I've been writing this blog since October 2015.
This place has basically been my secret diary, although the intention has always been to one day make it public. So that's what I'm doing now.
About a week ago I noticed that the mobile version of this blog looked like crap. It wasn't nice and easy to navigate, the way the desktop version is.
Damn smartphones... I started trying to fix it, which turned out to be mind-numbingly difficult. I don't know about you, but I can say that whenever I have to spend whole days wrestling with a machine that refuses to do something I want it to do, I truly, unironically, lose the will to live for a while. There's just something profoundly deadening about spending 11 hours in front of a computer, trying to stop Blogger from mindlessly ruining your blog.
I tried all kinds of things. At one point I even exported the whole blog to WordPress. To do that, I had to google instructions and found myself in a horrible alternate universe filled with articles about ARE YOU SERIOUS ABOUT MAKING MONEY AS A BLOGGER? and HOW TO OPTIMIZE YOUR SEARCH ENGINE VISIBILITY and DON'T DO THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HURT YOUR BRAND. At that point, my soul started whispering something along the lines of "fuck this shit".
So now the background of the mobile version of this blog is some sort of Mediterranean living room... I'm actually starting to love the crappiness of it all.
I spent two or three days going through everything I've posted here. I started from the beginning and then gradually traveled in time. It was a weird experience. When I look at the stuff I wrote in 2015, it's clear that I was very cranky and in a dark place. Then in 2016–2017, somehow, I started to change. And now I'm sort of cranky again. Still, despite the setbacks, I do think I'm gradually becoming Dumbledore.
Do whatever you want with all this. By reading through this blog, you may discover
– what people get wrong about the nature of reality
– what the biggest moral question in the world is
– the purpose of sadness
but mostly it's just autobiographical shitposting.
Oh and please don't assume that my worldview is some static block of immovable opinions. If something I've written here seems stupid or ignorant to you, please let me know!!! I love becoming less stupid. And for some reason, I don't get offended easily, so honestly, just tell me what you think. About anything.
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| Me and my father |
I also want to point out that even though some of the posts here deal with human idiocy and other such themes, on a personal level I'm not interested in judging anyone. It's not easy to be a human being. Believe me, I know..........
...
I may be "the author", but the official protagonist of this blog is clearly Buster Keaton:
Unfortunately, the official supporting character seems to be Richard Nixon. (Please don't blame me... I don't make these decisions.) Here's Richard Nixon playing the piano:
It's you. But older. Wiser? I think you had a lot more wisdom than you think you had when you were ten years younger.
ReplyDeleteI’m just glad this isn’t some wild variant of you. It seems like a continuation more than a departure. I hope that isn’t something you didn’t want to hear. To me it might be a signal that you’ll always be you. Or a mix of the most intriguing parts of River Phoenix and James Dean.
I’m not sure any of us thought of you as the best writer of your generation, but I’ll speak for myself only: I took a seat at your table because I think you have a lot of important things to say, and I am impressed at your ability to say them.
In a world rampant with self-absorption, you succeed at walking around in the shoes of others.
Hurry back, Mr. Brander.
Thanks, Phineas.
DeleteThe "one of the greatest writers of my generation" stuff was probably unhealthy. I can say that at some point, that thought fell out of my head and hasn't returned. In 2017 or something, it started getting harder and harder for me to egotrip. Since about 2018, it's been practically impossible. Nowadays I think that writing is hard and I'm just thankful whenever I manage to do it well.
Still, the ambitiousness of the books I write hasn't decreased. So nowadays writing is a matter of working hard and praying to the universe that it will allow me to pull off something nearly unattainable. It's worthwhile, because I do have things to say and I do want to say them before I die.
