Old Old Words

drops from an archaeological ocean — to be reworked

Month: December, 2011

2011.12.22

so.

that’s the moment I get completely, completely conquered

Invaded… destroyed, ravaged…

 

depression over me…

feeling of absolute slavery, etc.

 

I am the failed one, etc.

 

So theoretically,

The right time to overcome that

To transform that into something else…

 

*

 

Ted Hughes… buy the complete works?

 

Probably…

 

Something dark, Gesualdian around him…

Obviously…

 

*

 

So. Tumblr, Tumblr…

 

The only thing I feel able to do…

And probably not even … ‘well’…

That is, not … ‘successfully’ ?

 

How to measure value…

Value seems as frail in me as the rest…

Doubt, doubt everywhere…

 

 

*

 

quite a depressive day…

 

but clearly not as dark as academic laden ones…

 

depressed because of separation, loss of her, and her shadow around me…

 

depressed most of all because of this emptiness in front of me…

 

because of my impossibility to take decisions,

 

because of my fears, my cowardice…

 

How shall I do it?

 

I have to finish a bloody text, first…

 

And, well…

 

I need to choose.

I need to know what I shall do…

 

And this, unfortunately, is impossible…

Or was.

 

Because something in me changed.

 

Something in me…

 

Might have left already…

 

*

 

I manage to read.

That is a good thing…

 

I manage to read.

 

Lines, thoughts,

Enter my closed, narcissistic brain.

 

That is good.

 

That is a truly good thing.

 

A beginning.

 

*

 

Question of academia…

Very, very ugly question.

 

There is always a part of me

Thinking I should actually stay…

 

And another one

Who would clearly, clearly go away…

 

shit.

 

The thing, of course,

Is that my survival is not at all certain.

I have grown weak, insecure…

depressed, inactive…

 

and it will grow worse and worse…

 

I have done nothing…

Sneezing shit…

 

And I hate myself, I hate myself continually…

 

Such an ugly life…

And yet such a peaceful life!

A life of stability, almost

 

Supposed stability…

Because inside the only thing is

Insecurity, competition, etc.

 

There is no stability.

Nothing.

 

Bloody hell…

What place in society…

What life?

 

Is there a way out of this swamp?

 

Is there a hope?

 

Something?

 

I need to choose.

And I can’t…

I feel I haven’t got the required elements, the necessary knowledge…

Or this is an illusion,

And actually desire is the key.

 

And actually something is there behind this ‘knowledge/elements’ excuse…

Something tabooed, blocked, etc.

 

*

 

Truly…

The question of money…

It shall be there…

 

I feel it.

Painful.

 

 

 

Despair, despair.

 

Despair, despair, despair…

 

I shouldn’t dwell on that…

 

I should do something else…

Somehow…

 

Something that would… make my life different

 

I thought I could revolutionize things…

With Tumblr, for instance.

And yes, it’s true…

If this Tumblr, as silly and Pop as it is, suddenly got an amazing audience,

I would clearly feel different…

Maybe it’s actually better if it didn’t?

 

Maybe, weak as I am, I would, well…

Become distorted…?

Obsessed with that…?

(Maybe I am already…)

 

In any case,

There is an obsession

With recognition,

Fame, etc.

 

Absolute, absolute obsession.

Just like for money, and lifestyle…

 

But, well…

Misery, misery…

 

This pain in the head.

 

Not so present when I tumblr…

But only, of course, if I tumblr actively…

Crazily, even, just like in the beginning…

 

Near 4’000 thousand posts…

In a month, that’s not that bad…

 

But it’s much, much more difficult now…

 

It’s rarer for me to discover blogs where I find so many images I want to reblog that I reach the daily post limit…

 

Anyway…

 

The true problem, in all this,

Is the academic situation

And the question of my departure.

 

I don’t have any bloody answer.

And given my affinities…

Given… my desires

I will just end up…

poor, and mediocre…

 

Not a particularly enchanting idea.

Hell.

 

So much pessimism…

Misery, misery…

 

*

 

Blocked.

The great, great block.

I cannot flee any more.

I am just

At the wall.

 

Now I need to act.

I need to find a way.

 

Shit.

 

Shit.

 

How, how, how?

 

Answer:

Use the existing structures

 

The thing is, of course,

It would require to know what I want!!!

 

Probably I won’t be able to escape language

And go into music…

Probably I’ll have to stick to language…

 

Everything makes me sad…

 

I might be at it.

Right at this moment I dreamt of…

And nothing happy surges in my belly…

Nothing.

Nothing.

 

Just … a grey indifference…

Something like despair.

 

What is the solution?

What is the path?

 

Shit, shit, shit.

 

None.

I see none.

 

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

 

*

 

A memory:

Freud, having finished The Interpretation of Dreams,

Thought the book would make him absolutely famous.

It did not.

It was almost ignored.

He wrote a very small book afterwards, On Dreams, which was more diffused!

 

He could not imagine that actually

What he was doing in this first book

Was just laying the basis

Of something far, far greater…

Something that would only be fully deployed

Years after that…

 

Hopefully this might give me some … hope…

Even irrational…

 

Always epicize.

