I once could see the future, but then I grew up to find the past again.
Sometimes you should go back and remind yourself who you are. Best way to do this is read your old work, go through your piles of shit kept from school. I did so and was a bit spooked by how much it felt like my younger, pre- September 11th 2001 self was talking to my current adult self.
Despite being an emo, nihilistic storm cloud boy as a teenager, I understand myself clearer back then than I can today, over 20 years later!
Over 20 years later I am in a space and time truly emo so it's nice my younger self has gone through a dark river of depression already. It's creepy to read how dark some of it is and how I foreshadowed some words and terms that would dominate the global psychosphere in a post September 11th WTC collapse reality.
"Fundamentalism"
Telling the Future (diary entry 5th September 2001):
"When I was younger I was certain that the end was nigh, the apocalypse just around the corner, the armageddon a week away."
Friday 13th July 2001, 11:00pm
Time, how it goes by. Slowly. Hastily, sideways, not at all. Good times, bad times, no times.
I think I want the NO TIMES part.
No good, no bad, no anything. Nothing. I think I am going to be come a recluse/ hermit/ loner. Other people are a contingency, or at least it feels that way at the moment.
I think I’ve got cabin fever, in a new, evolved strain of the original type. I am no longer happy or sad. My involvement with other people’s lives, people that meant a lot to me, has become extremely superficial or simply absent. I feel no connection to anything. I think that maybe I am pretending to be satisfied when I’m not.
I think that everyone else is trying to get rid of me, paranoid. But the scary thing is that while I write all of this, I honest to god (err, I don’t believe in God), well Let’s just say in all honesty, I feel nothing as I write this. No sadness, anxiety, just a cold, calculated realization of the facts. My emotions have become sterile. I laugh, or do I?
I don’t cry, haven’t in a long time. I am normal, or am I?
Is this bad? I still doubt my thoughts and feelings but I no longer get anxious or distressed or inspired, or worried. Instead of feeling sad, I will think to myself “this would be an appropriate moment for sadness,” and then continue on with whatever else there was to do.
My responses are very poignant and clinical. No room for joviality, ironic, sardonic, witty comebacks. What is becoming of me? Do I care? No, No I don’t.
Sunday 15th July 2001
Today the words that Dr Stockman spoke in The Enemy of the People are the only words that I can seek solace in. The majority is always wrong.
Tuesday, 24th July 2001
Heya Me, I haven’t written in here for a while. Or anything really apart from a pretty bland story about a princess running away from her would-be assassin.
Been doing lots of reading to compensate. Lord Prestiminion, Science of Self-Discovery, other stuff on net sites, newspapers etc etc.
Wasn’t in a talkative mood today. 5-6 hours sleep made me have a short attention span and a longer response time. So I decided not to bother to all the new people, or talking at all for that matter, unless I had to. It was a surreal, isolating experience. It felt that I was interacting in some pre-ordained plot, like a dream with lots of bizarre elements emanating from my mind, like a narration to the days’ events.
In Sculpture we had to make an animal-human hybrid sculpture and I chose to make a H.R Giger influenced. Deformed baby head on a spider’s body, which will be made from the spokes of an umbrella. Ha ha ha, I am shit. Yeh, yeh. I’m the man with the Mastern Plan. The eccentric, the enigmatic, the undecipherable, the idiotic and irritating man with the Master Plan.
Someday, this diary will be worth millions. After I become a controversial writer/artist etc... and fake my own death.
The only difference between man and dog is that man travels on four wheels and dog travels on four feet. We are dogs.
Wednesday, 25th July 2001
Denial of Reality, Our Lives revolve around denying reality. Yeh, Yeh, Yeh. I am tired now, can’t be bothered writing at the moment. Bleh, bleh, bleh, I am tired. Yawnography!
Monday, 30th July 2001
Our roles in society has become a variable. We have no definite place anymore. How do I come to this conclusion? Take the human male as an example; Hunter, leader of the tribe, warrior, etc etc. These things are masculine.
Man no longer does these things but we are still men, just less masculine. Do we hunt? Not really, we do not do anymore of the typically male things. We are made redundant.
All that is left is a strange mix of aggression, sensitivity, pride and jealousy. These things are all repressed in society so we in turn become neurotic, bottling in our primordial lust and aggression.
He was considered by some to be a devil incarnate, leading mere men into temptation and taking their souls as payment. Sethorn laughed when he first heard this. It was no joke tough how shrewd, dispassionate and altogether greedy the small fat man was.
No sooner than he had that tought about that than Tatay glanced at him, his gold-trimmbed manacle and silver wig glinting ferociously. Sethorn was still, the glint arresting his reactions.
Tatay frowned ever so slightly at the princes dazzled blinking and went to his seat. It was well-cushioned, thankfully, his back was searing with pain this morning whenever he shifted it a certain way. A soft seat would enable him to sit without excess movement.
