Sublimating Sorrow

I may be getting a bit manic I said, giggling nervously and thinking of the next 50 things that I absolutely had to say in the next 7 minutes. What makes you think that? Well I did sleep a good 8 hours – over the last three days. And have been blogging like a demon, solving the meaning of life and planning to sell about a decade’s worth of art for small change.

Why do you think it’s happening?

That’s refreshing. The official script reads – “Have you been taking your pills?”
Look, far be it from to condone neurochemically irresponsible behaviour. I would love it if we all could chill. But the thing is some of us can’t – I can’t. Perhaps there is a chemical solution to the condition that is called David. But having just timidly exited a 37 year long experiment in sublimating sorrow with chemical potions I don’t think it’s possible.

I’m sorry to do this to you!
Do what?

Well it can’t be easy. Yesterday I’m all sunshine and rainbows and butterflies then today I’m down in the dumps. Did you say it’s ok. Or perhaps let’s discuss it. My brain has lost Terabytes of information since then. I can’t remember my dreams on your couch and I can’t remember you in my dreams.

It can be unsettling. You meet me and I’m happy and charming and energetic. Then next thing it’s tears, misery, sulleness, aggression.

Was that how it was for your girlfriends?
For some of them.
Is that how it is for you?

I’m not sure. I think alcohol and codeine made it less painful for me. Did fuckall for my significant others though. I’m getting a taste of my own medicine now – being stuck in an abusive relationship with myself – without the fuzzy distant feeling. That wonderful warm fuzzy distant feeling.

Perhaps it’s a form of sublimation? The mania that’s coming on. Sliding seductively closer – like a fucking out of control freight train.

I’m looking at the artificial orchid that I thought had magical powers for 3 months. Wanting to look at you. Your eyes have magical powers. Don’t they? Don’t tell me there’s no such thing as magic.

You’re fired
You’re joking
Perhaps I am

I can sublimate libido, turn my desire into silver words but how do I sublimate sorrow? Without drugs. Without sex. Without madness.
Time is up. Time is always up. Suicide is easy, god is dead and time is up.

Nothing matters unless I let it. Is this right? It seems right.

We’ll discuss it tomorrow ….

comfortably-numb

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See Me

Under the guise of Nakedness
I am as cold as a razor blade
And darkly opaque
Vanishing slowly as only a seasoned exhibitionist knows how.

You said, hurriedly, towards the never-ending ending
That perhaps your own absence had a taste

It tastes like comfort exploding so slowly
That only my soul feels it at all.

But down deep we are strangers
Dangling our toes in the cool dark water near the shore
Of a darkly dreaming inter-subjective abyss

There is no center
No resting point in the dance of desperate signification
Just endless broken clones
Godhead shattered
Purity infected
Sanity sanitized and become a new toy of the mad

I like it when you see me
I like the fact that you want to see me
But this quagmire Freudian cozy swampy couch
Swallows me faithfully
And you circle like a dove or a vulture
In your straight-backed precocious chair

This ramble
More than the rest
Means just about nothing – or everything
But thank you for going on the journey with me

dream_2a6e7e9873 (1)

Creative Living – Beyond Self Consumption

workbuyconsumedie

I have a friend who is always animatedly disgusted about some aspect of life. Well when he is in a huff he calls it life. But really he is usually disgusted by other people’s behavior. But this seems more like righteous indignation rather than any useful, creative interaction with the world.

I love paradox. I eat that shit for breakfast. But I won’t be self righteous about the wrongness of being self righteous. Or be judgmental about people who are judgmental. In fact I’ve found a profoundly humbling little motto. “Yes, it is all about me.”

Before you run screaming for the hills let me try to explain. I believe that we are all tripping. Every single one of us. Some of us are tripping on drugs, some on power, some on Jesus – the list is endless. But it’s sure as nuts not reality. It’s just the story we assemble, sometimes meticulously other times on the fly, to make sense of the chemicals flowing through our brain.

The problem is not with reality – reality is pretty cool – the problem is with our uncreative, limited or negative narratives. That’s what I mean by it’s all about me. Mahatma Gandhi said it better – “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Here’s another quote by a less famous but even more brilliant Indian –

To be creative, which is to have real initiative, there must be freedom; and for freedom there must be intelligence. So you have to inquire and find out what is preventing intelligence. You have to investigate life, you have to question social values, everything, and not accept anything because you are frightened.

http://www.jiddu-krishnamurti.net/en/flight-of-the-eagle/1969-05-11-jiddu-krishnamurti-flight-of-the-eagle-6-the-wholeness-of-life

All this and curry 🙂

So this is an ideal. To be aware, fearless, intelligent. And loving of course. That’s the trip I want to be on. Not just when I take designer drugs but all the time. And this brings me to an interesting aspect of Consumerism. I think many of us know that the game on this planet, the one sanctioned by the military industrial media Macdonalds complex, is conspicuous consumption of product. The fact that this obsession enslaves us not just economically but psychologically and spiritually too is taken either as an inescapable fact of life or as a condemnation of some or other political system. It’s not. Those are just stories. In reality we just suffer from a lack of imagination. And compassion.

If people who say they love their children meant it, would there be war? And would there be division of nationalities – would there be these separations?

Krishnamurti again.

Forget the blerry rug rats. If we loved ourselves and each-other would we settle for this or transcend it. Nationalism, racism, capitalism, cannibalism – the whole Pandora’s box of Ism. And the first step is to realize that we have commodified ourselves. We choose lifestyles and narratives off the shelf. Some of us. Oh fuck alright you got me – I do. Or did.

I’ve beaten myself up because I bought the idea of material success, cars, houses, wives, kids. A whole package of ideas and requirements. Then hated myself for not being able to deliver. Consumed myself trying to become the right kind of product. Forgot that It was I that owned the means of production. I was just trying to manufacture a lifestyle that was odds with my soul.