I made a hole in the bottom of the freezer. I was trying to get rid of a huge and sturdy block of ice and with the hammer I hit too hard. I heard a pssssttttt coming out the newborn hole and I thought “I am fucked”. What upsets me the most is the thought of all that food going to waste. As a former anorexic, this is particularly unbearable, I don’t even know why. Denial taking form once again, travesty and mockery, that’s what it probably is. I feel the same sense of guilt I used to feel in the old days, when ingesting calories was like pronouncing a death sentence. The first thought that came to mind was “I should be hanged for this” but somebody rightly pointed out I was being too tragic over something that can happen everyday. That’s a crime too, you know. So now I rather feel like an inept who’s just hidden her ineptitude to the world with a cheap trick that’s going to be found out sooner or later. I don’t know why I have to dwell on this. I am a mean and trivial person, that’s what I am. When you spend years of your life thinking about denying survival on a daily basis, you probably lose the sense of reality. That’s the only explanation. But the more I think about the whole matter, the more I think how stupid it is to make things worse than they actually are, the more I am forced to think how much guilt there is in my carelessness.
Year: 2009
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Cropping visions
It’s not that I like ugly things. I feel that erasing the ugly from my field of vision is wrong. One can recognize beauty also by contrasts and contacts with ugliness. Also, something doesn’t have to be beautiful to be interesting or to offer something to your soul. Beauty can be a very shallow thing when it’s an end in itself, while ugliness always hides some significance to a certain degree, even when it’s not contemplated in its original intentions. Squinting the eyes to leave unpleasantness out is what on average one usually finds more natural, especially given our submerged visual culture. A distracted stare tends to stop only when senses are pampered to the excess. Bloated brains are hungry for more excess and decadence. Once it starts how can it be stopped? I don’t understand whoever tries to smother life in a cloud of smoky beauty that doesn’t say anything at all, just for the effect, just for the temporary sating; I don’t understand those trying to give ugliness the same status of beauty with lots of conceptual crap either. There’s no beauty in ugliness, but there’s a meaning to it, an urgency, an importance. Ugliness talks and threatens. It says more to us about the existent than beauty. It’s more connected with the present moment. Why denying it confusing notions and concepts?
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Do I ever learn?
It’s tiring. I always make mistakes. All the time. I have no intention of pitying myself. It’s a fact. I’m too easily distracted when I’m supposed to take care of important matters. I have a sense of responsibility somewhere but it doesn’t help. It’s irritating because I know when I am wrong and when I made mistakes. I’m just unable to act differently, I’m not learning anything from experiences. It’s an accumulation of the same mistakes over and over again, endless, boring, alienating. Can I become a whole if I’m still letting my pieces being disconnected the one from the other?
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One Sunday evening
Thanks to the sort of hallucinatory headache you sometime experience if you’re lucky, after a day of paralysis, in the evening I could space out for half an hour or little more. It was such a blissful moment, one of those moments when you’re consigned perceptions so diluted that every sound is only echo and every vision is only shadow. And gaps left by consonants in human communication are all blurred in a single vocal with many shades in it. All was so quiet and I could wish it lasted forever. In this period of time I reckon I fell asleep. I had a dream. A still living person but long removed from my life appeared on a sort of airy landscape with very few connotations. He was going somewhere, or so it seemed, and he was so terribly serious. When I touched his arm in a sign of greeting he talked to me. What he said I don’t think I want to write about, but it was the kind of thing that generates confused feelings in your conscience. The memories it brought back… But we were never close, so I have no reason to trust the words of a ghostly figure.
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Suffering from nihilism
What’s wrong with living in the past? Living in the past doesn’t necessarily mean being completely disconnected from the present time, it just means not accepting anything the present creates around you day after day, preserving something valuable. This thirst for the “here and now”, I really don’t get it. It’s vile. It’s not progressive, it’s just a form of nihilism, the worst species of nihilism, the kind that rejects everything on some basis that’s not product of a rational need, it’s just product of ignorance, because it’s easier to reject than to go back in time and understand what came before, what has brought us where we are now. How can anybody accept present without at least a vague idea of what the past is about? Roots need to be understood and digested before you can cut your ties with them.
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Histories of petty crime I
There’s someone in need of some serious spanking in the neighborhood. Someone having fun going around wrecking other people’s cars, making huge holes in their tyres, and so forth. What the hell. The average working person earns just what’s needed to live from day to day, to send kids to school and pay bills; the non-working person, usually somebody who’s retired after a crappy life doing awful things, has just what it’s needed for various vital expenses, and some brain-dead louse, aged from 15 to 30, with a fucking family always ready to save his ugly lazy useless ass, has the luxury to go around making a mess and destroying in a mere five minutes all the efforts a person surviving on a lousy pension or salary does in a whole month or more, forcing this person to jeopardize the whole family balance for a selfish and senseless destructive impulse. How I’d like to kick those people in their sorry asses and make them admit they’re the most useless scum ever; how I’d like them to be forced to do some real work once in their lives so they would at least know money is not produced by trees growing in the shitty courtyard behind their paternal houses. Those fuckers seriously need an injection of conscience.