Monday, February 01, 2010

Fluoxetine Journal 01.02.10

Trustworthy: History, Theology, Ontology, Hermeneutics, the idea of Religion, Mathematics, Literature, Political Science, Anthropology, Philology, Modernity, Ethics, Beauty, Essays.

Untrustworthy: PHILOSOPHY, psychology and psychoanalysis, social science, advertising, the idea of Science, Jewish studies, Political Science, Linguistics, Modernity, Technology, Aesthetics, Rhaetorics.

Beautiful breakfast by myself at the Opus Dei residence, my first happy breakfast in a few weeks: Strong coffee with milk, mesmerizing orange juice probably blended in with grenadine or some weird syrups, arepas and cheese. No people watching over. A certain sense of personal achievement which I badly needed: I finally managed to finish the article but is still due to be reviewed by those vampires that work under the cover-up name of editors, that might just ransack anything valuable, but the point is that I finished up even in the middle of a crazy depression onset and a long list of other radical distress factors. This might be a good start for a really bad month.

Surprisingly I didn´t dream about being killed, thus I was disappointed about my own reactions.

Death: When I was younger I used to think much about it, when I took a stroll in the city I thought about all the possible places where I could be run by a car, stabbed by a robber or just murdered with vicious violence somewhere; that is when I lived in a rather safe place, where the only risk was something I never considered: A bomb attack by a suicidal jihadist. I really lived completely stressed about because of the constant thoughts about my death which almost never left me. Then behind closed doors in the safety of one´s home, my fear was about a terrible disease, any sudden change in my body, from a hair to a bruised arm meant to me immediately terminal cancer, hospitals, morphine and eventually painful death. Of course when one thinks about his death, then he thinks as well about suicide but not without irony. People would laugh a lot if you´d kill yourself, you think. Then now neither thought tortures my mind, I think it´s so much more brave to await patiently your death, it´s a philosophical position against life, or not even against life, but against the odd stuff of life that eludes the precision of thinking. An odd fact: Sometimes when I touch my flat stomach I think it feels like a female womb, there´s nothing sexual or gay about it, it´s just a weird feeling.

Desire: I think there´s no sensuality in the world anymore, but only sexuality. Besides sexuality there´s food, booze and shopping. And all of it performed in the most screeching silence. Everything is but an ersatz replacement of sex, and sex is surrogate love, "love for dummies". I´m not criticizing or preaching: It´s a feeling inside me too. And it´s bad. There´s also sleep and using the toilet: Pleasures.

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