"Then let me start again," I cried "please let me start again I want a face that's fair this time I want a spirit that is calm."
June 28, 2018
April 06, 2018
you've tried everything
As you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened.
― Douglas Coupland
Eurythmics: I've Tried Everything
April 03, 2018
March 29, 2018
January 20, 2018
January 04, 2018
December 17, 2017
November 23, 2017
no escape from loneliness
Sent to me by my Leonard Cohen fundamentalist Muse.
+ Leonard Cohen told us back in 2008 why he loved seeing other artists cover his songs.
+ Leonard Cohen : Une brèche en toute chose
May 15, 2017
February 10, 2017
January 07, 2017
Memory, some say, is fate's shorthand
Direct interference in a person's life does not enter our scope of activity, nor, on the other, tralatitiously speaking, hand, is his destiny a chain of predeterminate links: some 'future' events may be linked to others, O.K., but all are chimeric, and every cause-and-effect sequence is always a hit-and-miss affair, even if the lunette has actually closed around your neck, and the cretinous crowd holds its breath. Vladimir Nabokov, Transparent Things
November 17, 2016
of anguish and anxiety
“the background of your entire life, a background of anguish and anxiety, a sense that nothing goes well, that pleasure is unavailable and all your strategies collapse”.
- Leonard Cohen on depression
+ LEONARD COHEN: A FINAL INTERVIEW | September 2016| David Remnick from The New Yorker
August 10, 2016
January 31, 2016
January 02, 2016
September 16, 2014
egocentric memory/estrangement from self
Of course I am oversimplifying. When I tell you “sense of direction,” I mean what French neuroscientist Alain Berthoz terms egocentric memory which, he writes, is the “vestibular memory of self-motion.” To use Berthoz’s own example, this means intuitively remembering what it feels like to make one full turn in the dark —a movement-memory stored in the inner ear to call up later and translate, by complicated synaptic algorithms, into a pirouette. Negotiating space using landmarks is, conversely, allocentric memory. Most people, in navigating from A to B, are able to combine those cognitive skills.
All the Spaces Between Us: Struggling to Connect in a Pixilated World
+ On Leaving
+ 5 Things I Learned as the Internet's Most Hated Person
+ #GamerGate: Here's why everybody in the video game world is fighting
September 08, 2014
A lot of it is about suffering and how something always feels not quite right
"A lot of it is about suffering and how something always feels not quite right."
- My Muse
My wonderful muse was talking about something else but this line reminded me of The Leftovers. Especially after last night's overachieving and incredible season finale was stuck in my head.
"This, then, is the message of The Leftovers, revealed in the final minute of the final episode of the season. Pain, loss, grief, failure, shame: these things are real, and the damage they do is lasting and debilitating."
- “The Leftovers” finale: Frustrating and painful — but hopeful, too
This instrumental moves me. Everytime it was used in the show it was perfect.
[ Max Richter: November ]
August 23, 2014
loneliest moment
"The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."
F. Scott Fitzgerald
January 05, 2014
terrible lingering fears about ourselves
"How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?"
Don DeLillo, White Noise
January 04, 2014
no hope
“What he had really wanted to do was to tear a hole in his world and escape.”
Vladimir Nabokov
November 30, 2013
"I'm in a deep depression...."
My whole world
Breaking down
The pressure's on
The pressures' on
This whole way's
Falling down
The pressure's on
[ James: Pressure's On ]
November 28, 2013
Friendship is less simple....
“Friendship is less simple. It is long and hard to obtain but when one has it there's no getting rid of it; one simply has to cope with it. Don't think for a minute that your friends will telephone you every evening, as they ought to, in order to find out if this doesn't happen to be the evening when you are deciding to commit suicide, or simply whether you don't need company, whether you are not in the mood to go out. No, don't worry, they'll ring up the evening you are not alone, when life is beautiful. As for suicide, they would be more likely to push you to it, by virtue of what you owe to yourself, according to them. May heaven protect us, cher Monsieur, from being set upon a pedestal by our friends!”
― Albert Camus, The Fall
returning
I'm back. It is what it is. I almost wrote more but then time passed.
Writing is one method of dealing with being human or wanting to suicide cause in order to write you kill yourself at the same time while remaining alive.
Kathy Acker
A part of you is ending
A part of you holds on
A part of you holds on
A part of you is able
A part of you is gone
A part of you is gone
September 20, 2013
September 07, 2013
August 28, 2013
Feelings Illustrated
For a long time I've been debilitated in bed. Thinking too much. Sometimes not enough.
There's a rain cloud above me. Like all the good days have come and gone and now there is nothingness.
I have to draw the line in the sand and proceed towards contentment.
