Verbal Diarrhea: 7.30.17

So I’m going to stick with honest portrayals of what these are, for now, until I figure out if they’re anything else.

I fucking love Riot Grrrrl (spelled wrong, probably), man…or should I say woman? Kathleen Hanna, Le Tigre, Bikini Kill; the way that bass kicks up like a bucking bull to the teeth; those random turns into pure-pop ecstasy, write now (puns), I’m getting my Best Coast on, although I guess that’s really not Riot Grrrl….yep, it’s considered courtesy of Wikipedia as “Indie Pop”. Well, I suppose if you’re going not be punk, and sound like Shirley Manson refuse version 2.0, I guess you are really closer to grunge, anyway.

But back to the pointless: Riot Grrrl, and girl punk as a whole, and girls as a whole: fucking kick ass. A propos of my entire existence, I’ve always been kinda obsessed, and not just in the usual testosterone methodology you would probably think.

I fucking love the art of Woman, and Feminism, and the eternal struggle to not be a sex object. Not that I would know anything about that. I’m pretty much the anti-thesis of that mess.

But of all my favorite authors, auteurs, directors, bassists, musicians, pin-ups, et. al., I’d say the distribution favors the fairer sex, on a more regular basis. And that’s probably cause I’m fucking shite with women. British slang pronunciation for emphasis.

So, if you’re hip to Psychology – which I know my reader (I checked the stats, it’s a whole one, probably my mom) – is totally, then you may know of these things that Freud came up with called “Defense Mechanisms“. Now, I mean made up in the scientific sense of the word: He didn’t make up shit, he just observed this thing, slapped his name on it and called it something, and now his Male Gaze is slapped right all over it.

Humanity: the snarky comment.

Anyway: Defense Mechanisms are your brain resisting some harsh shit about your background processes: one of your .dlls is kinda something that your conscious brain just like, cannot deal with; but it also can’t delete the .dll from your background processes without like, turning you into a vegetable, and shutting down your entire brain. It would not be great. So, instead of letting this .dll see the light of day, conscious or external, it creates a shield of behaviors and attitudes that prevents it from doing too much damage. Depending on which behavior it chooses, it made a good choice; or, man, did it fuck up.

Fortunately for me I’m pretty hip to these swirling doo-dads that sit in the primal sludge of my dark down nothing. The bottomless pit where the Id chills with its prerogatives of “Fuck, Kill, Indulge, repeat” (Probably going to be on Slipknot’s newest cut in the near future). As a result my defense mechanisms tend to be pretty chill. They are regularly just me sublimating, transferring, suppressing, altruism-ing (totally a thing), anticipating, and, most importantly, making really mean jokes about myself so others can get a giggle.

Level 4, motherfuckers. (Seriously, read that wiki-article, it’s not well cited, but the information is good).

But back to Lady-Humans: For a long time I was a fucking punk-ass bitch about the whole process of romance and courtship. I mean, I had the standard anti-feminism culture pack installed originally because that’s how culture do. But then, over time, I also realized I’m not really great at people in general. In fact, I prefer my own company to the company of others on a regular basis for about 15 different, often good reasons.

And now, Scott walker. Mmmm, yeah.

Oh, right: I had problematic views of women, and it got pretty bad as my Virginity ticker ticked up and up and up and I got kinda desperate. I made a ton of mistakes…and there are other things best left unsaid. And, long story short, I had a pretty shitty view of women.

And, I’ve always been sorta obsessed with art in a way most would consider estoeric. I watch everything. Partially because I love it, but also because it gives me insight into the emotional truths of man, if not the literal ones.

Like, Clarice Lispector (heady sigh): she just knows…well, everything, really, but her perspective is so fundamentally female in all its glorious contradiction. She’s at once emotional, and thought-out, and up and down, and yin and yang; she can sell the fact that she’s a bomb dipped in liquid nitrogen that has been defused and can’t blow up, but will still totally blow you to shit if you touch it.

And that sense of inherent contradiction, that near buddhist sense of transcendent struggle is something I often find in the literary fiction and art of women. Stuff like “The Awakening”, by Kate Chopin, or Alice Munro Short Stories or Sylvia Plath or the music of Savages.

There is this feeling that women contain universes, but they’re stuck in this cultural fortress from which they’ve struggled to break; and in the human non-psychopathic sense, it’s enligtening, and painful to watch; but it also creates these beautiful vistas of emotion that flit around like Kaleidoscopes that are somehow one.

And I got real hip to it, because it allowed me to create a legitimate sense of empathy in watching and consuming. Gaining an understanding.

I’m not quite as simple as I want to be, or as I sometimes advertise myself to be; but I’m allowed to be complex. In the case of women, at least what I’ve noticed, is that confinement that they can’t break…cause Boobs, or some inane bullshit like that.

All this is really to say that I’ve been binge watching GLOW, and it’s pretty fucking great, so like, watch it. Because if you’re a dude, you can, hopefully, gain a sense of perspective; and, if you’re not, well, I don’t know, I’m not y’all.