For many years now, my ego has mainly manifested as endless discomfort. To be honest, in some vague but powerful way, I actually "hate" myself and don't really enjoy thinking about myself at all. I suspect this is the main reason why the social parts of life feel so exhausting: when I spend time with people, "I" have to be there too, and somehow I'm just really fed up with the whole "I" thing. I wish "I" didn't need to always be present, if you know what I mean. Whenever I think or talk about myself, I feel like I need to construct myself in one way or another, and for some reason, the construction often feels empty and uninspiring. I "knew" who I was when I was 21, then at some point that story stopped working, and I still haven't found a new story to replace the old one with. So I don't actually think I'm becoming Dumbledore. I don't think I'm James Dean either. I sort of wish I could be nothing, at least until I figure out what's wrong with me and find a more relaxed way to relate to this nonsense.
I actually spent most of my day thinking about this idea of you hating yourself all day today after reading what you wrote this morning.
DeleteHere’s the context: I was at a birthday party for a six-year-old girl. What a juxtaposition—watching a pack of six-year-olds running wild, playing with one another, sharing their kind hearts with each other—all while thinking about the realities of the adult world, at least of one Finnish adult in particular.
I wish you’d gotten the tattoo, Olli. “Just show up” is not only good advice, but life-saving in some instances.
I recognize a lot of what you’re going through, and how paralyzing it can seem. You’d know I was lying if I promised you that it will be easier some day. Maybe you’ll always have these doubts. Personally, I think they ground you. The possibility of the opposite of what you want has to be part of the equation. But I think it serves a vital purpose—from where would compassion emanate otherwise? And I’ve seen that compassionate side of you—for all the animals in our world.
So tattoo or not, keep showing up.
You have zero reason to hate yourself. Zero. Your actions are not borne of malicious intent.
ReplyDeleteUnhealthy? How? I always took as aspirational rather than actual. You are bright; you write well. Very well. Very, very well.
I disagree—I think you are on your way to becoming Dumbledore. That’s how most people who know me see me and I’m not have as intelligent as you are.
When I say River Phoenix and James Dean I’m alluding to their passion.
You will only ever be you. In seeing now exposed diary, I’m glad you didn’t try and become someone else.
Thank you for the kind and thoughtful words. All of this is kind of complex. I'll respond soon. I feel like I need to try to sleep first.
DeleteDear Phineas,
ReplyDeleteThe party you attended sounds like a blast. There really is something about six-year-olds that makes hope accessible.
I feel like I should apologize. I’m not feeling very great at the moment. I've probably said this too many times before, but the truth is that I've been living on the edge of burnout for a long time now. In certain ways, the last three years have been the most complicated years of my life.
Last spring was great, and so was the spring before that, because those were two periods when I let myself stop writing for a while. I know that writing is the thing I'm "meant" to do – and yet it's killing me. Although, obviously, it’s not the writing, there’s nothing wrong with the writing, it’s me in relation to the writing.
There’s too much pressure inside, too many things to say, too many ideas, too many ideals. It makes sleeping difficult, it makes eating difficult. All in all, there is obviously something wrong with my life. It's a shame you've gotten to know me during such a dark, difficult time. I used to be fun, you know. I often worry that I’m hurting people who care about me by being such an exhausted, difficult bastard.
Right now it’s especially bad. Somehow, reading through this blog, doing all the things I needed to do to make it public, put me in full-blown crisis mode. I think it's because I’d like to take a vacation from myself, and working on this blog was the opposite of that.
As for the fact that I "hate" myself – well, I'm not alone. I know a lot of people who chronically "hate" themselves, for no obvious reason. A lot of people are full of anxiety and overly critical of themselves, and it's a problem that's clearly getting worse, affecting young people especially.
Why? For cultural and societal reasons, I think. We're living in a world that’s really different from all other cultures and time periods in the history of our species.
