Empty Days

Tuesday, April 13, 2004



Fuck it twice over

You call it fate when 95% of your lifetime turns out to be a certain way and not another. You look back and you say - I made mistakes, I reacted badly, I took a wrong turn every time. And then you look at why it happened and you have no answer other than this is how it was. If you make mistakes knowingly, forseeing the future and over-ruling everything in the past that lead to that action - then you can feel responsible. I am not sure to what degree you can be responsible for what you are at any given time. I don't remember being in any way "responsible" for having youthful hopes - I mean, it was stupid and it felt good, and I was not responsible for being the way I was then. And later on I was not responsible for getting disgusted with myself and the rest of the world - I wish I could have had a more constructive reaction but for some as-yet unexplained reason that's the kind of reaction I had and acted accordingly. And so on.

There is more to individuality than just rational or moral ideas. Gut reaction and nature are the two things that determine life. And various circumstances - those and not others. And in the end it doesn't really matter if I blame myself for being the way I am or some circumstances for being what they are.

The fact is, I've fallen out of communities, trust, hope and beliefs so many times at various stages that it just ads up to one very distinct policy - it's an automatism of my nature that it should happen that way and not another. I mean: there was a vast variety of circumstances every time and, nonwithstanding this variety, it always worked out the same way. And that way is who I am - simple enough, no? It determines me beyond my own understanding. So fucking be it.

I have developped a major problem early on - I don't let myself be manipulated into accepting things. This is just not good for surviving in a human world. Those who can get along do so because they accept and go along with things, a great number of things that come pretty much in a package, as part of communal beliefs - and you just go with that flow and grow stronger off it. Instead of which I kept falling off and out of the communal nest like some fucked-up early-goer ugly-duckling.

It makes me laugh to write this - it's hilarious, really.

The downside, and the fateful factor, of it is that I never developped the kind of natural balls that make you go against the flow and not sink despite all odds. You can't just invent this sort of push - you either have or you don't. Or maybe there are harsh circumstances that make you grow into that groove, but I didn't come across those and that too is part of the story.

So basically I've been biting the dust in a big way in the past few years, and to that I can add a good number of preceding years where I was nearly biting-the-dust but still hoped it wouldn't last forever. Now I am realizing that indeed, some things may very well extend into infinity - and it's pretty much only a question of how much of this I can take yet without an urgent call to arms of massive self-destruction.

For one thing, I know I'll never go on drugs. I don't need that - I can very well look at all of this directly and bear the brunt and not hide from the misery. I am already on drugs, figuratively speaking - I am lending my mind to a host of things that don't matter to me for a minute and I only do that because there is nowhere else to go and nothing better to do. You can't very well turn away from the world - because, hey, there is nowhere to turn.

***

There was some documentary on tv about some fuck on the death-row (I just love those jail tales - I relate so much it's almost insane). The description he gave was just perfect and it really tells you about the immense extent of human patience to survive in misery. He said: a death-row cell is about as big as a bathroom in a middle-class american home. Well, imagine how you would feel if you had to spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, 10 years in a row - in you *bathroom*.

Right. Get it? How would you feel? And basically it absolutely doesn't matter how you would feel - the fact is, that's how it is and you just stay in there like a fish in a can.

To this I might add that the first casuality of depravation of freedom - either in jail or in your own fucked-up mind - is time. You lose any sense of time. A year is equivalent to a day and at the same time every day feels like eternity and yet a year goes by almost in a shot. This is how you manage to survive on a dime for years and years. Complete loss of control and perspective.

***

I was going to say some more but I am off watching tv.





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