But I have to piece out, and be a superhero. I would say Peace, but that isn’t quite honest.

Word Vomit: 7.29.17

Fuckin’ courage, man.

What is courage? Really, I don’t even know. Recently I’ve felt like a coward, but not for the obvious reasons of the whole world being in chaos. The whole world has always been a more or less chaotic shit-show; some people who didn’t know it are just getting a taste.

I’ve been feeling like a coward cause my heart tends to start beating just a bit too quickly when I sit in front of the keyboard, and stare at my wordpress account. That’s why its so sparse.

And I know the reason, but knowing isn’t enough.

Random person of my readership of two humans, who are either a friend or my mom (Hi Mom!), you should know the following fact about me: I have pretty severe anxiety. Now, that’s not too uncommon these days. Everyone’s walking around like something’s about to blow up; and slight inane gestures have blown up chaos-theory style before they even have time to be causal fuckery that puts a wide space between Brazilian Butterflies and Texan Tornadoes. Alliteration, nifty.

But my anxiety comes from my most potent friend, and my bosomiest of buddies: writing.

Now, I’m never not writing. Let’s get that clear. And if I’m not writing one day, then I feel like garbage. I wake up and go through my day and in the back of my head is that little man who presses a button and says “Write” and then the signal is sent to my inert hands which are like “No, man, I’m busy right now” because I’m really busy right now; but that dude is like “no, bro, you gotta write”. And then eventually, I start writing and I feel better, and that little man — let’s call him Craig — doesn’t even give me a high-five for doing what he wants. He’s just like “you did your job, want a cookie?” in that sneering sort of disgust that accompanies people who don’t have time for your shit.

(Minor Course Correction).

Now, it’s not the thought of writing, or the lack thereof of writing…yeah, that works, that’s the issue. It’s people.

Now, as any creative person knows, you’re going to eat shit when you put your art out there. For every person who goes “Right Fucking ON”, there’s some asshole who thinks you’re rancid shit and is not only unafraid to tell you, but is willing to write a ten page think-piece on why you blow a bag of dicks: it’s a whole cottage industry for especially popular people like the Beatles , Christopher Nolan, and any one else who happens to have following of more than 5 people.

So really, I shouldn’t worry: I have a following of 2 whole humans. Which, hey, I can dig it. But lately, it’s become much harder to sit in front of keyboard and do shit. And the reason is pretty straightforward: people are fuckin’ HATEFUL, right now.

I don’t just mean your run of the mill shitty, without a sense of Sonder (seriously, that word is so cool, I just found out about it), or general basic empathy. I’m talking about “I WILL CUT YOU FOR SAYING THIS GENERALLY INOFFENSIVE THING MEANT TO CHEER ME UP BECAUSE MY FEELINGS ARE VERY SPECIFIC”It’s a real damper on any effort to say anything meaningful.

Cause I’m a nihilist…or I guess the correct term is existentialist (Hi Kierkegaard), and I don’t believe in A Priori Meaning (Fuck you Kant). And I don’t believe in it because I expose myself to lots and lots of stuff: Music, Movies, People; I make an active effort to expose myself to as much art and language as humanly possible.

At first, you get this sense of radical difference: Whoa, Jazz is so exotic. Then you go “How the fuck is this a movie, it’s just random images of shit”; then, the more you consume, the more you realize that Sonder thing: people see this shit, and it is like Sympathetic Strings on a sitar: they see the resonant frequency in themselves and they decide: dude this is great.

And in the case of language, your entire perception of the universe fundamentally changes. From the arrangement of Subjects and Objects, to the formality of speech. Suddenly, having a central view of people and things gets less and less tenable.

If I were to use a meaningful example that’s obnoxiously egotistical. For me, thinking the Beatles were the greatest group ever and then listening to everything else was like the realization that the earth was not the literal center of the universe, and that we’re not even sure where the center is; and, also, we’re totally fucking irrelevant.

And this is not a polite mentality. It requires that you treat everything as essentially meaningless. It means that something people get passionately — and oftentimes rightly — angry about comes off as silly and trite: why are you angry about this again?

And every time I have that thought, I become keenly aware of those things called Privilege that I have an abundance of; and how, every time I want to speak out against those methodologies — particularly the extreme ones — it is my number one weakness to saying anything that  people will listen to. I’m just some straight white dude, raised upper middle, college educated, with some mental illness. No biggie for these things. my understanding of danger is too confined to emotional isolation.

And I could argue to myself that my inability to express myself through writing is an effort at showing that I don’t want to step on voices that I consider important. But fuck that.

The hard thing about Courage, at the end of the day, is the fact that it’s not about winning: it’s about surrender.

In order to be courageous, you have to surrender yourself to the idea that you’re probably fucked. You have to be afraid, and then still move forward. You have to say “Fuck it”.

And I’m not at that point, but I will be, I hope.