Friday, January 11, 2002

Oh yes, a great selfish debacle.

I have long since ceased caring about what happens here in the NetWorld. Once my lifeline, it has now been relegated to a big bunch of claptrap. Self-indulgent drivel such as you might find in any bar. Lacking eye contact, but what else is new?

I am reminded of Lulu having Jimi Hendrix on her show. Lulu, full of late 60's pop glam, was thrilled to have such a sensation on her show. She was going to sing "Hey Joe," a song made famous by Love. It'd be a duet. Jimi, high and freaked out by the breakup of Cream, had other ideas and immediately launched into an imprompteau (and totally unrehearsed) "Sunshine of Your Love" cover at top volume. Sloppy, loud and rude. Lulu left her own stage in tears.

I feel like setting fire to my own house and dying in it. I feel like vanishing into the merchant marine, like going to a country like Argentina or Afghanistan to find out what real suffering is like. The tortured, self-indugent gentry who flocked to the trenches in 1916 have much in common with me. Soft times have begat a reluctant, self-loathing fool who craves validation and deeper meaning. I wish to not keep repeating the same mistakes but I keep on keeping on. My wife (new wife) feels abandoned and alone, victime of cruelty and wicked self-indulgence on my part. My seven-year-old daughter talks to me of suicide. My father talks to me of new computers and long-dead poets and excuses for why he never follwed his dream. My brother is silent, suffering in his own world.

My dog is dead, killed by me at animal control, and I didn't even have the courage to be with him at the last.

Anything I thought I was is a lie, and what I am left with is less than I would desire. Dreams have died hard in me, but I've not been willing to work for them, prefering divine intervention.

This sounds like a suicide note, but I have no intention of killing myself. I do not believe in anything except eternal defeat (and, oddly, reincarnation). I also believe in the redemptive power of art. I do not believe in nobility, humanity, altruism, holiness, rightousness or any ultimate good. I do not believe in any definition of God as such (except as regards to capitalization). I don't believe in purpose except as a rationalization after the fact.

I am empty, deceived. I am useless. I have failed and am not even rich to compenate myself for such emptiness. I have shed no truth burt have squandered my gifts minute by minute on the most trivial of pursuits. I have no protoge or legacy, nor do I believe that they would have value had I developed them. I admire those such as Czelaw Milosz who continue to struggle even as old men, but I do not believe they have any ultimate good effect on humanity. Except for immediate self-serving purpose, I believe that high art is is sham, a cowards game. Homer wrote the only war story and it is always the same however well told.

Why I am even trying to emote this in this venue is a mystery to me. The optimist in me would say that this is evidence that I do indeed believe in something.

Nihilism, true nihilism, can only be arrived at and never espoused. Belief in nothing is no belief at all. The most torturous state I've seen so far is quasi-nihilism. I cannot truly believe in nothing because I cannot release my idea of myself, my dreams and my ambitions. Everything must fit into the mold I have cast. I am 36 and act as though I have all the time in the world.
TheTao says there is freedom in nothingness. Show me this.

Show me this.