The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: Resolution to Revolution

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: Resolution to Revolution: " I've got a slight problem. It rams itself into me every now and again. Luckily it's not life threatening or vicious. Rather, it has a hold..."

Resolution to Revolution

  I've got a slight problem. It rams itself into me every now and again. Luckily it's not life threatening or vicious. Rather, it has a hold on me for a period of time and it struggles to keep that hold. From time to time, like all humans, I become depressed. Some times it simply comes from telling myself that I am depressed, that I can't get what I want and all that negative, self-undermining bullshit.
  There is comfort in knowing that, most likely, by the next day it will all be gone. Not always, but most of the time it'll fade. The problem with that is though that I need to actually fall asleep. Depression wrestles and writhes against it quite fiercely and the nod remains allusive for hours. This extents the time I'm left alone with my thoughts, and they become drenched with misery, uncertainty and self-doubt and they weigh down heavy on my mind.
  Now, I will never commit suicide. I'd almost say I don't believe in it, it doesn't work for me. It removes you from the problem, not the problem from you. It's a cowardly escape; you move more to its will than your own. You are driven to suicide.
  The key to escaping its grip, depression's hold on our fragile threshold, is to counter it. If something strike you can strike back. Why not? Don't just lie there and take it. The way I see it, there is quick, euphoric releases; drugs work well in this department as does sex, I guess. These are our quick fixes. But you fall soon and you'll need to find it all again.
  I'm putting my bets on eudaphoria.  Hope I've spelled that right. No, I don't think that is a word, either way. Screw it, but I'll leave it there. What I'm going to argue for here is the slow type of euphoria, that building happiness. It comes as a surprise when you realize you're actually happy. Most of the time you're just lingering, apparently appearing, as if you're in a between state. Never too happy, never too sad. Of course there are always ups and downs, but they're no where near intense as the short burst mode counterpart. Rather, you realize you're happy one day, and it lingers for weeks, months. You build on it. You work hard, study, exercise and toil for this type.
  I very much prefer to balance the two. Right now, I'm not really fulfilling either. I can satisfy both needs easily, but this is not the location for it. I enjoy studying as much as I enjoy spending time with friends, reading books and writing as much as I do watching football.
  One of the things that makes me happy in an instant and in the longer run is studying languages, and at this moment Mandarin in particular. I still have wishes and a great desire to learn Japanese, but I have to save that for my later years, as right now there is hardly anyone to teach me.
  Mandarin isn't too pleasant on the ear, and its structure is ridiculously easy for me to understand (no conjugations). I enjoy it very much, but I enjoy learning it and broadening my understanding of it. The way it is constructed, the written script and the rhythm. Yes, people, Mandarin has rhythm in it.
  One more language I'm seriously considering is German. Nay, I'm not considering; I am going to learn German starting this year. I absolutely have to. It is important for me to get a head start with it as next year I want to do full German language studies at my varsity and in order for me to make the load lighter I want a head start. The more I can come to grip with it now the better.
  And of course, there is the question, why German? German has its own aesthetics I enjoy. But that is all I can say right now, because I do not actually know the language as well as I'd like. I want to study German and gain a basic understanding of it so that I can have a deeper gauge of it; I want to find the beauty in it as I have with Mandarin and to some extent Japanese.
  So, for the next six months this is my plan; learn German, better my Mandarin, get great grades for my philosophy modules and be a little more social. I'm tired of doubting myself, and I need this challenge to give me a hint of a strength. It's in the toughest of situations that we find ourselves and our potential, as clinched as that sounds.
  Well, that's it from me for tonight. A bit more personal than usual, but hey, it's a blog, it's virtually an open diary,.

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: To Drink a Pint of Guinness is like walking over t...

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: To Drink a Pint of Guinness is like walking over t...: " Today has been one of those days where music has been a better partner for understanding and describing the situation than any other form ..."