Always aggrandize…

 

*

 

 

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2011.12.20

Fragile mind…

fragile heart…

 

the usual shit…

 

*

 

book coach, train, etc.

book plane to Berlin

 

*

 

tumblr, absolute madness..

up till 430 yesterday night..

starting to have communication with people…

 

*

 

managed to do corrections yesterday…

 

maybe I’ll be able to write this bloody paper after all…?

 

I should be…

 

 

*

 

Song of Ice and Fire…

I’ve been doing too much to have any lust for this (altogether delightful) crap…

 

we’ll see…

 

I’ll probably get back to it some day…

 

when in need for some ‘epic’…

 

*

 

I feel traps and temptations everywhere…

she might be one of those…

my goal was elsewhere…

I did not want a relationship…

and now I feel the lack of her…

so much, so much, at certain moments…

 

and yet, did my dreams, my profound dreams, really changed?

I’m really not sure…

I feel quite despaired to realize them, that’s for sure…

I don’t feel they are in any sense ‘close’ to me…

I don’t feel their effect…

Maybe that’s the work I should be doing?

Make my dreams come closer?

 

Tonight, Hamlet.

Alone.

I would have gone with her…

 

Alone…

Maybe it’ll be like the other time, at the concert: a sublime enjoyment.

Being alone, doing this for myself.

 

Just like going to museums, etc.

 

I should try to do that more often.

 

Question of finances, of course, to be taken into account.

 

Dream of urban lifestyle…

The city.

Its maddening production all the time…

Art, art, art.

Discourse.

Fashion, money, fame, all that.

 

The grand thing of mankind.

 

And I might read Balzac?

 

*

 

So, I see traps.

Traps, like her for instance (maybe? She also appears as salvation…)…

But also banking…

Money as such, without anything else…

Mammon. Its voice is there, more than ever.

 

Odyssey.

Aeneid

Commedia.

 

Travels, travels.

I need to read them really.

Profoundly.

Repeatedly.

 

Differently from the past.

 

*

 

Now the state gets lower and lower…

little desire to sleep…

difficulty, difficulty…

Just bad self management, I guess…

 

I am in front of this task, and I’m… unable to do it…

That is, to find the proper equilibrium to do it…

Inner balance, so that it’s not absolute forcing, etc.

And I’m not really stressed, so…

This does not help either…

 

 

*

 

Her, her in my mind…

Impossible to avoid.

Yet it is not really a dreadful feeling.

I ‘contained’ it tonight…

Is it good?

 

Would the opposite have been any … ‘good’… better…?

 

Enno Poppe.

Probably Staud, and Furrer.

 

Until I manage to extinguish them.

 

(Get back to Ferneyhough as well.

And Carter.)

 

Just listened to a bit of Birtwistle…

Panic.

It is not very convincing…

Especially harmonically…

I can hear much more clearly now what he’s doing…

I am not absolutely sure it is … worth it.

Not sure, meaning it could be the case.

 

Meaning I might be wrong.

 

What I need, of course, is to find this, or those, examples, where it does work.

 

Boulez’ harmony, in Notations for orchestra, or in other pieces like …explosante-fixe… or Répons

This works.

Clearly.

Yet another doubt: Taruskin would say it is conservative. Did he really listen to this in depth?

I should probably not ‘deny’ my experience – Notations was luminous. Amazing, strong.

 

The other, longer pieces, a bit less…

 

It might be that Boulez will be the catalyst for a generation…

Just like Descartes… cut down, reduced, by each of his (great) followers…

So that he would be opening grand alleyways for music, in the future.

Paths, orientations, according to which piece you choose…

 

*

 

Enno Poppe.

Keilschrift,

Obst.

 

This is not bad.

Strong, and with a reconciled sense of harmony.

Yet, I am not sure.

Doubt creeps in me.

Now, and this because of those fifties and sixties: because of Absolute modernism, and its Total Seriality… Every ‘easiness’, every ‘sense of immediacy’, every ‘pleasure’ is subject to suspicion.

Everything is potentially cheap, kitsch, poor.

Appealing, but with no real value.

 

The musicologist classified composers that way:

Xenakis, Scelsi, Sciarrino, Romitelli…

All flashy, all superficial. Love at first sight, boredom in the end…

Even Furrer (‘always the same!’, he would say)

 

! He still respects a few unconventional figures:

Ysang Yun,

Galina Ustvolskaya…

 

I see my problem.

I know nothing(, John Snow).

 

I have no taste.

Or, more nuanced: my taste is weak.

Instead of discovering for myself,

Instead of going for what I might love,

I listen to others.

I think about what I have to know.

I neglect the only thing that matters!!

Love.

Love, love, love.

 

This great ecstasy!

This great certitude.

 

This thing that makes me listen to

Ezra Pound.

The Master’s voice.

Or to Alain Badiou.

 

*

 

This Poppe could be of interest.

He is not very difficult.

I don’t suffer from his music (as I do from many pieces of Birtwistle, Carter, Ferneyhough…)

Yet is this truly profound?

Is this superhuman?

Is this an absolute exception?

 

*

 

Hamlet.