DeleteIn the past, a defining part of human life has been a sense that one's life is a tiny part of some greater narrative: the story of one's community, but also the story of the cosmos. In the modern world, we don't really think that way anymore. Suddenly, you're supposed to find a sense of meaning by looking in the mirror: what makes your life valuable and meaningful is your own personality, your talent, how smart or charismatic or sexy or exciting you are compared to others... Many people still feel like they're living in a "story", but the story that people identify with is their personal story, the story of their life, not some mystical cosmic narrative.
It's just a totally different way to relate to the world and see one’s place in it. Apparently, the word "self" didn't even enter the vocabulary until the 18th century or something like that.
As great as Western individualism is in a lot of ways, the downside is that it’s making a lot of people (at least those with a tendency for conscientiousness or neuroticism) believe that one needs to live an extraordinary life or be a special or flawless individual in order to be good enough. Of course, capitalism and the internet are exacerbating the problem by making people think of themselves and their lives as "projects" that always need to be worked on and improved. In the past, life was dirty and hard, but at least people didn’t have to worry about being the Best Possible Me. For a lot of people, it’s a recipe for bottomless dissatisfaction and self-hatred.
So I believe this is the societal side of my problem. The feeling of “self-hatred” comes from the conflict between all the impossible ideals in my head and the multidimensional, faulty, fumbling reality of what being a human being is like. But obviously, it’s not just a societal thing – my personal history also plays a big part in all this. In the past, a lot of people have believed in me, believed that I’m capable of being and doing great things. In a way, being talented at 18 really fucked me up. It set the standard too high.
It’s true that I sincerely care about the world. I have a heart that’s good at giving a shit about others and responding to their pain. All of that is natural and real. But it’s also true that I’m capable of things that are not very saintlike. Thinking of oneself as one of the greatest writers of one’s generation is a scumbaggy thing to do, right? It would be easy to see the former side as “pure” and the latter side as something dirty that somehow soils the good things. But actually, for a long time, those two sides coexisted quite harmoniously.
DeleteSome years ago I started to think that I shouldn’t have an ego. That it’s somehow wrong to have one. I thought I should transcend all the stupidity in me and be “mature”.
But here’s the problem: I’m still living the modern world where it’s incredibly difficult to transcend that dimension. Actually, if you try to get rid of your ego, the most likely result is that the inner critic just gets more hateful, meaning that the ego starts to scold and berate you _for the very fact that you can’t get rid of it_.
What happens if you try to live as Mother Theresa? Paralysis. Endless discomfort and self-loathing.
Obviously, thinking of oneself as a fucking genius is harmful too, and for the same reason. Because: how do you write like one of the greatest writers of your generation? The answer: you don’t. You don’t write. That’s just too heavy, a totally paralyzing way to approach creative work.
So… all in all, my psyche is such a hostile environment at the moment that all kinds of questions about who I am, who I was (ugh), who I should be, what other people want me to be, what I should be like as a writer or as a person make me feel ill. They take me nowhere. I feel an immense need to enter some way of being and writing that is more intuitive, less calculating, less rational.
DeleteIdeally, art is the perfect way to do that. In art, it’s OK to be imperfect – in fact, I sometimes think that exploring human imperfection is what art is mostly about. It’s a way to get over oneself, touch something greater and more mysterious.
As I’ve said before, the book I’m trying to write is very challenging on a lot of different levels. I have a lot to say, and the concept of the book is quite odd. I think that what makes it so challenging is that I’ve sort of been trying to be a Serious Philosopher, while what I really need – and what the book needs – is my sense of humour. Hell yeah, I want to say important things. I want the world to become a smarter and kinder place. But if I want to contribute in any meaningful way, I need to have fun while doing it.
Your finest moment as a writer was your debate with a fellow over the correct approach to veganism. I read it after we’d conversed for quite some time, probably around the time we had some exchanges on your On Your Side blog.
ReplyDeleteYou were dazzling. Without resorting to any of the usual internet debate bullshit—the vitriol, ad hominem attacks, etc., you stood toe to toe with a guy who was himself a fairly good debater, and clearly uninterested in your thoughtful approach, but rather “of the sword.”