To Drink a Pint of Guinness is like walking over the British Crown

  Today has been one of those days where music has been a better partner for understanding and describing the situation than any other form of expression. I've in recent days started losing the ability to, or rather the need to, converse with people on a daily basis. My tongue doesn't lap about. I find there is very little I wish to say. And when I do speak I only mention small things, never enough to encourage a full conversation.
  But what I'm left with has been my thoughts. Always my thoughts return to my thoughts about my thoughts when all else has failed. This has always been a dangerous situation for me. Once I reach that point, where my mind becomes consciously aware of itself sleep becomes rare, actual thoughts of other things scarce and I turn into a depressive, introverted, ghostly form of myself.
  Often I have to find things for me to focus on. Stare the fuckers down; whether it be confrontation, obsession, passion or a mix and combination of all three. I need both function and a sense of falling apart. A striving forward with a weight at the back pulling me, not back, but to the right or the left, or even up for that matter.
  I find my shortcomings rather more an annoyance than anything else. Apparently I've got talents, but talents don't need me to carry them. I've got an obsession with adding to myself as many attributes, tastes and essences as possible. I want to learn Japanese, German, Mandarin, Russian, Spanish, and yes, perhaps even French despite past problems with that language. I want to read libraries worth of books, but excellently written books, each written with care, pride and grace. I've noticed I love writing things in threes and twos. Care, pride and grace. This is something I should look into, might be a stylistic manner I've picked up somewhere, but where?
  I haven't written much here, but I have written something. Words fail me tonight. Do yourself a favour, have a pint of Guinness and listen to some Rolling Stones. I sure enjoyed it.

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: Irony holds a wicked grudge against Knavegirls and...

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: Irony holds a wicked grudge against Knavegirls and...: " It was another unwelcome return to madness and bad form. The walls that surrounded me this morning were absolutely normal. No melting or f..."

Irony holds a wicked grudge against Knavegirls and Gaygirls

  It was another unwelcome return to madness and bad form. The walls that surrounded me this morning were absolutely normal. No melting or facial expressions to be found on them. No, this morning was normal in every sense of the word.

  But goddamn it, this can't go on. It's unpleasant to say the least, but that's not the point. It's the moral back bone, the principle - It's all about the fucking principles goddamn it! Listen to me! Dear reader the mind is a fragile device. Device is a word too inhumane to use in regard to the sapiens' mind. No, rather, the mind is a fragile system of relationships. Yes, relationships. Its relationship to itself, its dualisms of potential destruction, its own and those of others. It is influenced and affected by internal and external sources and phenomenon. Goddamn it, pay attention! This is important; we're here looking for one thing and one thing only - Enlightenment! 

  But does that even matter? In the end we all eat shit and die, no amount of fame worth its weight in gold and vanity can or ever will halt the process of systematic human removal. Every individual is nothing but the sum of his experiences. All this accumulation is self-undermining, as in the end we cancel ourselves out. Our lives are everything to us, as we are the one person we cannot live without, the one body and mind we cannot under any circumstances ever be parted with. Our very experience and the ability it grants is what signal our end.

  Enlightenment! I wrote above. Do I mean it though? Am I truly after enlightenment? Many have tried, often with illegal narcotics or euphoric drugs. Can happiness then be a form of enlightenment? Perhaps, or rather, happiness is the enlightened understanding of an emotion in a specific situation, but then the same goes for sadness, madness and all other emotional gibberish. Madness, yes, is the appropriate reaction, the attuned response, to the world when the mind has become fully aware of it and rejected it as such in the wake of this event. A mind can never be aware of itself; just like a junkie it cannot become aware of its own habit. The conscious mind is an egotistical creature; it holds the belief that its shit is really thunder and gold and everything it extends its neuron threads to will transform and bend according to its will. It will, however, completely implode on itself as soon as it gets a good look at itself. 

  So, what am I getting at? I myself do not know for sure. This morning I awoke rather unpleasantly. I had a late night, fell asleep after 2am and woke up just shy of 7am. Less than 5 hours of sleep after a busy day and work. I was indeed feeling groggy as can be. But what had woken me at that hour? And what was keeping me from falling asleep once more and continue on with my slumber?

  Dreams are vicious things. They are on par with masturbation, self-mutilation and self deception, but I repeat myself. This past night I dreamt, in the early hours, a rather malicious and sinister dream. I did this only to myself, and for this I curse my mind for not behaving as it should.