I saw you. Tonight.

At the Young Vic.

 

You were immortal, yes.

 

You taught me things.

You amazed me,

You frightened me.

 

*

 

Hamlet,

You say once,

That you can only trust

Your own judgement.

 

Is it renouncing mine

To agree with you?

 

Only if, as Pound

Writes in “Histrion”

My spherical heart shall be

You

Kaleidoscopically.

 

*

 

I should do things differently.

I should learn

To do things differently.

With people.

In the great Game.

 

Know thyself.

Master thyself and others shall thee beare.

 

*

 

Method, absolute/foundational principle:

Foster the mode of relationship with the objects (discourses, works, etc.)

That is,

You have to focus on those moments where the relationship is

As you want.

Focus on that, always, and repeat, repeat.

Grow that.

 

Example.

If a field (of texts, of works, etc.)

Seems hard, impenetrable.

Going through many things will only help a little.

What you need is

An entrance door.

One thing: one work, one text, one idea.

That you may love.

For which your admiration is boundless.

Seek this, seek it.

Seek it through browsing. Don’t ponder too much on unloveable things. Go to the next one

In that large and multiple world (always, always more diverse and rich than you think).

Seek it through digging. When possible, dig deep into half-loved ones,

To reveal their richness.

Digging: always at the proper tempo.

Enraged when you can,

Soft, wise and detached in normal days.

 

*

 

 

I should write more.

 

Or better: I should write in interaction.

 

Write so that people read me.

 

Write publicly.

 

*

 

The question of my present life…

Remains.

 

I know not what I could do,

In what direction I might go…

 

Yet, maybe, this question

Could be dissolved.

 

If the process is restored in its strength and power,

If true pleasure can be found,

As well as great, great depth and truth,

I might only need

A very vague end, or direction.

Just a great light, a great height,

The dream of revealed excellence.

 

 

*

 

Verdi, the path of Pop.

Production, market, all sorts of pressure.

Yet renown, popularity, and a real force in the end.

 

Wagner, the path of the elite.

Wandering, no direction, the pains of indifférenciation.

And, through grandeur and aristocracy,

And immortal accomplishment.

 

*

 

Immortality…

Silly, silly thing.

Yet without it,

Am I not just a beast?

Hamlet, Hamlet again…

 

*

2011.12.16

so…

 

always the same shit…

 

I am completely lost…

 

completely…

 

I can’t even read any more…

 

It seems… pointless

 

Pointless, pointless…

 

Or simply… emotionally/psychically untenable…?

 

Devil…

 

That is bad.

 

I guess, well, it’s normal…

 

After all this forcing…

 

I shouldn’t even tumblr…

 

I should just… eat, sleep… have sex if possible…

 

*

 

That’s so not what I want…

 

Lost, lost…

 

More than ever…

 

As if my mind was dead already…

 

So sad…

 

The whole problem being, always…

A problem of becoming

 

I can’t become anything…

 

I am nothing, will remain nothing…

 

I know no way of being truly existent...

 

no way of being good at anything…

 

and being good at nothing, well…

 

there is no reason to live…

 

no reason to live, no reason to live…

 

dreadful, this ideology…

 

dreadful, dreadful…

 

so lethal…

 

so desiccating…

 

 

Am I dead already?

 

Am I … finished?

 

I don’t really read…

 

I listen to things, yes…

 

Schoenberg, still…

 

Just like in the past…

 

When I listened to music… naturally…

With pleasure…

With instinct…

 

But of course, well…

 

This means…

 

not being able to study that…

having a weak discourse…

 

something that will not allow me to survive in academia…

 

funny…

 

this sudden ‘care’ for my remaining in the academia…

 

maybe because of this feeling, well, not to have any options in life?

 

No option that could be, well… satisfying?

 

None at all…?

 

Sad, sad, sad…

 

being dead is probably that…

 

death of dreams…

 

*

 

two opposing visions…

 

one, that it is too late, that I have wasted my youth…

had I been more focussed, I could have achieved things…

before cracking down…

 

the other, that this bad inner self-management brought me in that situation…

that it is actually very good for me to live this…

that it’s the beginning of something new… a better work, a true inspiration…

 

that on the contrary it is a beginning

the beginning of this true engagement, true life!

Achievement, fulfilment, etc.

 

difficult to see which one could be the true one…

 

both have in common not to see the present moment as… whole, full, real…

one sees it as an absolute decadence…

the other as the empty moment before a rebirth…

 

but emptiness is absolutely undeniable…

 

*

 

I could say

That this situation of mine

Is a wreck of the mind…

 

Complete inability

To have an idea

And achieve it…

 

Wreck of the mind…

 

Inability to realize any project,

To make my own plans respected, etc.