Tuesday, 31st July 2001
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s all sorted. Yeah.
Umm no, it is not all sorted, as a matter of fact it is in complete disarray.
Yeah, um you’re fucked. You made me get all unsorted, muthafucka.
That was a bizarre interlude. I have decided that if I can not move my new media class to an earlier time then I will not do it and only do it if I have to next so I can get my Cert IV officilally. Have to buy some gouache as well for my head thing, for when I’m gonna start painting it.
I am currently interested in the following things;
- Alcoholism
- Misplacement of masculinity in the male and what is left afterwards
- Russia, Soviet Union, Kremlin etc etc
- The Black Death (It’s my Art History assignment)
- Breakdancing and Hip-Hop like MC Hammer and other old school, cheesy shit.
News Today: Red Alert as a computer virus (not the conventional biological type!) spreads across the globe. Oooh how frightening. No one cares, oops, I mean I don’t care. That’s about it for the time being.
Yeah, well I got my folio which thankfully was still there and unharmed and I overheard the woman talking about her future plans confidently. The man just agreed to her aspirations.
She wanted to help children, save the trees, be rich (she back this one up with what the guy thought was a plausible excuse but which I tought was a little presumptuous), and basically do millions of other altruistic things which I can’t recall (there were too many, spoken too confidently to take in and absorb). I was going to make a comment of her being very noble or something along those lines when I remembered that social norm dictates silence around strangers. This was remembered subconsciously, it is so ingrained into me to act within these social boundaries that it happens autonomously, without contemplation or consideration, just like breathing or blinking.
I find this scary.
Preordained to be socially acceptable.
Oh yeah and I neglected to mention before that I am slipping back into the routine of writing profusely. Good stuff, need a little bit more continuation/ re-visitation of stories already begun.
| Wednesday, 1st August 2001 | scan |
|---|---|
| A boring day. This semester is more vague in you understanding. What? I don’t know what that means. I make less sense these days. As an art student, I am perpetually challenged by anything and everything. What is that? Why is it? Why should I? Why did I? I feel so inept at the moment. My normally flowing consciousness has solidified and frozen over. Tumbleweeds roll on by. A chill wind blows across the tundra sending updrafts of snow dust into a starry, quiet midnight sky. My pen is as heavy as lead, my thoughts as sluggish as treacle, not viscous, not fluid, but congealed and sluggish. |  |
Thursday, 9th August 2001
It is now that I feel sane again since 2 days ago when I found out Pani Zosia died. I feel happy in a way because she has ascended from miserable humanity. Gone to a better place, even if that place is endless, dreamless sleep. I harbour no doubt that it is better than existence on this earth today.
I was shocked when I first found out. I kept on forgetting then realizing that that benevolent, wise old lady was no longer here until yesterday, when I went into some kind of torpor which culminated in a chaotic flurry of thoughts running in my head today.
I felt bad this morning, really bad. It wasn’t a case of the blues, it was a deep, dark, impenetrable (or so I thought), blackest of black mires, most dire, yawning chasm of misery I had ever known.
Then my mind started spurting forth nonsensical, dark poetic thoughts, then I went to class and drew. I felt significantly better after that. Then I went into Northbridge with friends from my old TAFE class and slipped away because they pissed me off, then I listened intently to Drew’s lecture on Christianity, Italian Renaissance and Neo-Platonism and then I got extremely agitated by the end, felt like I would burst, then I went home and I laughed.
And it was all good again.
I got a C grade for New Media. This instigated my good mood. I found it absolutely ludicrous that I got a C in a class in which I did nothing. With this I realised life is fucked AS WELL AS ludicrous and ironic.
I’m still not happy though because I have to go to a funeral tomorrow and I despise funerals. The last one I went to was way too much grief to handle or even contemplate. I prefer to mourn my own way, not while watching what is now a dead piece of flesh descend into the earth and everyone crying. The spirit of the person is something that can not be mourned at a funeral, you have the rest of your life to mourn that.
Thursday, 16th August 2001
I was in an unusually good mood today and it was for no real reason. Must be a totally subconscious reason for my happiness.
I have up and down a lot lately. And a lot quieter and that is because I have so much less to say these days. It is refreshing to convert from having too much things to say but no way to say it to having nothing to say when I could be saying whatever I wanted. Oh yeah, I do get the occasional stray thought I want to voice, idea I want to explore, piece I want to make, thing I want to do but then I go... nah, why bother, what is the use of doing that?
It is quite weird because it is but is not apathy/ laziness but a realization that all is in vain.
I look around me and see
a million people or more
and how much of them know what they want?How much of them have what they want?
How much of them are narcissistic, cynical, depressed, lost, joyouns, miserable?