I don’t recall the particulars, but you were reasonable, thoughtful, calm, and clear. Your approach was as concise as it was sensible. For a disinterested third party, I thought you had the better argument. I remember thinking “Man, this guy’s good.”
Why should you apologize? Because you’re dragging me down with the “I hate myself” talk?
You owe me nothing. You have shown me kindness and compassion and I think even respect, all to a surprising degree. Knowing someone means knowing them at all times, not just when everything’s perfect. I can handle the low times, Olli.
I really don’t give a fuck how common self-hatred is. We’re talking about you. It’s irrelevant to this discourse why or how others came to feel that way. No obvious reason? Hell, you’ve been talking about it for years—your ‘genius’ hasn’t gotten out in any satisfying way. And it makes total sense—you haven’t done anything yet.
Maybe you will—but maybe you will never publish a single thing. If you haven’t factored that possibility into the equation, you’re fooling yourself. It’s a real possibility.
You know, some time back you used the term “…earth-shattering revelations…” in reference to the realization that the child prodigy window had passed. I didn’t share with you then that I have had similar realizations, of what I consider a far more grave nature. Namely: I’m not really good at anything. It was a real punch in the stomach. It was sad—sickening, even.
I don’t know if it’s true or not—I’m probably not the most objective source when it comes to looking inward (which is actually very rare). But I believe it. And I live with it. I wanted to be important; I am not.
The ironic thing is this: I’ve lived an amazing life. I’ve been everywhere I really wanted to go, met everyone I really wanted to meet. When people find out what I’ve actually experienced, they are in disbelief.
I never mentioned any of that because I didn’t want to put any more negativity in a mind that was already experiencing it. I say it now because it’s the truth—just like your truth is that you don’t know yet what your future holds. But damn it, you have to try. You can’t be paralyzed to inaction. Write well. Write poorly. But mother fucker…just write.
Just show up. I have a feeling the rest will take care of itself.
As for what society expects: you should trust yourself a little more, and societal norms much less.
None of this is easy. There’s no switch you can control at will. But it’s doable.
And above all, try to relax…Olli, you need to get laid man.
Get to it.
What, has it already been a month?!
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry, Phineas. It's been a fairly chaotic few weeks, in an intensely painful but probably beneficial kind of way. I'm actually going to respond (soon), it's just that I have a lot to say, and saying all of it will require some time and effort. So business as usual, in that sense.
In your own time, Mr. Brander…in your own time…
ReplyDeleteSoon, my friend, soon.
ReplyDeleteDear Phineas,
ReplyDeleteFirstly I'll comment on your belief that you’re not really good at anything: I think that going everywhere you really want to go, meeting everyone you really want to meet requires being impressively competent at quite a wide variety of things. It’s enviable, really... Personally, I can say there are maybe two or three things I’m truly competent at. I mean, I can’t live. But maybe I’ll learn.
Secondly, I’m happy to hear you feel like I’ve been an alright pel pal so far. I often worry that I’m failing as a friend and making people around me feel bad. By being too focused on writing, too hard to reach, too difficult, and so on.
It’s funny how whenever somebody else displays exaggerated neuroticism, makes things unnecessarily complicated, is overly sorry for little failures, etc., I just want to shake them and tell them to stop wasting their life worrying about silly stuff that nobody gives a shit about. And yet, when it comes to my own excessive worrying, it’s so hard to wake up.
What I’m pretty sure about is that there’s a cultural element to all this neuroticism. I guess this is what I was trying to articulate in one of my comments back in February.
DeleteAn essential part of Buddhist philosophy is the idea that the “self” – or the “illusion” of the self – is one of the most central sources of suffering in life. Interestingly, in the modern Western world, the “self” is absolutely gigantic: it’s the center of the universe in the sense that I’m supposed to find the meaning of my life in my personal qualities, my personal identity, my personal accomplishments… In all(?) other cultures in the history of our species, people have usually seen themselves as tiny parts of some all-encompassing cosmic narrative. Now, there’s this radical hyperfocus on the individual. So it’s not surprising that as an individual who’s grown up in this uniquely atomistic culture, I tend to obsess over every trivial mistake I make.
