you're still covered in shit.
Sometimes something or somebody is just different. That really shouldn't have to be a big deal.
Monday, 9 January 2012
The Love-Bullshit Spectrum
Rewatched the brilliant episode where Bart and Lisa are being rabidly set against each other by idiot sports fans in a hockey game, and they finally say fuck this shit, we're not playing, and go give each other a hug instead. A kind of defining moment for The Simpsons I think. Also pretty much a repetition of the episode where Bart and Todd are trying to impress their parents by their achievements in a mini-golf competition until suddenly they aren't, when Todd says "My knees are shaking, I got butterflies in my stomach, but, I guess this builds character," and Bart says "Who wants to build character? Let's quit."
But it's not a repetition, because the first time around, there was no hug, because Bart and Todd never did like each other that much in the first place. An essential corollary of dumping the bullshit is being more open to love. This fits in with this theory I have, about how people are depressed when they feel themselves so deeply sunk in bullshit they can't feel love any more.
Thing is, for some utterly insane reason, the world - that is, the idiotic sports fans, also ably emblemised in The Wrestler - prefer your bullshit to your love. The degree to which you immerse yourself in bullshit will determine the degree to which you'll become accepted by your surroundings. It's a compromise you have to make, one way or another.
The whole notion of Lisa Simpson is of someone rejected by their surroundings because they are too little full of shit. An integral part of finding meaning in life is putting yourself in that kind of conflict. An integral part of giving love is having it thrown back in your face, and being condemned for letting it lead you to fail other, stupider criteria. People do not appreciate you stepping out of the competition. Every move that you make outside it is subject to stricter scrutiny, to more aggressive commentary, to more enthusiastic potential derision.
Should you throw idiots a bullshit bone once in a while to keep them sedated? Probably. But that's all by way of buying yourself time. What do you invest time in? The only sensible investment, unavoidably, is of the kind that will send the sports fans jeering. As a wise, colour-blind prospective pilot once said: You do what you love, and fuck the rest. This "rest" isn't just judgement. It's judgemental people. They are aiming to drown your life in meaninglessness. Give them no more than you absolutely have to.
But it's not a repetition, because the first time around, there was no hug, because Bart and Todd never did like each other that much in the first place. An essential corollary of dumping the bullshit is being more open to love. This fits in with this theory I have, about how people are depressed when they feel themselves so deeply sunk in bullshit they can't feel love any more.
Thing is, for some utterly insane reason, the world - that is, the idiotic sports fans, also ably emblemised in The Wrestler - prefer your bullshit to your love. The degree to which you immerse yourself in bullshit will determine the degree to which you'll become accepted by your surroundings. It's a compromise you have to make, one way or another.
The whole notion of Lisa Simpson is of someone rejected by their surroundings because they are too little full of shit. An integral part of finding meaning in life is putting yourself in that kind of conflict. An integral part of giving love is having it thrown back in your face, and being condemned for letting it lead you to fail other, stupider criteria. People do not appreciate you stepping out of the competition. Every move that you make outside it is subject to stricter scrutiny, to more aggressive commentary, to more enthusiastic potential derision.
Should you throw idiots a bullshit bone once in a while to keep them sedated? Probably. But that's all by way of buying yourself time. What do you invest time in? The only sensible investment, unavoidably, is of the kind that will send the sports fans jeering. As a wise, colour-blind prospective pilot once said: You do what you love, and fuck the rest. This "rest" isn't just judgement. It's judgemental people. They are aiming to drown your life in meaninglessness. Give them no more than you absolutely have to.
Monday, 21 November 2011
And Your Prejudice Won't Keep You Warm Tonight
Sometimes I wonder who it is that manages to persecute me so fiercely all the time without anybody but me ever noticing.
But then I consider my new hero Morrissey. The only thanks he gets for being the coolest person on earth is their adamant refusal to accept that under the hatred there lies a murderous desire for love, and how they look into his eyes and still they don't believe him, and how they hear him say those words and still they don't believe him, and if they don't believe him now will they ever believe him? Thing is, Morrissey is probably very much what I would be were I not full of shit. I suspect there's a kind of personality-trait constellation too many people are too stupid to be able to deal with for it to be a comfortable thing to carry around.
People too ignorant and vulgar to deserve being treated like grown-ups are trying very hard to create a public atmosphere that would make me ashamed of caring about the suffering of people towards whom they'd prefer me to be indifferent or hostile. It's insulting, and it's depressing, but somehow, it's not even remotely frightening. Possibly this is because it just hasn't gotten bad enough yet, but my feeling is that this whole current of political "delegitimisation" - a peculiarly Israeli preoccupation - doesn't sway me too much because I think myself a pretty convincing citizen. I don't seem to convince myself as much as a regular social person.
