Sunday, October 3, 2010

Extracts from Former-Self: Prelude to JPF Vol. 1

Again, two extracts. Both of which were written between 5-6 years ago. I've been deciding whether to make an abridged version of all the notes and recordings that contain these, to form a prelude for a current piece I am working on (the biggest project, a novel dare I say), that I obviously feel contradicts the stylistic and ontological angles of this now dated stuff. It's all just part of that common cliche: fear of publication for the worry of a change of direction. Thankfully, that paranoia is much more contained, secured by an ever increasing confidence in my personal opinions, and stances on discussions and dilemmas of the subjective realm. Not forgetting a content for the shape of the language itself, which interestingly has held its ground for the most part. Anyway, here are two paragraphs, this time more related, although not part of an absolute time line, or chronologically accurate.

I feel like I have just lost myself, even though I am still here with me. The constant reflection that was always there to gaze into is not anymore. Until now there was not one trifle void in which I could not do so. Having the sheer fortune of seeing this constant reflection, I was always in a pure harmony with everything and nothing. This magnificent microcosm was love in itself, a simplistic revenue that could purchase the greatest emotions and the most reverent reveries. I never expected my clumsy self to ever be shaded away from the spectral, to find complete and utter sentience with a divine semblance -- I was an avid fan of the prospects of abandonment and detachment. Once, to me, divinity in love was as absurd as the pagan melodies in religion or the stale believe in global solidarity and peace. Now it isn't just comprehensible, it IS, and I will be happily stuck in the quixotic shubbery of its maze for an eternity -- without any desire to find an exit.

The problem is that, as mentioned initially: I have lost it. It has gone from me, temporally, and I am agonising over the vacuum savagery has sucked me into. Savagery isn't murder, it's the climate we live in that is governed by spectacles we consider as 'evolved', or 'natural'. We are savages more primitive than ever, because we have developed absurd techniques to prevent us from gaining access to the few things that are more naturally inherent to our make up than moral and ethic (yet still not infinitely natural, as nothing is). Love, and the freedom to be where you want to be, are only options for a minority, and this minority still has to struggle to complete their desire for this. To be free is usually to be able to think freedom, but sometimes the only freedom we can contrive is the liberty to inhabit anywhere we want in the world at instantaneous request -- a political freedom rather than a moral one. But the political is currently more real than the moral -- with its plethora of restrictions and blinding spectacles -- and because of this we are less free than we are in a society ruled by existential municipals. I am not free right now to complete the one thing I desire most, because I still can't ridicule my beliefs by accomodating immediate wealth, materialism and conformity into my aspirations. For that reason I am now stuck with a temporary angst, but I will not let it guide my life (the self-torture and male angst of Hesse et al is a degenerate notion and is in no way different from the pathetic religious life of sin fearing). This mental enervation is not there not of my own accord, but of the mistreatment of the human race by itself and only itself. For that reason, I will not bathe my bleeding wounds in an acidic tub of self-pity, because it is not my fault that I am in this situation. My problem stems from a nucleus that is extraneous from me; I am innocent of my angst and dilemma. I will make use of this time away from her by ensuring there is no future possibility of it happening again, and that if life leads me to a path of angst oncemore I will have subjugated myself into that situation, not by the ghosts that dictate our lives.

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