Monday, February 01, 2010

Fluoxetine Journal 31.01.10

Either/Or: It is one of two choices, either I am too stupid and cynical about my use of time or too self-assured of my capability, because the very moment I manage to defer my deadline half a day more, I decided to quit writing, go for fruit shopping with father, take my time for carefree lunch and then movies. Both instances are very delusional but I´m grateful that at least my sense of humor is never failing me, except when I sleep, time during which it´s not failing me, just mocking me.

Love: I have to change my mind. I don´t dislike both brothers the same, the older one I like much less because I can´t accept such grumpiness and lack of culture at the age of 12; when I was that age I was interested in too many things, at least in too many books. He doesn´t have the profile to become in the future a twink or anything like that, so he should at least pretend to hide behind the genius figure, but then TV is too engaging, it makes me furious to think he´s that way. The laziest bug on earth, so full of wordy statements and speeches and know-everything attitudes; the part that angers me the most is that the verbal excesses are mixed with so much ignorance. Then I accept I am being so cruel, but what is family good for if not for letting things out of our system? How odd it is that I am speaking this way. It seems organic ties are still somewhere out there. Homelessness was both spiritual and physical, now it is only spiritual, that makes it so much worse because there´s so much I have no justification for. The younger brother is so sweet and witty, but receiving all the wrong intellectual education, not even that, the wrong education altogether. Some weeks back I realized he had never seen a world map and couldn´t locate his own country in one when I showed him a world map. That´s not funny, but how do I turn this into a story? Of course I can´t blame them, there´s much genetic material to draw from but that´s no excuse, in fact this should be another reason to rise.

Intellectual work: The most part of my eternal dissatisfaction with life is that I´ve taken my work not seriously enough in spite of being completely aware of my talent, and this is why I´m so materialistic and worried about being able to afford my expensive leisure life; so that I´ve compromised endless times for comfort and white collar jobs in which I can barely survive and the suffering accumulated has been so severe that I´ve ended up just misspending most earnings and living exactly in the same way as if I were devoted only to intellectual pursuance. I hate the word intellectual and philosopher is too ambitious, writer too bohemian. How unimportant is to state things out at this point, yet with the depression or without I am now struggling to finish my assignments even when I´ve already fallen out of love with them; this can certainly give me a sense of achievement to which I´ve renounced so many times in the pursuance of some higher spiritual landmarks. None found. Keywords: Theology, History, Ontology, Politics, Aesthetics, Anthropology, Beauty, Ethics. Bad words: Sociology, Rationality, Philosophy, Eschatology, Epistemology, Literati, Dilettantes, Intellectual circles, Protestantism. I want to write a journal more like Susan Sontag´s and less like Arendt, but I´m so much more like the latter, I definitely lack some intellectual cool wave which I´ve confused with sense of humor and it´s definitely not it. But Sontag is far more the spirit of my age, that´s why I tend to pay her a lot more attention but less seriously so. When I say I want to write a journal like Susan Sontag´s this is absolutely false, the truth is in the keywords: want, writing, a journal and famous celebrated writer. Sigmund Freud and Sarah Kofman: All biographies and autobiographies are false because of their mendacity. Worst sin of the age: Stealing. It is the beginning of all modern crime. Worst of my shortcomings: No patience about love and no tolerance for the beloved.

Inwardness: I don´t think I´ve experienced love as fully as many people (by no means most), I mean, I´ve definitely been in love but hardly been loved back or at least for long enough to call it a love story and I´m not necessarily frustrated by it, because I´ve gained so many other things. Yet it doesn´t mean I don´t crave, but in the world of ambiguity chances are seldom, let´s quote Augustine now “in the sense that all things are true is the same sense in which they are all false”. Perhaps the person who loved me the most has been Vitaly, but all too short. Fire still alive after 5 years. Time to pick things back.

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