All of this feels quite complicated, but in a nutshell: I don’t think that the things that modern people try to find in themselves can necessarily be found in the self. When I say that I hate myself, a big part of what I’m saying is actually “I hate having to spend so much time thinking about myself. I wish I could take a vacation from all these ideas about who and what I am and enter some bigger, more spacious way of perceiving the world and my place in it.”
That’s what I’m trying to learn to do…. Maybe it will take a lifetime, but I think it’s definitely worth the struggle.
What you said about trusting societal norms less is important. I’m not totally immune when it comes to that nonsense. However, if we think about societal norms as collective ideals that a person tries to fulfill because they’re afraid of other people’s opinions, I actually think that for the most part, I’ve managed to live my life delightfully unconventionally. What really oppresses me is something else.
DeleteWhat really oppresses me is this cultural “wiring”, which is a deeper thing than societal norms. I don’t WANT to be torturously self-aware and perfectionistic, it’s not some ideal I’m trying to follow – I actually see it as a great impediment to everything I want to achieve in life. And yet, getting rid of this stuff doesn’t happen overnight because it has actually become a part of ME, my psychology, like a pair of distorting eyeglasses glued on to my head.
Still, as you’ve pointed out in the past, not all perfectionism is bad. Not all pain is bad. Some things are worth suffering for.
“Write great literature” and “Contribute to making the world a better place” are ideals that torment me because, for whatever reason, they deeply resonate with me. Are they collective ideals? Does society expect these things? No. They MAY have something to do with “cultural wiring” in the sense that perhaps a person grown up in a less individualistic culture wouldn’t dream of such heroic feats. And yet, at the end of the day, I’m totally fine with the fact that these things torment me. Being tormented by them is the purest, most beautiful element of my life, even in the case that I fail completely. On my deathbed these aren’t going to be the things I’m going to regret.
The reason why it’s taken me 3.5 months to come back here is that my writing muscles are tired. It makes it a bit challenging to live in a world where a large percentage of communication is written communication. When the muscles aren’t relaxed, writing feels like trying to push through a brick wall.
DeleteI think I have what they call “treatment-resistant depression”. Ever since I was 12 or 13, I’ve been very attuned to the sadness of the world – which is OK, as long as the antenna is also attuned to what’s good and magical. Way too easily the antenna goes haywire and stops receiving the good things. When that happens, I really find it almost impossible to ENJOY doing anything. What’s interesting is that none of the antidepressants or therapists I’ve tried have ever helped me in any significant way. That stuff just doesn’t work for me. Some days ago I booked an appointment with a psychiatrist, to whom I’m going to explain that the only medical thing that seems to help me turn into a functioning human being is a treatment that isn’t normally thought of as a treatment for depression, and ask her if she could prescribe me that. We’ll see how that goes.
Still, things are better now than they were in February.
The first year of the Writing School is almost over. I’m profoundly thankful to whatever it was that came over me in March 2021 and made me apply to the school, despite the fact that for a long, long time, I was under the impression I already knew how to write. Now I realize how much I still need to learn. So far, I feel like the school is one of the best things that have ever happened to me. A lot of the stuff I’ve learned in the past 8.5 months is stuff I simply couldn’t have learned on my own… Besides, the teachers are wonderful, and so are the other students. Never before have I been anywhere so full of thoughtful and multidimensional people. When this is over, I’m going to miss this… It feels so weird to actually like school.
