Empty Days

Thursday, March 25, 2004



Sad stories of the underworld ::

It's good not to spend too much time on one's own misery but on the other hand it's there all the time - no matter what you spend your time on.

There was a turning point in my life when it finally dawned on me that, no matter what I do and where I go, I will never be able to find a circle of people I could call my own - remotely familiar, recognizable. That blasted "shared context" really fell off, like an old snake's skin. It was not a decision but a realization of a deep truth for which I had no explanations at the time - in fact I am still looking for those blasted explanations, as a sort of psychological sport, because proving this theorem wouldn't change a thing anyway. I can't fool myself into hope - nor can I find any truthful grounds for hope.

Sure, it's all my fault anyway. And I am ok with that - so be it. I don't know and will never know why and how come, what strange combination of inner predispositions and bad breaks came about to produce precisely this result and nothing else. I mean, it's not a general rule - some people make it, others don't. Go figure. People love to take credit for their efforts, hard work and other acts of heroism in the struggle of life, and then they walk around and claim that they know what to do and how. Well, those wonderful chaps have no clue to what extent their stamina is a gift from heaven - they really think everyone has it and they wonder how come some don't use it. What a waste etc. Ah shit. People are alike but obviously not alike enough to institute those superior general rules and claim that you only have to go by the book and all will fall into place as if by magic.

And yet this is what human idea of humanity is like. "Let's abolish poverty" and all that crap. How about "everyone should be gay because I am"? Sounds far-fetched? But it's that same kind of mentality - that somehow there's a universal secret somewhere and I am privy to it, and everybody should do as I say because it works for me. This is age-old bullshit and it's everywhere. The social moral industry wants it to be that way. Basically, an ideal society would have sons doing what their fathers and forefathers did and nothing else. Sounds ancient, medieval? And yet that's the perfection of original society - and we haven't discovered anything new or better, despite all the mental revolutions out there.

It's that gap, an abyss in fact, between myself and the human world that I can't negotiate no matter what I do or not do. I still vaguely remember the time of youth when I had this conviction that all doors were open and I could walk into strange homes and meet new people and more people through those and so on - an endlessly open prospect of the world unexplored yet legitimately mine to discover. Oh boy - it feels like such an utterly outdated vision now. I mean, I actually used to have a sense of community once upon a time. Don't know where it's gone but it's not there now, that at least is obvious. And final. I wish I could lie about that.

I guess that's also why I lost my original sense of adventure - because where do you go if everywhere you go you're nowhere? Heh. That's a good one. The essence of adventure is meeting - and who or what are you gonna meet at this stage except yourself? Omnia mea mecum porto, quite so.

There is no point in movement if movement is nothing but a carrying of a well-known never-budging burden - which is you as you are, period.

Another interesting side-effect of this ever-present burden of being is that terrific inability to relax and take a break from yourself and merge with whatever world you're in at any given moment. I can't do that - it's as if I had my back against the wall and somehow the whole of the universe were pushing me in. I don't have a home and can't make one - I am not at home in the world, at all.

It's all in the head, of course, because the fucking roof is there above my head and the four walls and enough cash in the bank to get by. Not a tampest and not the four winds tearing me apart - that would be too grand for such a small scenario, really. But it is enough to know every second of my waking life that there is nothing out there I can plug into - and that's the definition of anxiety. Maybe this is a normal condition - but it's wearing me down no end.

I am on vacation from life and it's terribly tiring.

To be totally realistic, I would probably do rather well in World War III - because then you cease to matter to such an extent that this whole burden of why and how is taken away through catastroph, and you're just doing whatever frantic deeds are needed, and your individual happiness or unhappiness is absolutely without import.

The problem in times of prosperity is that you are actually required to conquer happiness. It's a huge burden and I am so not up to it.

My own family is thoroughly ashamed and saddened by me because of my lack of happiness (which is a very simple thing, in a way). I can't show my face out there until I am content and reposing from the fruits of my labors, or whatever it's called. The basics - learn your alphabet.

I wish I could just let it all fly right out of the window. That would be me - flying and landing. What else - since I am my own worst nightmare.

Put this way it sounds almost hilarious. And it is, really. I am still undecided whether to make it into a big fat tragedy or a big flat joke. Rolling the dice every day, as they say.

[ Sorry for not mentioning the bright side of life so much. I can't fit it in here ]





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