 

It all started with the inability to write literary works…

Then it kept on with academic works…

As soon as I have a project in my mind,

An obligation

Then it is all ruined…

I stop, I dissolve…

 

I guess this is just the problem…

I am unable to force myself…

Lack of inner father :)…

Lack of discipline…

 

Unable, unable to go through what is … painful, or simply uncomfortable…

And hence, well,

Wreck of the mind…

 

The strange thing is…

I was a bit able to read… Even difficult things…

A little bit…

 

And now this seems to have gone, too…

 

No energy…

 

flasque… je suis flasque…

 

 

Une mollesse abominable…

 

That’s why, the diary…

 

Nothing softer, nothing… looser…

 

I try to listen to music with score … (Schoenberg)…

It’s not even ‘useful’…

In my mind…

 

I don’t even find it … useful

It’s less beautiful than just listen

(Contrary to very difficult/abscond music, where the score actually helps…)

It puts me out of flow..

 

Well, well, well..

I am utterly lost!!

 

Or maybe… I’m just simply… not in the right place, here, in academia…

 

simply not…

and I should leave, as I knew already years, years ago…

 

*

 

tumblred again and again…

it leaves me empty…

it’s a very, very empty activity…

 

I should not do that…

 

Or maybe only at times?

 

I don’t know…

 

*

 

ugly, ugly, ugly world…

 

I hate it…

 

– how on earth can I say this?!?

It’s rather, I have to admit…, ugly me!!

 

Ugly me, ugly me…

 

destroyed, bratty…

 

dysfunctional…

 

Ok, now I can’t even read…

 

Can’t even read…

 

Everything is closing down…

Gradually…

 

All possibilities…

 

This is not how it should be…

Not at all…

 

shit, shit…

 

I am not progressing…

 

It is now fatal.

 

I am old, I am old…

 

I don’t know where I’m going…

 

I cannot become anything…

 

And if I cannot become, if there is no hope for me to be one day or other…

Well, then, life loses its meaning. Completely…

 

It would be a bit messy…

 

*

 

Tumblr…

 

It’s clearly more ‘stimulating’ than writing…

 

and for that reason, well, it’s of less quality

 

I need to get rid of this.

 

Or reduce its place in my life?

 

Maybe, well, I could just let things go…

 

See how things evolve…

 

The only thing I can do…

 

Write, write down those silly anecdotes…

 

Repeating endlessly, endlessly… the same patterns…

 

Such a silly beast that I am…

 

Silliness, yes, that could be it…

 

With a brutish, fixed mind…

 

Already old in my mind…

 

Aged by failure and despair…

 

Shit…

 

Is there any way out of this crap?

 

Is there any … exit?

 

Again, the questions…

Asked so many times…

No answer comes…

 

Never, never…

 

Ideally, I shouldn’t ask.

 

Ideally, I should find other ways to escape.

Like Tumblr, but more constructive even…

 

Write,

With constraints, that is..

Make verse?

Find my own constraints somehow…

 

Do something!

 

Or read… assimilate something?

 

How come I don’t function any more?

Answer: it’s the forcing…

Now you’ve stopped forcing…

And logically nothing works

The only method you have is through forcing…

Through an excessive tensing of your own being…

Self-destructive shit…

Fuck.

 

It’s so obsessive…

Like a cancer…

It grows everywhere…

(This cancer I wrote about already as a teenager…)

 

Cancer…

Blocking the mind…

Preventing from doing anything…

Preventing from having projects, from materializing them…

Dreadful, dreadful…

 

Or maybe it’s the best thing possible…?

Failing to be a project/realization person, and, instead, well…

Doing this… working, working, without idea, without goal…

?

 

Working blindly…

(As if this was working, of course… I don’t feel it is…)

 

Reconquer work, that’s the thing I would love…

Reconstruct work power.

 

Without my work power, well, I am just a shit…

 

I am just nothing.

 

*

 

Shit, shit…

All bloody roads are barred.

I don’t know who I am…

I don’t know where I could go…

I don’t know what I could do…

 

My ambitions are still there… and yet, there is no way I could realize them…

 

Shit, shit…

 

*

 

I notice something.

This notebook.

It stabilizes me.

But in a relatively low state.

 

Tumblr, for instance, is already better.

A slightly higher state.

More stimulation,

The impression of producing something a bit more tangible

(And with other people’s reactions…)

 

The question is: how do I get to an even higher state?

How?

What activity?

 

It is the flow that is needed.

I need a highly flow laden activity.

 

An activity that I can do madly.

With unstoppable passion.

And continuously.

For hours and hours.

 

As for continuity, notebooks and tumblr clearly pass the test.

No problem whatsoever.

 

The problem, of course, is always the same: those activities are disconnected from the outside.

Disconnected from a community, from peers.

Tumblr of course much, much less than this writing (which is pure, absolute loneliness, this start in the middle of nowhere…). Yet it is still very restrained…

 

And it is not a community I can identify with…

Although, of course, I could gradually find interesting people there…

There are clearly some… (and I found a few already…)

 

I wonder, still, what would happen if I reached, let’s say, 100’000 posts…

I found one blog with as much posts… with maybe 60’000 followers? Massive…

 

I wonder how my life would be if I had a world influential blog…

Probably not very different from now…

I would probably be quite amazed at the result…

It’s quite true that I am not really used to ‘materialize’ things…

I don’t feel very gifted for things…

Very strange… On the one hand I feel super gifted, on the other not at all…

One sure thing, I don’t really feel… reaching some sort of ‘fame’ that way would be possible…

Just as, say, becoming well known as a writer, or any other thing, for that matter…

 

There is still something quite different from before…

Tumblr is a direct communication with people…

There is direct reception of what you do.