"You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does" - The Smiths' "How Soon Is Now?"
"I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows I'm miserable now
I was looking for a job, and then I found a job
And heaven knows I'm miserable now
In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don't care if I
Live or die?" - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
I'd always really really really liked this chorus. It felt like an epiphany to realise I didn't have to care as much as I did - to devote as much of myself, and "smile/" in the words of the poet, "At people who I'd much rather / Kick in the eye." Many people probably wouldn't notice for very long your disappearance from this earth - a sad result of our living in the hyper-socialised, deeply-alienated group clusterfuck in which we do. But, it has occurred to me, there's more.
"If you're wondering whyAll the love that you long for eludes you
And people are rude and crude to you
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time." - You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby
No, I'm not kidding. Someone or something is actively fighting my attempts to live a life I won't hate. I am wondering why. What's wrong with my way? What is it with people and their aversion to being human? Why do I need to be terrified of approaching life as anything other than a fancy dress party? Why does it feel like a disadvantage to approach a social situation not sufficiently dead inside?
"Sheila take a, Sheila take a bowBoot the grime of this world in the crotch, dear
And don't go home tonight
Come out and find the one that you love and who loves you
The one that you love and who loves you." - Sheila Take a Bow
But then I consider my new hero Morrissey. The only thanks he gets for being the coolest person on earth is their adamant refusal to accept that under the hatred there lies a murderous desire for love, and how they look into his eyes and still they don't believe him, and how they hear him say those words and still they don't believe him, and if they don't believe him now will they ever believe him? Thing is, Morrissey is probably very much what I would be were I not full of shit. I suspect there's a kind of personality-trait constellation too many people are too stupid to be able to deal with for it to be a comfortable thing to carry around.
People too ignorant and vulgar to deserve being treated like grown-ups are trying very hard to create a public atmosphere that would make me ashamed of caring about the suffering of people towards whom they'd prefer me to be indifferent or hostile. It's insulting, and it's depressing, but somehow, it's not even remotely frightening. Possibly this is because it just hasn't gotten bad enough yet, but my feeling is that this whole current of political "delegitimisation" - a peculiarly Israeli preoccupation - doesn't sway me too much because I think myself a pretty convincing citizen. I don't seem to convince myself as much as a regular social person.
*
"You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does" - The Smiths' "How Soon Is Now?"
If only I could muster that same kind of militant independence in dealing with complete tools saying incredibly stupid things directly to me or around me as well as with those passing laws against me, I'd probably be a much happier guy. But it's a much tougher argument to win in the first place. "I am human and I need to be loved" doesn't pack quite the same punch as "your infantile posturing jeopardises the freedom of us all and your irresponsible confrontationism could lead to unnecessary war and countless pointless deaths". It's an entirely different ballpark. I'm not saying "agree with me", or "let me participate" - I'm saying "love and respect me, you stupid shit." Why must you be so stupidly stupid in your stupidity?
*
But heaven knows I'm miserable now
I was looking for a job, and then I found a job
And heaven knows I'm miserable now
In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don't care if I
Live or die?" - Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
I'd always really really really liked this chorus. It felt like an epiphany to realise I didn't have to care as much as I did - to devote as much of myself, and "smile/" in the words of the poet, "At people who I'd much rather / Kick in the eye." Many people probably wouldn't notice for very long your disappearance from this earth - a sad result of our living in the hyper-socialised, deeply-alienated group clusterfuck in which we do. But, it has occurred to me, there's more.
Even many of those who would prefer you breathing and with a pulse, would still like you as dead as possible within that physiological framework. You are best loved automated and conditioned into full basic predictability. Your feeling of self-fulfillment or silent desperate misery are by the by. I know I say this a lot, but I think I'll repeat it, to create a constant refrain in this blog: FUCK THEM.
*
"If you're wondering why
And people are rude and crude to you
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time." - You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby
No, I'm not kidding. Someone or something is actively fighting my attempts to live a life I won't hate. I am wondering why. What's wrong with my way? What is it with people and their aversion to being human? Why do I need to be terrified of approaching life as anything other than a fancy dress party? Why does it feel like a disadvantage to approach a social situation not sufficiently dead inside?