  The details of this dream is not necessary for you at all dear reader, as I am sure many of you have had similar situations were a sleeping thoughts turn into painful reminders of just how quickly the mind can be crushed under its own weight.

  It left me feeling crumbled; torn a bit. Doubt is always present in my life, as doubt is my mechanism to maintain humility. If I cannot know for sure, then I keep my opinions and preferences to myself until someone dares ask of me what I think. I'm not even sure of myself. In fact, I am very much against the idea of myself. What a cunt I am, eh? Maybe not, but doubting that I am a good, decent and perfectly likeable person allows me to attempt and try to be such a thing. But the same can also be said of me being an evil person. I'm just keeping my options and alternatives open; I can be both and neither of them at the exact same time. I am a dualism to the end. Okay, that did not sound humble at all; very well - I doubt that I am a dualism and now I shall strive to become a dualism. A dualism of something, but that is to be found and uncovered at a later time.

  So, is this the end of this piece? Did I say anything concrete? You decide dear reader. And as always, damn that smile, it ruined my sleep this time round.

For Whom the Clock Recurs

  So, a return after major inactivity. Yes, indeed. This time, I'm going to try and practice the Art of Hemingway. Sharp, short, tough sentences. Why not? Questions are not tough. Remove them completely. But that would mean removing the last three sentences. Fuck that. No, questions are tough. Doubt is a strength that bodes well for modesty. Should remember that line, and I'll take your head if you steal it from me. Yes, indeed.
  All right now, serious writing. Though. Sharp. Short. Sentences. Maybe that should have been a sentence. Hmmm, pondering. Is pondering tough? Sharp? Pondering is most likely not short. All right all right, down to business. What did I want to write about again? Yes, conflict and dualisms.
  The dualism of power and resistance. Very much a Foucault dualism. Every power generates or creates its own form of resistance. Very much like that idea. Rather than power versus weakness, it is power versus its own form of resistance, after all weakness does not challenge, confront or oppose it. Isn't that a true contradiction? Something that works against its polar opposite.
  Conflict with various aspects in my life has slowly driven me mad, I suppose. Am I really mad? It's much more likely that the idea of me going mad is what appeals to me. After all, lunatics don't work with a broken beat.
  But conflict is an interesting notion, isn't it? Antagonistic conflict and 'friendly' conflict. Different tones to it all the time. Am I making much sense? No, think not. Damn.
  Perhaps this is all a stream of useless thoughts. You need those, you know. Useless thoughts are just as important as useful thoughts, as they operate much in the same fashion as power versus resistance. We are always working against ourselves. It's obvious; even when we can clearly see a certain action as healthy, good and beneficial for us, we often take the alternative route. Personal choice, I guess. Some of our comrades have taken the romanticism of the rebel, the nihilist and the straight up asshole way too far. But a lot of personal choice rests upon what our actions mean not only to ourselves but also to others. Relying too much on the others will create a dependent identity. We each need an independent identity; a soul to call each our own.
  I must be rambling again. Yes, I am. It's late. My mind is slow. Broken down. End it with short, sharp and tough sentences. Spent most of the weekend thinking about one smile. That's what's robbing my sanity. I'll be a lunatic if this damage goes on. Keep the mind straight. Force it to work. Stare the fucker down.

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: The Scene to be Seen is inherently Depraved and De...

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: The Scene to be Seen is inherently Depraved and De...: "Above everything else, for the love of my breaking heart - don't leave me alone with these carnivores . There's not much you can do with s..."

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: So, here I sit. Listening to Pink Floyd's Dark S...

The Scene to be Seen is Inherently Depraved: So, here I sit. Listening to Pink Floyd's Dark S...: " So, here I sit. Listening to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. (Why would I write that down? Really, what is the point of mentioning tha..."