I’m not sure who I am, or who I think I am anymore. No action of my creation has a resolute consequence. I think this is what is at the root of my current phase because with no resolution there is no conflict and without an end there can be no beginning.
I know that whatever I do does not resolve anything. Despite all my efforts, it will all amount to nil.
Why don’t my actions resolve anything?
Because there is nothing to resolve.Look into me
and there will be void.
Null, nothing
no want, no need.
Whose life do I live if the life I live now is not mine?
In other words, since I want nothing, why does my body and my mind still think it does? I still do nice/mean things, I still do things in order to obtain things I want.
But now, through the mist-laden chasms of my soul I see that none of this is really me and deep, deep down while I run my normal life I know that it be for naught.
Void is me. Can’t you see.
The void me. Nothing is there, nothing at all
I try to imagine that something is there but it is a figment and dissipates soon-after.Nothing can fill the void.
Monday, 3rd September 2001
Marquis de Sade, very interesting person. Elizabeth Bathory, interesting also. Baudelaire, hard to get around but interesting nonetheless.
Le Shit. I want to learn French. Oui Oui Oui.
Less than a week until I turn 18 and I see that day as I so unoriginally see every day, with disinterest and apathy. When will I gain some kind of semblance of clarity and coherence?
Wednesday, 5th September 2001
The Grand Narrative. A thing to be despised. In these days any grand narrative is outrageously obsolete, completely outdated.
This, most people acknowledge to an extent that suits them. Oh fine, I don’t mind having to work with women that are getting paid the same amount. I can handle that because I am aware of the time’s a changin’, I’m not that old, you know. But I can’t accept a lesbian couple wanting a baby, no way. I am a product of the nuclear family so it should be for everyone.
See what I mean?
When we realise that no one has the supreme authority to try to impose a grand narrative upon us, it will be too late to reverse the damage done by thinking, like we are wanted to, that what we really want is a grand narrative. Convincing ourselves that we want a job and children, that want to be a typical Joe Citizen.
This is not enough to satisfy. Repression of our inner most desires has become commonplace. I am no longer aware of what I want, others are deluded as to believing they are satiated.
In each of us is a hole, an abyss, an insatiable gaping maw that we try to fill with our numerous things; Money, Sex, Drugs, Murder, Bestiality, Rape, Religion, War, Homosexuality, Coprophilia, Sadism and Masochism. What are all of these things but creations of an empty human?
Can it be that the folly of the intelligent man is to coexist with this emptiness? Does consciousness take away some core fundamental part of our being? Or is the loss of this thing only because of recent changes in our thought patterns?
Maybe it is simply a by-product of evolution.
More intelligence = less compassion??
The piece of us will be found and it will fill the gap
You will be belated, if it's not too late...
When I was younger I was certain that the end was nigh, the apocalypse just around the corner, the armageddon a week away. I am not entirely aware as to why I thought this. Things were bad, but that bad, but not that bad. Things are worse today but I no longer grasp belligerently to the belief that the end is soon. I have simply resigned to that fact but I am not going to sit around in an apathetic torpor waiting for it to come or make declamations of doomsday within the city. There is no point because in essence, all will be for naught.
Just live, day to day, Carpe Diem or Carpe Noctem, if you like, whatever floats your boat and make the most of what remains.
I became enlightened today to the meaning of fundamentalism. Well, this is what I think it is.
The belief of reverting back to the basics/ essentials/ needs of existence.
I looked it up in the dictionary and the definition was similar: “of, affecting, or serving as, the base, essential, primary.” That’s the definition for fundamental which correlates with my definition but this struck me as odd.
“fundamentalism” n. - fundamentalist n. One laying stress on belief in literal and verbal inspiration of Bible and other traditional creeds.”
That does not seem correct. Man existed long before the Bible or other traditional creeds thus these creeds are not fundamental in sustaining human life. Thus I prove that religion is but a whore. It’s tacky red lacquered fingernails scratch marks all throughout our language and culture, like we are whores.
Whores to everything.
Whores to God
Whores to the $
Whores to the Grand Narrative.
Primarily, we are whores to the $ we get fucked for cash, get taken advantage of for someone else’s benefit.
Wow, how the hell did this go from fundamentalism to whores?
Anyway, yeah. If we just had our fundamental needs for survival and nothing else, would life be better? No conscious / subconscious desires because we have all the things we need to exist. It is only lately with all these conceptions of self-created needs that things start to fall apart. I need this and that and make-up and hair-gel and a mobile phone and a car and a television. NOPE! All you need is food, water, shelter.
I guess that all these self-created needs stem from intelligence and our ability to question. I don’t know for sure because I ain't no literary, philosophical genius.
That’s enough for today but I’ll finish by saying Genuflection is for the weak of will.
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