You can measure your impact, your connections.

Absolutely fascinating (same thing as Twitter, of course)…

It is, truly, pure fame.

An objectivation, a tool for grasping in a quantifiable form fame.

The system is absolutely crucial in today’s world, without a doubt!

 

*

 

Still, bloody hell…

No clue at all, no clue of what I could do…

How could I become anything?

 

Become, in the sense of being defined by what I do

i.e. do something worthwhile

Create a work.

 

Or is it just, well…

Is it just about ‘importance’?

Just about ‘fame’?

 

Now I am really alone…

Without peers…

I have friends, I don’t have peers…

That might be it: I refuse to have peers.

(Peers in the sense of competitors…)

 

That is the difficult thing, and yet the absolutely central knot…

 

I am in loneliness

Because I am no good.

 

I agree to be in communication

And even to work, i.e. to invest in some process of learning/creation/etc.

Only if I can have a positive, high status.

In other words, I refuse to work if it is to be taken for a mediocre, for an insignificant person, etc.

Is this true??

 

Maybe, maybe not…

 

I am clearly not sure about this… especially as an explanation of why I would not be able to write essays, etc.

Do I get in trouble writing… because of some inner lack of self-confidence?

Because I feel, super-irrationally, that I’m just a shit?

It is a bit strange… it’s hard to believe…

 

There might probably be something else…

 

*

2011.12.14

I should probably forbid myself…

even this…

notebooking…

and tumblr…

 

and emails, etc.

 

everything…

 

just to be able to work

to fulfil the obligations

 

devil, I’ve become so soft, so shapeless…

 

no dynamism at all!

 

Dreadful…

 

how do I get out of this?

 

Typically, the bad thing:

 

I get in front of the page, and despair…

 

I feel also my state going down.

A classical shit.

 

That’s why I get tumblr addict.

 

It gets me into state.

 

I see that as a profound weakness…

 

My usual weapon, back in the days,

Was to be proud and egotistical…

To think I was super-powerful, able to succeed, etc.

 

I wanted to get rid of this…

I wanted to get out of this mechanism…

 

And now I feel I have nothing left…

 

No inner strategy…

To work properly…

 

Only impossibility and depression…

 

 

*

 

one very typical thing…

 

when doing something “serious”,

reading,

writing,

etc.

 

impossibility to reach a proper feeling of speed.

Everything is fixed, stagnant…

 

and since this stagnation is painful, depressing,

it is extremely difficult to remain in it…

the only thing I want is get out, fly away from it

 

but of course the only activities I actually am able to get in

are inferior, near-silly activities…

no real work

 

and it makes me sad, sad, sad…

 

on the other hand, of course, I could just say…

it’s because those activities are, well, boring…

truly boring…

 

and that those ‘silly’, ‘leisure’ activities are truly

The core of interest…

 

À la Chaucer…

never considered ‘serious’ back in his days…

today studied by very serious and boring scholars…

 

*

 

remarkable.

 

If I have no hope to become great/existent/accomplished in a path,

Then I feel ethical not to go in that direction.

To the point that, indeed, I run the risk of becoming nothing at all…

 

No master…

No place where a tradition is alive

 

This is truly ugly…

This is despair

 

 

*

 

LOL, just a few minutes on this bloody Tumblr, and I feel alive again…

Really it’s just about a use of myself…

Fuck.

 

And it’s not something I can command, it seems…

Or choose.

 

I am an animal.

 

I cannot control myself.

 

There is something within me…

 

Doing things for me.

Guiding me…

 

*

 

so…

 

again, again, this incapacity…

this wall… when writing…

 

tried to get to it this afternoon…

 

I feel so weak…

 

I can’t get myself to do it.

 

I think I got it.

 

It’s something about obligation

… against instinct

 

I can tumblr for hours and hours…

 

it’s no obligation…

 

and I feel I obliged myself far, far too much with years…

 

I forced so much…

 

from my teenage years onwards…

 

I forced, and forced, and forced

 

Until now, where I have no energy at all any more…

 

Nothing.

 

I can’t even read…

 

I listen to music again…

The young Schönberg, so sublime, so free…

I love him…

It was only beauty, only love…

Before everything got dark…

Before everything got difficult…

 

I love you Schönberg, I love you tenderly, passionately…

I love you in Verklärte Nacht, in the Kammersymphonien

You are music’s spirit incarnated…

Pure energy, pure inspiration…

 

Amazement and surprise,

Caress and sparkle!

 

I feel sadness at your destiny,

Because it has been touched by dread, by misery, by toil.

You have been tortured inside,

You have fought all your life…

You twisted your music into atonality, thinking there was no other way…

You would not have needed this…

You would have been great anyway…

 

I am sad, Schönberg, I am sad.

But it happened this way, and, now, I listen.

I listen to your innocence, your prime unknotted impulses…

I love them…

 

*

 

failure to be anything…

because I want to be so great…

is it not madness?

