We have drifted into a new season: Fall. I have employment. I feel like Bojack running up the hill.
I ate a bunch of food when I got home tonight. The only thing I want to do these days is read Roberto Boloña. I have to let that food settle for a bit. I have to let my thoughts settle for a bit. I didn't eat so much food that it was straight up terrible emotional eating I was just hungry but regardless I have to let it all settle. Working a late shift is always a bit awkward with sleep and eating. At least I have tomorrow off. The job was really killing me. My body couldn't handle all the bending, twisting, turning, and reaching. I was taking Tylenol and doing my best to rest up. THERE IS NO REST ONLY REST FOR WORKING! I think I just need to continue taking it day by day. Tonight was honestly pretty slow it wasn't too bad. I didn't need to take Tylenol or lie down.
I am grateful to still be alive but I do not know if I would rather have not been born. There is something in life. A human soul. A human spirit. It would be a tragedy to extinguish that. That is where my mind wanders. There is not really much pleasure in this job. It's not some project that seems worthwhile. The fact that I am an essential worker doesn't really make it any better. The problem with suicide is it is so god damn violent. Even going up Canada to sit in one of those machines that gasses me to death in 30 seconds is terrifying to me. I wouldn't want my parents to walk in on me dead: Slit wrists or hanging or shotgun blast or whatever. Sometimes in my mind it's inevitable. Especially from these years from 40-55 or so.
At least I have Roberto Boloña and my dog and my cat and my family. The Solitude never happened because I was working. Trapped in an establishment dealing with customers all day is the opposite of a Solitude. I wrote 0 words. I did read a lot though. White Noise by Don Delillo and Freedom by Jonathan Franzen were pretty great. Roberto Boloña is better.
I'm just navigating through this early Autumn. The weather gets very pleasant down here at this time. I have a lot of things to be grateful for. It just never feels that way for me. At least I have a day off tomorrow. That is what I am living for. The fleeting days off. Which so far were so anxiety ridden and frazzled and fragmented. I am just hoping I will adapt to the job. It's such a big part of my life now it's kind of jolting and revolting. I am used to lying in bed reading all day, taking the dog for walks, and generally being pretty idle. It is difficult to let go of frantic speed for hours upon hours. I am hoping I will adapt to the job. I wish there was an andante lightswitch I could hit when I'm not on the clock. It's still rest for work no matter how one slices it. There is no escape, there is no avoidance. Unfortunately, it has to be done. Which it is the adult thing to do. Even though it is embarrassing I'm surrounded by kids. It's not like I dropped out of high school to play poker. I have a degree. I'm not a dummy or maybe I am. It probably wouldn't even bother me if I had some sort of progress in the arts. 2 unpublished novellas in 2 years seems like the opposite of productive although I try not to look at it in the light of production. Production is for factories. I just want to live. I just want to live.
I am just going to share where I am at. The most gangster thing I could have done would have been to never post again.
My parents went on a cruise for 3 weeks and I am alone. The only time I have left the house was to get groceries and medications. I thought this would be a time of great creativity. There is this idea that solitude breeds creative output. Unfortunately, that is not the case for me.
I am not Van Gogh.
I am not Einstein.
I am not Tesla.
I am not Gallileo.
I am not Nietzsche.
Sure, I played some guitar, I created music on Ableton, I did some paintings, I started on a story. It did not feel all that fruitful. I was happier giving the dog a walk and passed a lot of time watching Netflix/YouTube.
AA
I had a friend who was shaming me for not having a sponsor so I asked him to be my sponsor. He was shaming me for not going to meetings so I went to a meeting. I realized it had been 2 years since I had been to a meeting. I did not enjoy the meetings I went to so I have not gone to any more meetings. I realize I've had this weird relationsip with AA for a long time. It may or may not ever get resolved. It is one of those things that may just stay unresolved.
