same as it ever was and the birth of nihilism
Something snapped within me this week, and it is something that through the limitations of twitter and conversation I have been trying to articulate. This is the first attempt at actually creating any sort of prosaic, or hopefully lyrical, sense of what has been wandering in my mind.
Most of what has been on my mind has come through the generic filter of cultural musings. In my undergraduate studies of history, I chose the conservative focus on political triflings --the blase, mundane factoids of dates, peace treaties, the occasional digression into mentioning an important piece of art or literature, naming wars and kings and queens and dictators and all that other jazz that to most people comes across as boring and uninspired. Much of my coursework also ended up dealing with culture, specifically the strain of history known as intellectual history. The discussion of man's thoughts, man's mind, inherently takes on a messy approach.
Life is a messy process. In conjunction with that, I'll offer the Woody Allen paraphrase that sex is only dirty if you're doing it right. Part of my neurosis is a rejection of the tidy, unseemly aspects of life. In much the same way that 20th century dictatorships, or at least Nazi Germany, were characterized as "neat" "efficient" systems, there is no truth to that generalisation. This is the teleological perspective, which is anathema to what many consider the true aim, the true focus of the study of the academic discipline of history. Even in the unruly arena of thought, there are certain guidelines and parameters. In other words, to describe what cannot really be described, certain conventions are adapted as begrudging compromises. Of course, that is to be part of the establishment.
For the uneducated, uninformed, libertarian crowd who believe in autodidactic learning, that latter view is a fine approach to life. Of course, as I am part of the establishment, I very much so reject that. A cliche that was recently spoken to me was something to the effect of "If you didn't rebel before you were 18, you have no heart; if you haven't joined the establishment by the time you're 30, you're a fool." This statement, much like any cliched statement can do, had a certain effect upon me.
At the age of 26, I am firmly entrenched in the establishment. While as a teenager I did advocate wholesale, violent change in the broad program advocated by Marxism and some of its subsequent offspring philosophies, I never really acted upon that. My goal was to erase the system. This gradually became tempered as I realised the true implication of such and as my studies of history continued the failures of 1789, 1848, 1917, etc weighed heavily upon me. As I gathered from one historian, anarchy --which is considered an inevitable stage in the collapse of one system and the adoption of another system --is the most loathsome experience one can endure. The strain of totalitarian terror has a certain comfort which anarchy robs from people. In The Big Lebowski Walter makes a comment in a similar vein: "Say what you want about the tenets of national socialism, but at least it's an ethos."
At 26, I have certain ethos, certain ideas which are implanted in me. I have spent 15 months trying to adopt new habits and modes of thinking. This is exceedingly difficult, it is true. Even at this young of an age, it is apparent how much effort and time it takes to make meaningful change.
As cultural history, or at least its studies pinpoint, is that while perhaps traditional political history can be neatly divided by peace treaties or years of a leader in power, thoughts don't work that way. I'm not well versed in Marxism, so perhaps it is my own gross distortion, and part of pop culture distillation of Marx to rely on the assumption that change can be done in one swift move. But this is not how anyone lives.
Life truly is a series of continued actions, many small and imperceptible. Only by having people self-select to take note of these actions --i.e. any academician or concerned citizen --are these changes noted or described. Thus, periodization, becomes an ideological battle. Anything, really, becomes an ideological battle. But, these are phrases of the establishment; to be condescending and reinforce my own conservativism, this is where everything "amounts to a pissing match."
I am pissed. Or, to borrow from my own idiolect, I am mad as hell.
What is to be done? That is the question of now. Whatever is to be done, big or small, will be tied to post-hoc interpretations. The events of yesterday will be judged failures or successes, at least by the rules of now. But, if the switch which went off a few days ago indicates --what are the rules of today?
In the process of change, a change that has been going on for at least 15 months and has a fairly discernible timeline attached, I am at a stage where it seems appropriate to ask, to truly dig deep and ask what the point of all this is. Why am I doing anything I am doing?
From 2003-05, I was fairly infatuated with the idea of becoming a monk. The idea of renouncing everything seemed appealing, but impossible. I tried texting someone about this and got the general, hostile reaction I was expecting. It was sort of a "why even think that? that's stupid."