 

Failure to be anything,

because I see nowhere a place

where I could truly be what I feel I am…

 

madness?

megalomania?

 

I fear, I fear, this can only be this…

 

What could I become?

No clue, no clue…

 

 

*

 

I need to manage this feat

Just force myself, and get to this bloody work.

Survive…

 

how do I do that?!?!

 

Everything seems so strange… so vague…

 

death at the end of the way…

 

a few years from now…

a few years: even if I live very long, it will only be short, very short…

 

*

 

Always, always this injunction:

Thou shalt not abandon thyself!

Thou shalt exist. Fully.

 

Impossible to be ‘just’ an amateur…

Or ‘just’ a critic…

I have to be a creator of some kind.

Otherwise this life will have no meaning.

No meaning at all.

 

I cannot renounce.

I cannot abandon my ideal.

I cannot ‘just’ be living a half-life.

I cannot be this mediocre personae, this unfulfilled thing…

 

I have to keep fighting…

I have to find a way…

I have to invent a method, a discipline, something.

 

*

 

 

2011.12.13

So.

 

Death.

 

If I don’t find a way.

 

If I don’t find a purpose, a direction, a line, a will…

 

Some goal,

 

Some self-image.

 

If only

 

“Death”

 

was true…

 

If only it was really there.

 

If only the risk was It,

 

And not

 

Mediocrity

Laziness

Self dissolution…

 

That would be ‘easier’…

Painful…

But clear at least…

 

Self-indulgence…

The ugliest part of myself…

 

*

 

I would like to be able to read complete works

 

Finish Badiou

Deleuze

Lacan

 

Then analytic philosophy

 

And also

 

Plato

Aristotle

Descartes

Leibniz

Spinoza

Kant

 

Fichte

Schelling

Hegel

 

 

Read novelists…

 

Read Murakami, to have a better opinion.

Read Bolaño…

 

Read the poets…

 

René Char.

Valéry…

 

Rilke, Trakl, Celan…

 

Some Russians…

 

So many things…

 

I have no impulse…

I see vastly, I am paralysed.

 

Nothing can be done…

 

I might need to forget the sight…

And just do.

Somehow…

Find a way to do.

 

That’s the ugly thing.

 

Do.

 

I am just like bloody Montaigne…

Free, free, free…

Almost suffering from this freedom.

 

I need to manage to organize my mind.

Put reins…

 

shit.

 

I need to get smaller.

To cure myself from this ‘grandeur’ thing.

A true, absolute poison.

 

Because it prevents me from doing anything…

 

It prevents me from existing.

 

Absence of discipline.

 

On the other hand, strangely, I live a bit better these days…

Than before, when I applied this discipline unto myself.

 

That’s probably the thing.

I need to change my perspective.

Instead of seeing myself as a lazy prick in need of discipline,

I might wonder why, in some cases, I have more energy than I know what to do with,

And why in other cases I am utterly unable to do anything…

 

I am in real danger, though…

I have been taken by procrastination, etc.

 

Simple: because I don’t see any hope of being truly integrated into this system…

I don’t see how to manage the situation,

No ‘way out’, nothing ahead…

Everything broken: my energy source, my belief in myself, etc.

All broken.

 

Not the ‘inner one’, however.

But the idea that I might ‘succeed’ in this context.

Hence, impossibility to study, impossibility to do any kind of progress.

Impossibility to engage.

Simple again: because it would mean becoming mediocre, yielding, accepting to be a slave, etc.

I cannot.

Die rather.

 

But that’s probably what’s happening…

I’m dying intellectually.

 

I can’t read a book, I can’t focus on a topic, I can’t write a sustained argument, etc.

 

Slight stomach/back ache coming back.

 

Predictable.

 

Tumblring like mad…

Irrationally…

As if it was a solution..

As if I could hope for anything with this…

I can, in a way…

There is a strange, uncanny path, through Tumblr.

A truly Acheronous path.

 

Getting down there is extremely dangerous.

Extremely, extremely dangerous.

 

Nota bene:

people see the global result of the blog only at specific times.

When they discover it, when they return to it.

But many times they only see the content of what you are posting.

On their dashboards.

Or they see the archive view, because they are browsing through ancient entries.

Content, in those cases, is the only thing that matters.

 

*

 

Read.

Read how?

 

Very, very difficult.

 

What the hell am I going to do…

In this life?

All those bloody ‘geniuses’…
They all seem to be, well…

sure of themselves…

 

I hate them.

 

I’ve rather been…

Less and less sure…

With years…

 

Less and less sure…

 

Always, always more dissolved, more vague..

 

Losing focus and energy,

Losing hope…

 

Is it true?

This scheme of descent is not entirely accurate…

 

There is a certain stability as well..

 

There are changes,

There are things which might be actually better now than before.

 

But truly,

I am still

Nothing.

 

Invisible,

In-existent,

Mediocre,

Not even mediocre: simply nothing.

A hole.

(Lacking this necessary ‘w’)

 

And

Stardom, celebrity,

Is the only answer…

 

The canon, of course.

Celebrity in the long run.

Celebrity as an authentic, intrinsic thing.