Music
I had made a few demos that I liked so I thought I would continue that momentum into solitude. Nope. I grew tired of the drums on Ableton. The drum tones generally suck especially compared to a live drum set. I don't have access to drums and can't play what I would want to record so drums are out. What I was really fixating on though was getting a bass. The bass tones on Ableton are shit. I created some of my own on a plug-in that I thought were groovy but that gets old and then to have to play them on a MIDI controller (keyboard) is bleh. I can't play the piano. I don't know music theory. My guitar playing is beginner level.
I am not Kevin Parker (Tame Impala)
I am not Dan Snaith (Caribou)
I am not Beethoven
I still want a bass but have no money. Similar to the time I wanted to downtune my guitar and get a fuzz guitar pedal and play Boris. What will be next?
Reading
I read Anti-Oedipus Schizophrenia and Capitalism by Deleuze and Guattari. That's a difficult fucking text! Quite thrilling to read though. Now, I am on A Thousand Plateaus by D & G (ATP). I have gotten some of the secondary sources. D & G suggest to read ATP like one would listen to a record. So, I just read some chapters and skimmed through it. I am not sure if I want to really dig into this one.
***
I am still trying to find myself. There is no such thing as authenticity. Only authority and advertising and trends (seduction). That still does not mean we cannot examine life and continue to examine life and ourselves. This life is a simulated blur. Some hours feel like days yet the days and weeks slip by.
I know I need a job to surive. I know I need a job for any chance at independence. I am not happy about being a parasitic incel loser but I take the actions of a parasitic incel loser. I am the sum of my actions.
I want to get to the point where I don't need anything but that is impossible. I need money. I don't need marriage, I don't need kids, I don't even need a girlfriend but I need money.
We are a simulated blur. We are tomorrow's dust. I am waiting for a friend to call me back and rifled through a whole bunch of stuff but then I found myself here again. I can only imagine how much time I have spent on this blog. It feels kind of right, right now. I am staying at my brother's house again. My mom has vertigo and my dad is operating on a bad back and two bad knees. They are getting old. I am getting old. I wonder what happens when I can't depend on my parents anymore. I need to grow up. I am not a rockstar. This is real life. As real as it can be. It is not imaginary. Even if the real has disappeared. I don't think my siblings will take care of me. There will be no one to take care of me.
I have been fully immersing myself in music. It is what makes me feel good. At least the initial burst of making something out of nothing. Finishing a song is rather tedius. I have access to a drum set and an electric guitar here which is lovely but obviously I can't jam out with the whole house asleep. The beauty of Ableton is I can take it wherever I go. I miss marijuana joints and red wine. You get a better jam and appreciation for music under that influence. I have to do everything stone cold sober and that can be a bummer. I am not a rockstar. I'm going to have to face the realities of life. I don't want to be a wino on the streets or in prison. One of my best friends just got out of prison. It sounds horrific and adjusting to life out of prison is not easy. I do see a therapist but music is my therapy. I mean obviously I care if it's shit. I don't want it to be shit but even if it is shit that's ok. Strikes and gutters. Those moments when you may be on to something is worth living for though. OK, back to chasing the dragon.
I'm deep in theory. What a magical time. I am about half way through Mythologies by Roland Barthes. Then, I have The Medium is the Massage by McLuhan, Elements of Semiology by Barthes, and Society of the Spectacle by Debord up next but no one gives a shit.
That is really what this blog post is about. How no one gives a shit. Being an autodidact is a very solitary pursuit by definition. I joined a philosophy channel on Discord and they don't really give a shit either. It's mostly analytic academics. I don't fit in. The server is too active. Reddit has nothing for me besides the occasional Google search. I kind of despise Chat GPT but it can be somewhat useful.
My poor mom has to hear earfuls of the stuff I'm reading. At least she says she enjoys it to a point.