  So, here I sit. Listening to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. (Why would I write that down? Really, what is the point of mentioning that? What's the point of mentioning this?)
  I've got several choices of entertainment to choose from tonight. Reading. Watching a film, or a television series. Studying (despite being on holiday/vacation). Mindlessly procrastinating. Those are my options.
  I can choose to read Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita (Which I haven't finished, so gob to you who will spoil it for me). It's an extremely entertaining book to read. The madness that ensues after Satan rises up from hell into Moscow is dealt with an extraordinary sense of rhythm and prose by Bulgakov. A real treat. And I really need to finish it, since the book I've got lined-up after Master is none other than Ernest Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls. From Hell we go to War.
  I've got a selection of films to entertain me on this cold evening. I can choose between films I have seen, and enjoyed, or films I still have to peer at. I can re-watch sections of Guy Ritchie's Rock-N-Rolla, Snatch or I can watch Revolver for the first time. I can do the same to Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds and Reservoir Dogs (great title, I think). Or I can ignore all these options and watch films I have yet to experience. 13 Assassins, Requiem for a Dream. There is still a lot to watch. But perhaps I shall settle for my current favourite; In Bruges. It's one of those movies that just becomes better the more you watch it, at least, every time you catch a glimpse of something you missed earlier. But maybe I'm just over analysing it all.
  As far as television series goes........Not really in the mood for it now. Been watching Weeds, but it feels rather formulated to me. An equation is involved, I'm sure of it. There is also Green Wing, but not tonight. Not in the mood for that madness.
  I can study further, work on my mandarin, improve that as much as I can. Already did some today though, so maybe that's enough. Maybe not.
  Maybe, what I should be doing is working on some stories and plot lines. I've been working on a "book" idea. Rather still unfinished, but the later and key points are being fleshed out. I really should work on that, yeah. I don't need to write a book and have it published. Rather, and this is of utmost importance, it is my attempt to see if I have the creative stamina to finish a +200 page work of attempted/possible literature.
  Yeah, I should be doing that. But later. First a walk, to air my head out, and then some writing, a bit of a film, and then reading, with the dog sleeping on the bed covers and me under them.
  Until later then, you lunatics

Mo Ghile Mear

  There wasn't much going on. There almost never is or was, for that fact, anything going on. My current location is just one of those sites on this earth that he dread returning to. Escape is a luxury.
  And so here I sit, craving a hot cup of tea, the dog sleeping in my bed and reading up on some random Japanese Sengoku Period Daimyō for some strange reason. The mind makes strange leaps, yes it does. Oh yes, I cannot forget to mention, listening to Irish music as well. Lovely stuff.
  So, what is the reason for this piece of text? What has been the inspiration for this body of writing? Can't really say. In fact, I'm not quite sure of whom I'm writing about. Guess I'm writing this all about a smile. Damn that smile. I know very little of what goes on behind it though, and therein lies the problem. But that is the nature of crushes, ain't it? Nein, nein, nein! That is the nature of all relationships. You can look at your friends as your mirror images; perfectly reflecting you and you reflecting them. It's a vicious cycle, and you then think you know each other quite well. But people are always surprised by the amount of people who they trust that end up stabbing them several times in the back.
  Relationships, by their nature, relies on trust, and more importantly, on an active involvement from both parties, whether friends, or intimate partners. Someone pushes, you get pushed; simple really. But it is in that simplicity that allows space for things to become, well, complicated and unpredictable. Friendship is a rather fragile and resilient thing. It is both of those things, a dualism. And that's what's so complicated, the dualisms. By being in a relationship, you create the environment to strengthen it and ruin it at the same time. For example, you can only cheat on your partner if you have a partner, but when you're single that cannot occur. For every decision we make, we must sacrifice and accept its consequences and responsibilities and alternatives.
  So, what am I really writing about here? A girl I assume. Honestly, some things about myself I've actually hidden away from myself. But, as always, damn that smile.

The Scene to be Seen is inherently Depraved and Derived

Above everything else, for the love of my breaking heart - don't leave me alone with these carnivores.

 There's not much you can do with synaesthesia. It hits like a hammer when the situation doesn't demand it, and hides amongst the rats when you actually do need it's uppers and downers. But most of the time, it's a steady pulse. Colouring the world, giving sounds a swirling taste and letting you know before hand the vibes of a club on the inside, by just listening to the outside streaming in. Like any good drug, the people who need it, don't have it. The people, who do have it, suffer the sling shot surprises it holds for you.