As to what you said about that debate I had with somebody on the correct approach to veganism… Thanks, I’m glad to hear I managed to make sense. When I was 15 and a school counselor asked me how I’d describe myself, I just said I was “rational”. I still think that analytical thinking is a meaningful endeavor, and also something that seems to come quite naturally to me. I also believe that in order for an idea to make a difference in the world, it needs to be communicated as clearly as possible. So I feel like I have a moral duty to try to think well. The real challenge is combining this with the other side of what I’m trying to do, which is art, which seems to be the opposite of a systematic search for rationality…...
DeleteI’m no longer writing the book I was writing 3 months ago. I’m writing something else now.
As you know, for many years, I’ve been talking about a “Book I Was Born to Write”. Now I realize that it’s not just one book. It’s many books. It was stupid to think I could somehow cram All the Important Stuff into one book. There needs to be space for adventure and intuition, saying things I didn’t know I was trying to say.
One night, some weeks ago, I was feeling odd and I just started to write. I ended up staying up all night, writing the first 10 pages of a really strange story. I wrote it so fast and intuitively that I felt like an idiot when I had to send it to some of my teachers. (There was a deadline and I had to send them something.) I just apologized for forcing them to read something so shitty and clumsy. What’s mind-boggling is that I don’t think people have ever expressed such genuine excitement about any manuscript I’ve written. The teachers “got” the text in a way that seemed almost supernatural, like they just immediately understood what the story was trying to say. What the fuck, man??
I’m still not 100% sure what this new book is supposed to be. But I’m kind of starting to think it’s Hermann Hesse for people who are bored by Hermann Hesse, and Kerouac for people who are bored by Kerouac…... I’m trying to write this thing differently from all the other things I’ve tried to write in the past. I HAVE to do this differently. I want to write about characters I’m genuinely and childishly and perversely excited about, going through things and talking about ideas I’m genuinely and childishly and perversely excited about. Everything that doesn’t matter to me in that visceral sense has to be left out……. I really want this book to be something that saves me and wakes me up, not something that just exhausts me.
But enough about me. What’s going on in your reality? Inner reality, outer reality. Tell me everything.
DeletePS. What you said about getting laid – with all due respect, Phineas, so do you!
Well, that’s just it — I am competent; I wanted to be extraordinarily good at something. Competence is usually the last thing I’m interested in when it comes to the things I’m interested it. Adequacy is not a goal for me; it’s what other people do, and perhaps one of the key reasons I detest them. That I fail to be more than them is a potent irritant.
DeleteAs for what you said about following your own advice, I count that among the hardest things to do as a person. For many reasons — chief among them our lack of vested interest — it’s much easier to give sage advice than to adhere to it. At least you’ve aware of that; it may help you one day.
You don’t have to concern yourself with how I perceive you from afar. I’m in your corner. I can’t think of anything you’ve ever said that was hurtful, even in a passing sort of way. If anything, I always think of you as carefully trying to avoid being offensive; I think you’ve succeeded miraculously. We’ve typed to each other for years, and usually it’s a matter of hours before someone does something to merit my complete disinterest. You’re the rare exception: I always want to know more about you and your existence.
I agree that there’s a societal element to feeling like you have to “be” a certain way. What surprises me is that I thought, until your most recent round of thoughts and observations, that you were largely beyond its grasp. That’s one of the things that I’ve always admired you for (don’t worry, there’s a lot left!). It’s not that I think you were obfuscating or concealing anything, it’s just how you came off. (Maybe that’s part of normative behavior too.) In any case, I’m not disappointed as much as surprised. But I do take solace in what you said about singing your own tune to a great degree despite strong social/societal influences.
DeleteI don’t know that society’s asking you to find meaning in your life through individualism; I think it’s probably more simply a case of Westerners’ abhorrence to ever being satisfied. But you know, as much as we think of stark differences between the East and West in these matters, I think the differences are merely cultural(invented), with neither having the claim of being better at bullshitting themselves in terms of how deeply they really care about the tenants of their respective outward behavior. I think all humans are more or less self-absorbed. The degrees vary, but even Buddhists have been suicide bombers. Though much of it sounds appealing, the concept of lack of “self” didn’t originate with Buddhists. It was probably very apparent to the earliest of men the problems the “self” could actuate. Of course the rewards — namely variants of money and pussy — were also very potent.