I'm just lonely. I went in hard on some Baudrillard. I think up to 2 weeks have flown by. I don't know if I even thought to be lonely then. Mythologies by Barthes is ok. It is a good intro to semiotics. A nice break from the denser and more opaque Baudrillard. Although, Baudrillard fascinates me. He seduces me. He haunts me.
There is no where for the autodidact to go except to touch grass and deal with it. Academia is a pipedream. It has been ever since I did not major in philosophy and chose poker over academics.
And the elephant in the room is that I need a job. I know, I know. I need a job. That is tremendous toil. If I did not have hypertrophy training and theory I would be in real trouble. The toil and the void would be too great.
Overcoming inertia in entropy. In a simulation the only thing left to do is play the game. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players (Shakespeare).
It is normal for people to have anxiety about death. Libido and fear of death are two massive motivations. Sometimes they are unconcsious motivations. Marketers mess with our ability to know what we need and what will be satisfying. They tamper with our imagination as the result of the void. It shows up in weird ways. We fill the void with imagination and consumption. Imagination in the creation of art is good. Imagination in unrealistic expectations for consumption is bad.
I have clothes. I have plenty of clothes. I have an understanding of color theory and can generally dress myself to be passable in society. There is no such thing as authenticity in this regard. Unless maybe if I got my clothes from a small indigenous group of people in South America who custom made me some outfits. Any magazine, any shop, any online store is going to command the title of "purveyor of taste." Personally, I think just wearing white t-shirts and blue jeans everyday is better than falling into the consumption trap. But, in bourgois life there are dress codes...
"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."
- Samuel Johnson
A beast with f body dysmorophia. I've been watching IFBB pros train on YouTube. They all have body dysmorphia. They all wear "pump covers" to hide their muscles until they feel they are pumped up enough.
How much is enough? I don't feel the need to get that jacked or that lean. I would like to make gains in the gym, however.
Time is winding down. Time is passing by. What will you do with your time and attention?
I will continue to grind in the gym. I am thinking about 51... 65... 76.
I wish I didn't have to be so clean and sober all the time but between my alcoholism and bipolar it's really fucking stupid to drink or do drugs. I get better gains in the gym though and I am definitely more clear headed. Not clearheaded enough to not post a bunch of bullshit on a website with barely any traffic but it's better than being bombed and that whole cycle. I didn't even post any marijuana pictures or breasts.
I come on here because I am desperate: Desperate for attention, desperate for connection, desperate for a change in mood. I get anxious, I feel empty, I am frantic for more experience. The list of things that work is really not that long and they may or may not end up working. I've got Aphex Twin going in really expensive headphones. It's really the best way to listen to him and I have the Steinberg UR12 Audio Interface where I can turn a knob to adjust the volume. That little of a detail makes me content. I also have my MXL990 mic hooked up so I can create music with ease. Material things do bring happiness. With the music and the cologne it really sets up a nice atmosphere for someone as lonely as me. I have found this rather queer behavior to make life a little bit more livable. I'm also in a really old sweatshirt and sweatpants. No casts on the feet. Peak relaxation.
It's nice to have these moments. To linger contemplatively. My whole city is shutdown from a "snowstorm." I am a sum of my actions. If I want a job I need to call on potential employers. I don't want a job. I need a job. It's a fact of life we need to consider income versus expenses. I am not an exception. Money problems can really make life hell. One thing that I have going for me is that I have been to hell and back. I wish it were not so but while leaving trauma it also toughened me up. Hell is not other people. Hell is being homeless in the winter with no health insurance and no psych meds.
The New Year and no one is here. Probably a good thing right?
The New Year is ripe for a fresh start eh?
New year, new day, new moment!
And I am here typing up a blog on a dead ass website but I want to chill out a little bit and listen to music.
I'm finally home. I can get cleaned up a bit and GET AFTER IT in the gym! Do some deadlifts, some Bulgarian Split Squats, and go heavy on some back extensions. Get stronger and more athletic. Life doesn't end at 40!
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