When in the depths of despair and in a serious winter malaise, I continued a line of questioning that comes directly out of the establishment --"What is the purpose of life? What is the meaning? I need an answer." The person's hostile reaction today was merely an echo of the answer I got to those questions then "life for life's sake, dummy." To further echo that, I've been noticing someone repeating the idea this way: "If you see me wandering, don't assume I'm lost."
Life is a process, I concede to that notion. There is a lot I find myself conceding to, from every corner. I find myself acquiescing and willing to simply blend in on my terms. I've never followed my own path, but I am starting to wonder if I should. What will my path be?
As I've said before and continue to say, I had no life envisioned beyond college. I knew I wanted to be a man of letters, but I never articulated it that way. The first passion was to make movies, to write scripts and direct. I was told that in order to be good at that, writing takes practice and it would be a worthwhile endeavor to keep a journal or diary. This was probably told to me c.1996, but it was not until 2000 that I began my current tradition of regular notebooks and documentation of aspects of life. There are numerous gaps and omissions in the records, documents purposefully destroyed, coded messages written to myself that spark the synapses enough to go "oh yeah, that meant something...but what?" but never go any further.
Somewhere along the way the movie idea faded to black and was replaced with the idea of teaching. First it was American history that seemed important; than, to understand the antecedents and roots of America became important, which lead to European history. My mind remains in that Western tradition. The cultural and political trappings are deemed worthwhile. The culture is interesting, because the more I study and think "where did that come from?" the inevitable answer, to me, is "everywhere." Ideas only fit into models when we construct them and deem them necessary.
Just like academicians create false structures to push forward ideological agendas, I find myself caught in that same trap. I lead an uncomfortable existence right now. There is enough sanity in my mind to know that I need to continue to change if I am to survive. But how? To what? What changes are necessary and why? If I want something different...what is it that I want?
That last question leads to the second half of the title of this entry. My line of questioning and reasoning leads back to the very simple conclusion that I am still shackled by my own conservativism; however, if I am to liberate myself, what does that entail?
Can liberation be ascribed a meaning? What does a liberated person look like? How does a liberated person feel? What are signs of being liberated?
Life for life's sake is certainly an enviable position to take. Life is a process, yes, but what should the process be? Earlier I mentioned the notion of being 26 and how difficult it is to change. What do I want out of life? Though statistics indicate I'll die before the general life expectancy (what is it, 70ish?) for an American male, I still have plenty of time to pick and choose a vocation, a goal, of some sort. These are midlife crisis thoughts, if they had to be pigeonholed to any particular age group.
My mother wanted to help children not have to endure the childhood she did. I have 2 friends who entered the medical profession/sciences because of the desire to help others that way, by helping the poor of the world and by performing abortions. I know of clergymen and religious folk who believe in serving their God, usually of the Judeo-Christian variety.
But what do I enjoy? What do I really like doing? I have mentioned before that I knew I wanted to study history. I did. I did it long enough to earn a Bachelor's in the field. So what? The Languages were picked up as a sort of hobby to supplement the former and continue to refine my critical thinking abilities. I'm not sure the latter has been fulfilled.
I am at a crossroads where further work and action is necessary, and the actions and work taken will help to continue along this trail, or perhaps to carve another. I need something to cling to, if only because I want a legacy, some sort of program to fall back on.
My fortune cookie said that good luck is the result of good planning. I need to plan. The thought occurred to me today that I'm not afraid of dying per say, I'm more afraid of the pain that will happen, the pain of a gunshot wound while waiting for medical assistance, the pain of having a heart attack or whatever other ways there are to die. I joke about it, but it is quite true that a simple paper cut is enough to send me into an existential quandary; I've yet to lose sleep over such, but I have certain lost hours of peace and calm, minutes of conversation, a day or two of regret. I wish I were joking or being ironic. I wish I were doing more than using the English subjunctive simply to point out that I am using the English subjunctive and possibly making my point about my seriousness moot.
Gainful employment is certainly a priority, as my finances are often cited as the main source of my misery. I know I would like some sort of lasting, durable relationship; I would like some sort of commitment that could result in offspring, or at least just a friendship that endures...with physical intimacy. I want to give back to society, by helping people obtain some sort of knowledge. Education does seem to be my passion.