Mazzucchelli & Maleev
July 21, 2013
...from not loving
To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But, then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness...I hope you're getting this down.”
— Woody Allen
June 25, 2013
June 14, 2013
May 10, 2013
April 25, 2013
April 07, 2013
You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better
Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life. It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest yet be judge
neo hedonism
March 16, 2013
March 15, 2013
March 11, 2013
others emphasize my loneliness
“I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness.”
Anaïs Nin
Fabrizia*Milia
December 20, 2012
addicted
By MY VELVET UNDIES
November 29, 2012
November 20, 2012
can you hear me
I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
November 17, 2012
November 14, 2012
October 24, 2012
My happiness is a kind of challenge
Listen: I am ideally happy. My happiness is a kind of challenge. As I wander along the streets and the squares and the paths by the canal, absently sensing the lips of dampness through my worn soles, I carry proudly my ineffable happiness. The centuries will roll by, and schoolboys will yawn over the history of our upheavals; everything will pass, but my happiness , dear, my happiness will remain,in the moist reflection of a street lamp, in the cautious bend of stone steps that descend into the canal’s black waters, in the smiles of a dancing couple, in everything with which God so generously surrounds human loneliness.
― Vladimir Nabokov, Selected Letters
kinbote
October 23, 2012
October 22, 2012
makes sense
I feel extremely lonely and sad. I’m used to being by myself most of the time and having my own space in time.
Kathy Acker
Bukowski
prelude to a deluge (1)
[ Prelude to a Deluge of Posts: Part 1 ]
And I'm working at trying to find a kind of language
where I won't be so easily modulated by expectation.
Kathy Acker
I've druged myself with what I fondly call chemical truth serum. I need relief. My fastidious life has taken such a turn that I just want to dig a hole in the ground and jump inside and cry. Alas, my medicine does not let me cry at all. Any and all "sad"-like feelings get turned into "boredom". Lately I've been thinking long and hard as to why I saved myself. Why did I bring myself back from the brink of extinction? What are all these tribulations leading to exactly? I have to do whatever it takes to avoid self examination.
unsoundwilderness
September 28, 2012
September 25, 2012
daydreaming in hypertextuality
“My heart is beating like it’s lonely, like there’s nothing else inside of me.”
Junot Díaz, 'This Is How You Lose Her'
"Its easy to know what you want to say, but not to say it."
Mario Vargas Llosa
"Se escribe para llenar vacíos, para tomarse desquites contra la realidad, contra las circunstancias"
Mario Vargas Llosa
My
inspiration is coming at five ideas a second and seven songs a minute.
My computer can't keep up. My browsers have fatigue. So many open tabs.
I've hacked my brain
and created a sort of momentary synthetic hypomania. That's in addition
to the obscene amount of Red Bull in my system, probably enough for a heart attack. I have to ride the wave
as quickly as I can before it washes away. The posts have been
multiplying like little Gremlins
today1. I'm going to finish this
which I've been writing for a while in my head ( which means the better
more graceful parts are probably gone b/c I didn't write them down ). I
actually wrote something along these lines, a long text post, between
May and August, in small parts, but it never looked good once I was
sober so I eventually deleted it. I kept thinking I could salvage parts
of it until I gave up. I woke up on the I don't give a fuck side of the bed today.There's
some sort of filter that comes off during my curent state. Everything
goes.
I've tried rebooting myself so many times and it just doesn't work. "what I am is what I am, cause I does what I does" as Fiona Apple said. I'm not on some quest to find myself. I'm just stuck with who I am and annoyed with what I can't change. Irritated and full of Regret. I know who I am: a thematic tome of unrelenting desire and failed romances. I'm very hard on myself.
Sometimes I find it offensive that I need anti-depressants to live. As if there's a sort of Natural Law that says we should all be Happy that does not apply to me and chemistry has to keep me breathing. A synthetic existance. Mostly it leaves me bored, with hints of quiet desperation.
There is currently no girl, no woman, no Romantic Interest. Only Lustful daydreams of a mistress. I'm a blank canvass with a drip of red pain falling halfway down the middle. And this painting is stuck on a wall.
I don't pray hard enough for amnesia. I don't pray at all. Maybe that's why it hasn't happened.
I was telling the most Lolita girl I know how much I wish I had a photogenic female friend in this city to take my own photos for posts on here. All my girls, they get married. All the nymphets are now older and having babies.
Andy is right. I don't want what I can't have anymore. This is a much practical stance.
Well, I'm off to write my first short story in years. It's called "The sexual frustrations of a man without a serial number"
1 written between 9.20 and 9.22
*Nishe / I love you / p0und-the-al4rm /wild hearts / I was blank / i am who i am
September 13, 2012
Toska
“Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness. No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
Vladimir Nabokov
Recent Comments