“In all(?) other cultures in the history of our species…” I’ve yet to see any evidence of that. Most cultures have a fascination with eating every day; the focus has been on that.
I’m not discounting anything you’ve said (except maybe that all other cultures statement) — I live the self-absorption of human beings every day. Anyone walking around with a cell phone is a narcissist-of-the-year candidate. And I’ve never seen it this bad. Everyone with a Twitter account is a genius now. And everyone who creates “Tik-Toks” is a bona fide arteur. And people professionally pimp those views you mentioned — name that you are a “brand” which needs constant cultivating, and that everything you need can be found “inside.”
But we need those pimps! I saw one the other day say: “Empathy is weakness!” Yawhol!
To me it’s little more than a human predisposition to paranoia(see also A Separate Peace).
O! To be among the Chosen Ones!
I’m very sorry to hear your writing muscles are tired, and even more so that you may have incurable depression. Incurable is not among my favorite words. I don’t know what treatment you were referring to, and am sort of afraid to ask. But know this: if ANYTHING makes you better, I’m all for it. (Except you joining the Republican Party…)
DeleteI am profoundly happy that you’ve gotten so much from your writing school. It sounds entirely worthwhile in ways that are surprising to you. I don’t think I ever mentioned that I once took a “creative” writing class at the university level — it was one of the worst classes I’ve ever taken. I’m not sure what the goal was — if there was one. I just remember being unimpressed by the whole experience, except some of the guys wrote juicy stories about — what else? — money and pussy…
I’m glad your experience is proving otherwise.
(By the way, I think it’s spelled auteur — not arteur.)
It seems almost inevitable that you would eventually conclude you couldn’t just write one all-encompassing book containing all of your ideas and thoughts. So I suppose now it’s largely about the parsing? However you decide to do it, remember that our Western culture is going to ask: what are you going to say that hasn’t been said before, Olli Brander?
Writing characters you’re childishly and perversely excited about sounds like a good way to spend your time!
DeleteI will buckle my seatbelt!
Meanwhile, my inner world and outer world next time…
So, for quite some time, I felt as though I was softening on the whole “I hate everyone” part of me. Then, recently, I had a day where it sort of blew up and the misanthropy returned quickly. I can’t even tell you what happened—it was a series of things that were individually meaningless; but in totality they were too much to shrug off. Then a remarkable thing happened: by the next day, I had softened once again and have been so ever since. Odd.
DeleteWhat makes it all the more odd is that I’ve been giving a lot of thought recently to Gandhi’s pacifism and wondering if I’ve been fooling myself that I could ever actually do what I’ve espoused to others through the years. I actually think(despite my softening) that I’ve increasingly embraced a notion that I’ve always abhorred: people should get what they deserve. I think the notion rests solidly between lunacy and stupidity, and yet I’ve “felt” increasingly like maybe I’ve been wrong in believing that everyone is somehow redeemable. I guess it’s just maybe a classic case of heart/mind conflict.
Otherwise, I’ve been insatiably fascinated with sexuality lately. Or maybe just sex acts. Well, okay, not really “insatiably,” but enough to at least say “insatiably” before realizing that it’s overkill. I suppose it’s largely a case of questioning motives. For example it’s been curiosity for years: why do people enjoy stimulating their partners orally when they get no physical sensation? Questions like that. I don’t have many answers to the largely interpretive questions, but it’s been quite a lot of mental aerobics.
So that’s the internal stuff.