I'm tired now, and this entry did not reach a satisfactory conclusion. My body feels worn out, my words stale and unnecessary.
Most of what has been on my mind has come through the generic filter of cultural musings. In my undergraduate studies of history, I chose the conservative focus on political triflings --the blase, mundane factoids of dates, peace treaties, the occasional digression into mentioning an important piece of art or literature, naming wars and kings and queens and dictators and all that other jazz that to most people comes across as boring and uninspired. Much of my coursework also ended up dealing with culture, specifically the strain of history known as intellectual history. The discussion of man's thoughts, man's mind, inherently takes on a messy approach.
Life is a messy process. In conjunction with that, I'll offer the Woody Allen paraphrase that sex is only dirty if you're doing it right. Part of my neurosis is a rejection of the tidy, unseemly aspects of life. In much the same way that 20th century dictatorships, or at least Nazi Germany, were characterized as "neat" "efficient" systems, there is no truth to that generalisation. This is the teleological perspective, which is anathema to what many consider the true aim, the true focus of the study of the academic discipline of history. Even in the unruly arena of thought, there are certain guidelines and parameters. In other words, to describe what cannot really be described, certain conventions are adapted as begrudging compromises. Of course, that is to be part of the establishment.
For the uneducated, uninformed, libertarian crowd who believe in autodidactic learning, that latter view is a fine approach to life. Of course, as I am part of the establishment, I very much so reject that. A cliche that was recently spoken to me was something to the effect of "If you didn't rebel before you were 18, you have no heart; if you haven't joined the establishment by the time you're 30, you're a fool." This statement, much like any cliched statement can do, had a certain effect upon me.
At the age of 26, I am firmly entrenched in the establishment. While as a teenager I did advocate wholesale, violent change in the broad program advocated by Marxism and some of its subsequent offspring philosophies, I never really acted upon that. My goal was to erase the system. This gradually became tempered as I realised the true implication of such and as my studies of history continued the failures of 1789, 1848, 1917, etc weighed heavily upon me. As I gathered from one historian, anarchy --which is considered an inevitable stage in the collapse of one system and the adoption of another system --is the most loathsome experience one can endure. The strain of totalitarian terror has a certain comfort which anarchy robs from people. In The Big Lebowski Walter makes a comment in a similar vein: "Say what you want about the tenets of national socialism, but at least it's an ethos."
At 26, I have certain ethos, certain ideas which are implanted in me. I have spent 15 months trying to adopt new habits and modes of thinking. This is exceedingly difficult, it is true. Even at this young of an age, it is apparent how much effort and time it takes to make meaningful change.
As cultural history, or at least its studies pinpoint, is that while perhaps traditional political history can be neatly divided by peace treaties or years of a leader in power, thoughts don't work that way. I'm not well versed in Marxism, so perhaps it is my own gross distortion, and part of pop culture distillation of Marx to rely on the assumption that change can be done in one swift move. But this is not how anyone lives.
Life truly is a series of continued actions, many small and imperceptible. Only by having people self-select to take note of these actions --i.e. any academician or concerned citizen --are these changes noted or described. Thus, periodization, becomes an ideological battle. Anything, really, becomes an ideological battle. But, these are phrases of the establishment; to be condescending and reinforce my own conservativism, this is where everything "amounts to a pissing match."
I am pissed. Or, to borrow from my own idiolect, I am mad as hell.
What is to be done? That is the question of now. Whatever is to be done, big or small, will be tied to post-hoc interpretations. The events of yesterday will be judged failures or successes, at least by the rules of now. But, if the switch which went off a few days ago indicates --what are the rules of today?
In the process of change, a change that has been going on for at least 15 months and has a fairly discernible timeline attached, I am at a stage where it seems appropriate to ask, to truly dig deep and ask what the point of all this is. Why am I doing anything I am doing?
From 2003-05, I was fairly infatuated with the idea of becoming a monk. The idea of renouncing everything seemed appealing, but impossible. I tried texting someone about this and got the general, hostile reaction I was expecting. It was sort of a "why even think that? that's stupid."