People spit on fame and worship the canon.

As if those were two ontologically distinct things.

They are extremely close to one another…

One is ‘true’, the other ‘fake’ celebrity.

Grounded versus unjustified…

 

So.

The only possible way to exist

As an artist, a writer, a thinker, a scientist, etc.

Is through canonization.

Otherwise there is no meaning.

Or, that is to say: just a vegetative, silly, inferior life…

 

I guess I should not despise this life.

That’s precisely what I am far, far too unable to do for myself.

Be this calculated, regular person.

Be this functional worker.

 

Maybe that’s just what I lack…?

Maybe if I were to reach that level, that discipline,

Those silly mind problems I have would, well, disappear…

 

Maybe I would finally get some peace…

Find myself less empty, less despicable…

 

 

*

 

The thing is, of course,

To find true discipline…

To find an anchor, something…

 

Now I’m all, well… disoriented…

 

I need to find goals

 

And the goals I have for myself are usually, well, not well defined…

 

For instance:

“read Deleuze!”

 

Idea: now I tell myself I should be more nuanced, and, say, reformulate in this way:

select from Deleuze!”

i.e. go and dig into Deleuze, and see if you find things of interest to you, something that

Echoes your desire,

That helps it getting bigger, sharper, more intense

 

Same for Badiou.

I was lucky to find amazing things in Badiou right away, without searching for it.

 

But obviously there are plenty of things which I don’t really like…

 

The whole thing is, as usual, this expectation of something great…

I want extreme, incredible, passionate experiences…

In reading, that is…

Everywhere, actually..

In reading, writing, thinking…

In listening to music as well..

In sexual relationship (that’s why, I guess, I’m so bad at seduction..)…

 

Un trop plein de désir qui me mène à l’échec…

 

*

 

I guess if I could find

Good reasons

To be a ‘critic’…

Well, then…

I might be happier, and more efficient… in this life?

 

But I can’t.

 

It’s inferior.

 

Impossible to yield to that.

 

It is too far away from life…

 

Or, precisely, the thing should be …

Considered differently…

 

Maybe I just suffer from this backward thinking of mine…?

A hidden ugliness?

 

Backward thinking: critics are inferior, the true work is done by artists, writers, philosophers, etc.

 

I have no clue.

 

But it is true that I suffer a lot from this feeling of inferiority…

 

This feeling that I am nothing.

I am no musician, no real writer or philosopher…

Nothing…

 

And the idea of ‘commentary’ is so ugly…

The idea of being, well… a critic…

Just like all those silly dull guys writing always the same articles on musical or literary figures…

So sad, so sad…

A true death for the mind, for the heart, it seems to me…

 

But maybe it’s the opposite…?

Maybe it is my mind that is dead…

And I’m just too silly to understand those texts,

Too ‘far away’ from the problems to really engage with them…

(especially in cases where criticism gets jargon laden and highly specialized…)

 

What can I do?

 

Where can I go?

 

There is really no direction…

 

I would do well to … explore this place more…

Try to make contacts…

See who is good, who could inspire me…

 

*

 

Still enclosed.

Still in prison…

Still a slave…

 

Voice: of myself.

 

That might be true.

 

Slave of myself.

Enclosed within myself.

 

Impossible to get out…

 

Destroyed, before even having seen the world…

 

Or simply not, and I should stop whining…

 

Not a single step of work done…

 

Totally, utterly lost…

 

I pay the fucking price…

 

I pay the price of this ugly, ugly inferiority,

Of all those self-betrayals…

 

Now how to fucking get out of this situation?

 

Am I, in any thinkable way,

When I do this?

 

*

 

I am now stronger, at least, in some points:

I can say, for instance, that I disapprove the aesthetic turn(s) of many works of the XXth century.

I guess I can admit that those were necessary turns (the relationship to the war, to extremisms, is crucial).

Yet, it is so sad, so harsh, so dark.

I don’t want that, or not to that degree.

 

The ideal would be something else.

And not this bathing kitsch that rules everywhere…

 

*

 

If I stay in this bloody situation, well…

There will be nothing

No help coming…

 

If I don’t decide

If I don’t get to it, and do things

Then the world will go on, and I will die.

No one can do anything for me.

 

I am the only one to be able to decide…

The only one able to make this step.

 

Probably the hardest in my whole existence.

 

I have to create my own self.

 

I have to find a way…

 

 

*

 

And now, what do I do…?

 

I listen to music…

 

Again…

 

Ok…

 

Does it really help me?

 

I guess… just a little

 

It’s not enough.

 

It’s NEVER enough.

 

Things happen, but always… slightly

 

No real change… no profound transformation…

 

Shit, shit, shit…

 

I’m better, but only superficially

 

Which means, well, that I’m only superficially less in danger…

 

And I should force myself doing this job I have…

Stop procrastinating, bloody hell…

 

*

 

Other music(s) ?

 

Janacek,

Kodali

Bartók

 

?

 

Big unknown continents there…

 

And of course the ‘conservatives’:

Henze

Dutilleux

 

?

 

Maybe…

Hartmann…?

