See, the thing is, we never really know what we’re like until we’re retroactively-retrospectively thinking, until we get to that point where we’re so outside of what we once were that you become Cylons– multiples clones– standing amongst yourselves, figuring out who stands where, in front or behind.
The best way to do this– physically manifest your being at that given point in time. Possible (some improbable-babble) methodologies:
1. Physically freeze (e.g., Hans Solo)
2. Photos and Video
Which I prefer, although being disgustingly photogenic, because it’s the only way too look back at the most obvious telltales– the mundane and trite items.
There is a place in New York where people perform readings– of their high school diaries. Not surprisingly, there’s a lot of cringing and squirming from both the audience and the readers. I would be an awesome candidate, having kept a diary since I was seven years old, all the way through school, and masterfully acquiring the skill to write ten fabulously embarrassing spiral notebook pages– college ruled– scribbled heatedly in purple pen about taking the long way to class so I could pass someone’s locker. Or about our ridiculously handsome gay English teacher.
So back to what we were talking about:
Diaries and blogs, fingerprinted miasmas of my personalities past and present and thank-god-she-is-fucking-gone, photographs of our (if-she-even-has-a) soul. Entries from the past:
July 9, 2007
The Self-Entitlement Revolution (Revulsion?).
There were a lot of other factors I blamed: 1a) ADD, and its cousin, 1b) ADHD, 2) Parents supporting their adult children, 3) American Hegemony, and of course, 4) video games and 5) rock and roll. Especially those last two– you see the explanations for them everywhere, all sorts of horrific events from Columbine and Virginia Tech to shootings on Los Angeles freeways and other types of pathological abusive behavior, all supposedly learned from video games and rock and roll. There’s hundreds, maybe thousands, actually– of claims of the correlation, I suppose, it could make more sense with the video games– I mean, you’re trying to kill, right?
But in the case of music, honestly, who ever shot up a post office after listening to “Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam”?
If anything, it’s more about 6) sex, and its own factors.
Music will make you want to have sex. TV and film might make you want to. Video game characters might make you want to have a go.
After experiencing the ‘little deaths’ and lying in bed, think about Sparta. Compare how relaxed and happy and tired you feel to Sparta’s military state; the obligation to send every 7 year-old boy to the military, where they would live for the rest of their lives, apart from even their “wives” after marriage, that were considered less of of a union than a casual dalliance (women were not held to fidelity).
In this life and simplified state and seriousness they led, their lives almost contractually given to the state, not allowed to have sex– for it was believed, that sex would stray away the soldier’s mentality into a sun-filled deep slumber. And also the belief that after sex, there was no accountability to the state, but only to the person they held hands with during that deep, satiated sleep. And they were right.
The Wall Street Journal, addressed and introduced a basis to something I’ve been trying to figure out for the past half-decade– personal accountability.
It’s American to blow up fireworks on the 4th of July.
It’s American to sue.
It’s American to deserve what’s rightfully yours, and even more American to deserve it if it isn’t rightfully yours!
So, in an effort to address this problem of personal accountability, the WSJ has accounted for a new factor, the children’s television show, Mr. Rogers. The one where you learned that when you arrived home, you were to take off the jacket you were currently wearing, put it away, and put on a cardigan. Where you realized that windowsills were actually train tunnels leading to an imaginary world.
In this article it was emphasized that because of Mr. Rogers’ philosophy of telling each child that they were special As They Were, it gave them a sense of entitlement for No Good Reason. And thus started the Self-Entitlement Revolution. (Revulsion)
What I’m accountable for, has nothing to do with my merit. What mistakes I’ve made, has no bearings of consequence on me.
Ironically, does this mean that the author of this WSJ article was an avid watcher of Mr. Rogers, that he is actually blaming a children’s television show about puppets for modern nanosecond cultural phenomena?
April 18, 2006
Cyclically Fickle Natures, Dark Glasses and Tea.
English Breakfast black tea, two cups; subj: Monday morning manifestos. chili cheese bread and “how was your weekends?” in colorful (to me) and dreary (to them) detail. “Why are you wearing glasses?” Someone asks me and I immediately think of Laura in Kundera’s Immortality. I’m going to reply, “To cover my sadness.” In essence it was the exact opposite: Laura wore sunglasses not to cover her sadness, but as a declaration to the world, showing off her sorrow, imploring and demanding everyone through fashion attire, that When You See These Dark Glasses Perched On My Nose And Tear-Stained Cheeks, You’ll Imagine The Sorrow I’m Feeling.
“To cover my sadness,” I reply dramatically and falsely, as I write this sentence, this moment.
“Omg, no you did-ent. You’re a liar, you’re happy.”
I don’t know, though. According to the Los Angeles Times, April 17, 2006, a very brief excerpt:
“For you…You actually yearn. Your insides cry. Your aura reaches…”
— The horoscope section.
And then I heard a voice on the exteriors of my visual periphery that answered the accusatory calling me a liar, “She’s just doing it to get attention.”
Hypocrisy, the only true and pure element which actual practice stays true to its meaning and delineation, is what we’re seeing.
Isn’t it funny or obvious that I’m searching for scapegoats in the quest to find out who’s to blame for blame–?
Today was a not-so-good day. I cannot wait until tomarow because Me and Melanie and Melinda and a whole other girls are going to the brownie scout meeting. Melinda said there is going to be a big earthquake on May 8, 1988. Today I hate that new boy because He didn’t listhen to me. I sure do not like him.
So now you’ve finally grabbed the heels of your wheels, right? Now you get it? Looking at these three past postings, you see how much I’ve changed, don’t you?
How evolved I’ve become.
Here comes the Apology & Yearning Part
I’ve circumvented too much to the point my tangents have their own tangents. (Here again)
Honestly, forgive me deserted blogs and diaries, scattered amongst hard drives, notebooks and internet.
Most of the time I have to leave you to escape from someone else & I feel guilt from doing so & resentment on why I leave. The best way to know me is to read me.
What is writing but invading your own privacy–?
Soul tears fish & frogs have been poured into you. I’m superglue-attached but I don’t think I can ever go back. So I hope you’re not jealous of PTP because this is: an exercise.
The thing is, I haven’t been able to write properly being happy & joyous and I need to learn. How to be happy & be able to write well still– this is my challenge. So I joined this writing group to forcibly make me write.
Look at Coldplay: They were good when they were sad, then whatshisname got rich and married Gwyneth, how sad could he possibly fucking be– and the next albums weren’t so good, and obviously they’ve disciplined themselves into learning how to make art while being happy, and now they’ve succeeded.
Also, they told me I had to use wordpress, & if I didn’t, I’d be royally screwed.