(this is a code)
“Popular themes of the genre include murder, suicide, depression, abuse, mutilation, war, religion, barbarism, drug abuse, terminal illness, domestic violence, rape, homosexuality, incest, pedophilia, child sexual abuse, insanity, nightmares, disease, racism, homophobia, sexism, disability (both physical and mental), chauvinism, terrorism, genocide, political corruption, torture, and crime.”
ever wonder why the impulse to laugh wells up as one reads on to where such sentences might and inevitably may full bore take you …
there are many reasons why i’ve not added to this blog in months. the easy answer is that it’s a symptom of distraction by something, and the easier answer comes from impulsively projecting one’s own, but alas dear reader, i can now say these myriad reasons encapsulate a tripartite of competing drives.
i’ve consented to shoulder some complicity by way of vocation; I now write for a publication in the financial district, where i spend as much time spreading the myth of innate hierarchy and naturalized capitalism as i do lining bankers’ pockets with rhetoric about why banks must be the foundation of economic trust. since suffering from amnesia in this case would be more farcical than not, the truth is that this first major distraction in my life is about bullshitting “definitively,” as my boss’ boss would say. but i can’t really write about it here, because i need to eat, and he’d probably replace me for holding the entrepreneurially uncouth beliefs i truly do about such perfidious phantasms as of late, late capitalism.
the old drive: to write, and write well, i.e., in secret; alone (for me). for me, art making should not rely on an immediate social circle’s confidence, both because i don’t have the heart to fool my friends into becoming a means and not an End, and also because why the hell should I cash in my works’ potential for a short-term relationship with one person?
i do however enjoy casually eschewing truths that’ve finished with me into the farcical ears of ideologues, whose eyes exude eternal superiority joined by manic laughter and self-parodying impressions used to rebuild a sense of lacking autonomy. it should be noted that per the Greek etymology of autonomy, the word has nothing to do with independence; on the contrary, it has everything to do with dependence on a set of rules or laws that determine the entity’s position and function in a greater system of laws, circulation, mediation, et al. was it Nietzsche who said that people don’t want the truth because it destroys their illusions? in the abstract it’s quite banal, but face-to-face with those in the concrete, known psychologically, socially, known sexually … it’s anything else.
sometimes i wonder why i’ve chosen a life this intense; why i continue to choose to swim on the surface of words, metaphor, discourse and argument, instead of building a submarine (religious following) or warship (brand) to leverage legal or financial or psychical violence against those I could much easier deem an obstacle embodied than a person whose liberty i might oppress. only in allowing oneself to be vulnerable – by remaining honest and open enough to risk damage from others’ violence – can one know another as oneself. this is why in my travels i’ve never acquiesced to those who claim the masque artiste, and yet refuse to re-spect who they speak their title to, i.e., em-path(os)-ize. hypocrisy really gets on my nerves. let me explain.
The worst, beyond the Derridian sense, although still very much an issue of grammar, is when an artist, formerly irresolute to practically self-eschewing and sociopathic portent(s), later starts to believe, whether from acquiring a degree, publication, illness, or simply the tested patience of any arbitrarily recognized life-event (à la Badiou), that they have already empathized enough, cared enough, done enough to be bothered to care or feel or think for anything but their own good again.
it’s a weakness of the heart, and a weakness of the intellect; when the latter feeds off the former for security, and this is when a person slips into fascist thought-patterns.
speaking of grammar, let’s break the fourth wall and let the fury go for a minute. the very first post on this blog involved the retelling of a tale of abjection. Much the same as its recent reccurrence in my life, a sophistic stranger sorely lacking in self-referential awareness, in that they know neither what they were doing nor to whom they leveled it, leveraged sex and sexuality to obtain cultural capital. Ever the compulsive fucking saint, I tried to diminish the extent of their violence, both times picayune and both times psychical, by explaining the hypocrisy at hand.
This is probably out of my idiotic (literally) conflation of Kant’s bi-conditional dictum, “you can, because you must!” mistaking the possibility for greatness in a constellation of another’s young personal (con)fidence for the will to make that self something great. try to remember the last time you asked someone a question as ostensibly boring as, like, hey: why are you living that way and were really heard.
never underestimate youth’s fear of being wrong.