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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Transcend

 

I’m tempted to call her Lola, to protect her identity. But then I realise that she’s quite fond of revealing herself, so I’ll call her Vika. Vika reveals herself, never exposes herself.¬†People are exposed to harmful situations but the softer secrets of the universe are revealed. In order to experience a revelation the soul has to be ready for the penetration of light. Exposure is far more scientific and precise. And cold.

She is half Persian and half Russian and under body adornments lists a penis. She is in the process of gently morphing from feminine male to feminine female. She is growing breasts with the help of pills but plans to keep the penis for a few more years. She wants to be able to wear a swimsuit in public but has grown attached to her male apparatus.

I used to suffer from endless prejudices and phobias. Things are no longer so clear. I have met beautiful men and ugly women and have learnt to see the tangled intersections of biology and culture as unavoidably, tragically common and not rare at all.

My own experience of this dual aspect of life is far from simple.¬†For me it’s not so much about sex vs. gender. It’s a more general software / hardware issue and I haven’t yet found a pill that helps. I haven’t even found a language to describe what I mean.

Perhaps in earlier times I could have spoken in terms of Cartesian dualism and the endless problems that that perfect abortion of common sense caused. Just for the record – however you choose to chop it up – there is only one ontological substrata of being and it includes minds and bodies. That’s the philosophy of Katzian Holism but it’s little known outside the confines of my own head.

New Age types in the 80’s suddenly discovered energy and deemed it far more fascinating and hip than matter. Perhaps they knew that at least since Einstein, and most graphically since Hiroshima, energy and matter are translatable using that really big number c squared (9 * 100,000,000,000,000,000 Metres per Second). But they chose to forget that – as if night was of a different substance to day and not caused by us spinning while we circle the sun.

Or software / hardware, form / content, subject / object. Seems that part of being human is to be constantly caught in a multitude of dialectical tensions. Sometimes multilectical or even metalectical – but those are more words that can’t really breathe outside of my head.

So Vika I salute you. You are a gorgeous artefact and a celebration of the power of transcending false dichotomies. Perhaps sometime soon I will go for my own little operation. In my case the troublesome organ is the brain – I feel like I am an Eagle stuck in mind of a rat. Or perhaps the problem is just finding the right words – magical words that only exist in my head but will show me the way to escape. To evolve. Transcend.

geena
Geena Rocero : Supermodel