Externally, I’ve been convincing myself to put of the writing project. All sorts a lame reasons. But ultimately, I thing it’s because I realize it’s going to take a lot more effort than I originally anticipated. The ironic thing is that I done even have to come up with a story! But the care with which I tell it—that’s the ball game. I think I’m going to being immediately following the hockey season in about two weeks. I at least have to start in earnest if only to have some idea how laborious the process will be. Despite everything, I am looking forward to starting. I do envision it being good.
DeleteOh my gosh…I just started to fall asleep…I will continue soon…
So, yeah…that’s what it looks like when I’m fighting staying awake, or sleep, depending upon how you look at it. I think that’s as many typos as I’ve made in a year! I was laying on my back and actually dropped my iPad…twice.
DeleteSo I came back tonight to apologize if you read what to the casual observer would appear to be a drunkard’s post. And to add this…
One of the moments which really affected me in the past few months was inadvertently finding out one of my favorite actors had died. What was particularly troubling is that I learned of it on the internet (I though it was someone’s idea of a joke). When I confirmed it, I found out that it occurred a month after I had read about it. His name is Gaspard Ulliel and he was a talented French actor. It was a punch in the stomach to find out about his accidental death on the ski slopes in Grenoble. He was 37. I can’t tell you why it was so affecting, but it was on my mind for days. Perhaps it was just because he seemed ‘normal’ in a profession that is anything but.
So, back to writing. I actually had a three-day weekend and did some reading that is necessary to put some things related to the writing project front and center in my mind. I had a day a few days before that where I was trying to realistically assess(or just simply talk myself out of) the project’s viability. I couldn’t come up very many reasons I can’t do this. The thing I kept coming back to is the notion that I will have to go deeper and deeper into each and every aspect of every person’s life: i.e. — what if I have someone drinking a cup of tea when they actually despised tea?! Then I thought of the fucking lunacy of such a concern — if the project ever were get somewhere in a commercial sense, the minutia would be checked(and STILL some things might slip through the cracks). Anyway, I hope this at least paints a picture of the idiocy my mind can cultivate. I suppose I should ultimately be grateful I did not change my mind based on tea!
DeleteI was recently out and struck up a conversation when a fellow mentioned to me something about the band playing on the surrounding music system. I pointed out that he had mistaken the band for someone else, and instead of being offended, we had a delightful discussion about music and musicians and he even said, mid-discussion, “I’m so glad we talked!”
DeleteAnd, so long as I’m rambling…I’m thinking about playing piano a little bit again—I haven’t touched it in more than six months, the longest absence since I finished taking lessons.
And Olli…both of the owners where I work recently got new puppies and they bring them to the office…it’s like heaven on earth when they get loose and come to my office to visit…
And more and more people bring their dogs to the shopping malls…it’s wonderful.
You’re probably right. I probably should too.
ReplyDeleteBut for entirely different reasons.
Dear Phineas,
Delete“Getting laid” feels like a crude and stupid way of expressing what I mean.
What I mean is:
I think that you’re a class act all the way and I want you to be surrounded by love. Not just because you deserve it, but also because there are other people in this world who deserve to know you and love you.
I’m sorry if this comes across as disturbingly intense. That’s how I roll.
You’re beautiful when you’re disturbingly intense.
ReplyDeleteWhen I said you needed to get laid it was within the context of needing to relax—finding some degree of equanimity in your life.
It is sophomoric to be sure—and as with much of what I write, I instantly regretted it. I think you’re the first person I’ve ever said that to, despite really loathing the expression. I guess in my mind anything I write is okay because of the absence of malice. But that’s in my mind. I need to be thoughtful of what others see, always.
Don't worry, I understood what you meant! Nothing to regret. And you were right. Just last night, when I was trying (and failing) to fall asleep, I had a realization that this physically isolated lifestyle is probably not good, and suddenly I wished I had someone to rub my shoulders.
DeleteAnd I have nothing against being sophomoric some of the time. I'm pretty sophomoric.
I think you’re right. Isolation is probably among the very worst things for our bodies and our minds…
Delete