It's like an army of zombies, trying to take everybody down with them. They need to be quarantined and gassed or something. Problem is, when you're in a room full of idiots, and they idiotically pronounce you deficient in some way or another, it is more or less undeflectable. I just really wish they'd cut it out, at least long enough for me to wade through the dead and find some of the living.
*
"Sheila take a, Sheila take a bow
And don't go home tonight
Come out and find the one that you love and who loves you
The one that you love and who loves you." - Sheila Take a Bow
Probably a good start.
Friday, 7 October 2011
Breathe
Tonight I made myself a proper dinner for the first time in probably about three weeks. Fried rice with vegetables and little hamburger pieces that took time to make and was surprisingly good. As I was eating on my own, immediately after taking my last forkful I got up to clear the dishes, but then I stopped myself, sat myself back down, and allowed myself to calmly feel the satisfaction with what had just happened, for the first time in about as long. It was one of those "moments" usually reserved with me for reactions to popular or "high" culture, allowing me to see how I'm being a real dickhead towards myself.
Somehow, still, every single time anything turns out well, it is always a surprise. It's nice to be pleasantly surprised, but because these instances so skillfully manage to evade predictability, they don't get very many opportunities to present themselves. Few things (and people) in my life enjoy focused, unequivocal attention and effort, and instead I find myself in a kind of aimless, permanent hurry to get through the things I think people think I'm supposed to do, without letting it become too much of a strain. And then all of a sudden it's 1:00 am and I haven't taken anything seriously in another day I'll never get back.
Everything and everybody become blood-sucking leeches to whom I'll give free access to my body but never my soul, and somewhere along the line I'll lose sight of the fact that my dinner is not fucking out to get me. It's dead.
It is difficult for me to express the degree to which I despise the arbitrary system of expectations and demands I feel myself subjected to. I hate it with an energy that could fuel a small village for a few months. It has nowhere to go. It confuses me. Mostly, it confuses me how any of this is acceptable or even legal. People will make demands or accusations the only appropriate response to which is to ram your hand down their throat and rip their heart out of their ribcage, and usually you don't, and everything is supposed to go on as normal. Today, on the national "atonement" day, the countless people who would be shocked at my publicising my orgasmically delicious dinner, wouldn't give a second's thought to how their casual praise and condemnation vaporise people. And unfortunately, it's not because they're bad. It's because they're idiots.
When people hurt you without being malicious, how are you supposed to deal with them and the world that contains them? How do you participate, without prostituting yourself? What does it even mean to participate, besides playing your assigned role?
If I could crack the code to what makes experiences satisfying, rather than shit, I'd stop being so surprised all the time and be able to regularly communicate with the world without feeling constantly violated. Dinner is outside the danger zone. And trying to get through things I hate quickly doesn't solve anything. It's probably a good idea to attempt specific things more often.
Somehow, still, every single time anything turns out well, it is always a surprise. It's nice to be pleasantly surprised, but because these instances so skillfully manage to evade predictability, they don't get very many opportunities to present themselves. Few things (and people) in my life enjoy focused, unequivocal attention and effort, and instead I find myself in a kind of aimless, permanent hurry to get through the things I think people think I'm supposed to do, without letting it become too much of a strain. And then all of a sudden it's 1:00 am and I haven't taken anything seriously in another day I'll never get back.
Everything and everybody become blood-sucking leeches to whom I'll give free access to my body but never my soul, and somewhere along the line I'll lose sight of the fact that my dinner is not fucking out to get me. It's dead.
It is difficult for me to express the degree to which I despise the arbitrary system of expectations and demands I feel myself subjected to. I hate it with an energy that could fuel a small village for a few months. It has nowhere to go. It confuses me. Mostly, it confuses me how any of this is acceptable or even legal. People will make demands or accusations the only appropriate response to which is to ram your hand down their throat and rip their heart out of their ribcage, and usually you don't, and everything is supposed to go on as normal. Today, on the national "atonement" day, the countless people who would be shocked at my publicising my orgasmically delicious dinner, wouldn't give a second's thought to how their casual praise and condemnation vaporise people. And unfortunately, it's not because they're bad. It's because they're idiots.
When people hurt you without being malicious, how are you supposed to deal with them and the world that contains them? How do you participate, without prostituting yourself? What does it even mean to participate, besides playing your assigned role?
If I could crack the code to what makes experiences satisfying, rather than shit, I'd stop being so surprised all the time and be able to regularly communicate with the world without feeling constantly violated. Dinner is outside the danger zone. And trying to get through things I hate quickly doesn't solve anything. It's probably a good idea to attempt specific things more often.
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