  I was somewhere near the centre of the universe, close to the edge the desert, when a particularly bad spell hit me like Thor nailed Jesus to the cross. It was the computer lab of my University. Not that it was anything special. In fact, it was a boring sodden place. It was lonely when it was full, and pleasant in the wee hours of the morning. But all in all, it was just another place to be in space and time. I might as well have been standing on a corner, pretending I was selling some sweet ass.

  This time round, there were a lot of people in the room. Swooping like bats in and out. Colliding like oncoming trains, and risky serious social injury with smiles, glares and the occasional pleasantries. This much I could tolerate. Like all things in life, you get used to it. You begin to, not exactly develop a tolerance for it, but rather a subconscious resistance. The brain rejects the morbidly obese fucker sitting on the same chair for the last two days you see. It cannot handle it. It would crash and burn and would turn in on itself and disappear completely. We all know people with a head like that. They're not junkies. No, junkies might not deal with reality, but they have found a way to fucking not deal with the shit reality throws at us. No, the people who couldn't handle what they saw were those unlucky ones. We seem them everyday. They have that walk; that struts screaming with every step. They don't feel pain. They don't recognize pleasure.

  Junkies, at the very least, feel pain. And they recognize that pleasure can remove that pain. But these poor ghosts, on the other hand, well, they struggle with neither. They lost the rope, so there can be no tug of war.

  The only way for the human mind to survive the scene of two people necking at each other, slurping and sucking and kissing and toiling in public is to ultimately reject it. It's not rejecting the world, it's rejecting their experience. Have your own for Jesus Hubert's sake.

  But there is of course the chance that this is just me. The fact that you might be out to get yourself, although a paranoidish absurdity, is highly possible. Especially if you don't have the right drugs to kill the damn beast.

  And so I was writing. I was writing this thing, goddamn it. Ye, fucking gods. It was a rather sordid scene in the computer lab. Some were jolly and laughing, others were punching in and punching out from essays and social networking. Me, personally? I was procrastinating. I got ahead with an essay, so I decided, rather than finish it today, I would do so t'morrow. Rest a bit. Write a note. Write a bit of prose. Give the mind some creative stimulation and let it have a trip on itself.

  I don't pay any attention to the voices around me. I allow the syllables and consonants to float through the air, and become gibberish and mere sound to my ears. Their faces are faces. Their lips are mere curves on their globs. Turn your head, drop out and tune into your own style.

  Every now and again I would see something that catches my eye. A stir, a familiar face, or just some really ugly looking motherfucker. Not even a mother could love that face; that pignosed, red son of a bitch deserves to work only in radio. And only the late shift. We need to hide this freaks from our vision, especially peripheral vision. Our minds can't handle it. We'd have a mental break down and we'd do something terrifying. Something completely unexpected, even to ourselves. Like whimper. In the middle of a busy freeway. Something insane and unimaginable like that. Or maybe suicide. Suicide, despite what people might tell you, is always an option. Not a great one, but hey, at least it beats wearing pink golf shirts.

  I got my real jolt when I saw the Morbidly Obese Guy sleeping. Oh, sure, using his double chin as a pillow wasn't really a sight for sore eyes. No, what fucked me over big time was that he was chewing. The human mind cannot, under any normal circumstances, tolerate or reject this. It was a simple case of; you should not be looking, but it's there, happening before your eyes. And you stare the bastard down. Surreal, life threatening moments like these reaffirm your existence, and your preconceptions of people. No wonder people can be racist and prejudiced; crazy fuckers like these actually exist.

  These are the freaks who walk into gas station stores, who then proceed to steal all the canned tuna and crackers. They shoot people like John Lennon. They turn into Richard Nixon. They walk into your room and try and stroke the wall, just because the paint looks like it needs a cuddle. Fuck, of all things, I need to keep my distance from these people, before they shoot me just because they couldn't work through their shit any other way.

  And so, I bid thee farewell. At least for tonight. It was a nice experiment, but now, I've got to get out of here. My head can't take anymore. Sensory overload. Mediocre faces. Average pulses. I need an empty street, a dark shadow here and there, and a good book to read. Later all, and stay of the rabbit meat, it takes a strange turn on you.