When in the depths of despair and in a serious winter malaise, I continued a line of questioning that comes directly out of the establishment --"What is the purpose of life? What is the meaning? I need an answer." The person's hostile reaction today was merely an echo of the answer I got to those questions then "life for life's sake, dummy." To further echo that, I've been noticing someone repeating the idea this way: "If you see me wandering, don't assume I'm lost."
Life is a process, I concede to that notion. There is a lot I find myself conceding to, from every corner. I find myself acquiescing and willing to simply blend in on my terms. I've never followed my own path, but I am starting to wonder if I should. What will my path be?
As I've said before and continue to say, I had no life envisioned beyond college. I knew I wanted to be a man of letters, but I never articulated it that way. The first passion was to make movies, to write scripts and direct. I was told that in order to be good at that, writing takes practice and it would be a worthwhile endeavor to keep a journal or diary. This was probably told to me c.1996, but it was not until 2000 that I began my current tradition of regular notebooks and documentation of aspects of life. There are numerous gaps and omissions in the records, documents purposefully destroyed, coded messages written to myself that spark the synapses enough to go "oh yeah, that meant something...but what?" but never go any further.
Somewhere along the way the movie idea faded to black and was replaced with the idea of teaching. First it was American history that seemed important; than, to understand the antecedents and roots of America became important, which lead to European history. My mind remains in that Western tradition. The cultural and political trappings are deemed worthwhile. The culture is interesting, because the more I study and think "where did that come from?" the inevitable answer, to me, is "everywhere." Ideas only fit into models when we construct them and deem them necessary.
Just like academicians create false structures to push forward ideological agendas, I find myself caught in that same trap. I lead an uncomfortable existence right now. There is enough sanity in my mind to know that I need to continue to change if I am to survive. But how? To what? What changes are necessary and why? If I want something different...what is it that I want?
That last question leads to the second half of the title of this entry. My line of questioning and reasoning leads back to the very simple conclusion that I am still shackled by my own conservativism; however, if I am to liberate myself, what does that entail?
Can liberation be ascribed a meaning? What does a liberated person look like? How does a liberated person feel? What are signs of being liberated?
Life for life's sake is certainly an enviable position to take. Life is a process, yes, but what should the process be? Earlier I mentioned the notion of being 26 and how difficult it is to change. What do I want out of life? Though statistics indicate I'll die before the general life expectancy (what is it, 70ish?) for an American male, I still have plenty of time to pick and choose a vocation, a goal, of some sort. These are midlife crisis thoughts, if they had to be pigeonholed to any particular age group.
My mother wanted to help children not have to endure the childhood she did. I have 2 friends who entered the medical profession/sciences because of the desire to help others that way, by helping the poor of the world and by performing abortions. I know of clergymen and religious folk who believe in serving their God, usually of the Judeo-Christian variety.
But what do I enjoy? What do I really like doing? I have mentioned before that I knew I wanted to study history. I did. I did it long enough to earn a Bachelor's in the field. So what? The Languages were picked up as a sort of hobby to supplement the former and continue to refine my critical thinking abilities. I'm not sure the latter has been fulfilled.
I am at a crossroads where further work and action is necessary, and the actions and work taken will help to continue along this trail, or perhaps to carve another. I need something to cling to, if only because I want a legacy, some sort of program to fall back on.
My fortune cookie said that good luck is the result of good planning. I need to plan. The thought occurred to me today that I'm not afraid of dying per say, I'm more afraid of the pain that will happen, the pain of a gunshot wound while waiting for medical assistance, the pain of having a heart attack or whatever other ways there are to die. I joke about it, but it is quite true that a simple paper cut is enough to send me into an existential quandary; I've yet to lose sleep over such, but I have certain lost hours of peace and calm, minutes of conversation, a day or two of regret. I wish I were joking or being ironic. I wish I were doing more than using the English subjunctive simply to point out that I am using the English subjunctive and possibly making my point about my seriousness moot.
Gainful employment is certainly a priority, as my finances are often cited as the main source of my misery. I know I would like some sort of lasting, durable relationship; I would like some sort of commitment that could result in offspring, or at least just a friendship that endures...with physical intimacy. I want to give back to society, by helping people obtain some sort of knowledge. Education does seem to be my passion.
I'm tired now, and this entry did not reach a satisfactory conclusion. My body feels worn out, my words stale and unnecessary.