 

That’s a lot…

 

And strengthen the Viennese,

Schönberg/Berg,

 

as well as the previous generation, Mahler/Strauss…

 

*

 

Fuck fuck fuck

I’m not going anywhere…

 

Devil…

 

Tumblring… with great addiction…

 

And yet, of course, I can see very quickly… the limitations!!

 

It’s not big deal…

 

Limitations, for instance: if you limit yourself to your dashboard, you don’t go very far.

What you need to is browse, browse, browse through blogs constantly…

I guess through flickr as well, if I were to go next level.

Browse, go through things, and select, select, select…

 

Easy, actually.

 

I could do that for hours…

 

I do that for hours

 

The thing is, of course…

Where does this lead?

 

At least, contrary to academic shit, I feel more in flow…

It’s very easy…

I guess… that’s because, well, it is more easy…?

It is inferior

 

??

 

Always this idea… this lack of self-confidence

 

I could also say to myself that … blogging is actually livelier, a younger form, with a much brighter future, etc.

 

Maybe…

 

Always this tension within myself…

 

I don’t see any real solution…

 

No, no solution…

 

I want to study… That’s the thing.

 

I don’t want to have my mind shut, learning nothing…

 

*

 

This big fucking problem in academia…

 

Critics and historians tend to be very modest, in the bad sense of the term…

Not only are they overly modest, but they tolerate the lack thereof in their little protégés.

 

They always put themselves under the people they study…

Unbearable…

 

Two things:

 

  • first, if I manage to get rid of this inferiority, that could be a start. i.e. read/listen to without feeling inferior
  • second, with the first one acquired, I might feel free to create something of my own!!!

 

Interesting…

 

A bit like those philosophers I admire…?

Deleuze, Badiou…?

 

The thing is, of course, to manage to get rid of this inferiority thing…

 

How do you do that??

 

I guess you can work on that.

 

How?

Well, in a specific work method:

first of all, you need to be very picky in what you learn.

 

You need to learn only through what reinforces you.

 

And if/when you are strong enough, then learn what is more costly.

 

That is, find proper challenges,

Learn from people who offer resistance.

 

Like, say,

 

Go for Boulez, Carter, Ferneyhough, Birtwislte, once again.

 

*

 

hem…

no internet…

 

no access to the bloody addiction…

 

which means, actually…

 

no access to a flow activity…

 

devil, devil, devil…

 

there is no solution in this world…

 

in my mind, silly.

 

There are solutions everywhere…

 

you just don’t see them…

 

 

*

 

Write…

At least I’m supposed to know how to do that…

 

I might want to ‘forbid’ this bloody tumblr…

 

And try to adapt to this environment…

 

make the best out of it?

 

 

I feel so lost…

 

I don’t see any fucking way…

 

any way

 

Profound despair, profound, profound, profound despair…

 

Even if I’m ‘ok’, now…

It’s because of this tumblr thing…

 

A fury…

 

A hope to ‘get out’…

 

And yet nothing seems to be of any avail…

 

Everything is closed…

 

Is it really?

 

I wish it was not…

 

I am closed, then…

 

Me.

Only me.

Silly creature.

Enclosed being…

 

Nothing, just emptiness…

 

No way out.

 

No way to disappear into anything

 

As if my imagination was dead…

 

That’s what I might want to wake up…

 

My imagination…?

 

This ability to produce worlds…

 

To compensate for this lack…

For the absence of any real world…

 

For its poverty, cruelty, mediocrity…

 

 

I should also try to be much, much more imaginative in my own creation…

 

*

 

Research…

 

Maybe what I should do is…

 

Try it… differently?

 

With more freedom?

 

I feel really a bit silly… not to be able to research properly…

 

Not to be able to read, assimilate…

 

I really feel inferior…

 

I feel broken,

 

I feel incomplete…

 

Just a shit…

 

 

And on the other hand…

I feel superior…

I feel so much of what I ‘can’t’ read

I actually avoid because it is intrinsically silly and inferior

 

shit, shit…

 

So I just avoid it..

 

To avoid losing my soul…

 

But if it’s not academia…

 

What could it be?

 

[a few beautiful things in Henze… at least he is not disconnected from his emotions!!]

[same thing as for Dutilleux, I guess…]

 

If it’s not academia, then…

 

Where could I go?

What could I do?

 

I feel completely lost…

On the verge of … death, let’s face it…

 

Completely lost…

 

And old, old, old…

 

No solution ahead, not at all…

 

All those dreams, all this ambition…

 

What am I to do with this?

 

Life is short…

 

Maturity should already be ahead, as the ‘next step’…

 

And I feel I haven’t started at all…

 

shit, shit, shit…

 

 

*

 

LOL I totally see why people despise Henze…

And I can see why I might agree less and less with them…

 

A bit like Grisey respecting Dutilleux, whereas everyone else would just think he was a retrograde shit…

 

*

 

I really see myself

As being without any future,

Any solution, any hope

 

A broken shit…

Dysfunctional waste…

 

How do I get out of this?

 

Terrible… I see the mechanism:

 

somehow there is something that prevents me from realizing myself.

it’s an absolute taboo…

which means that what now my “desire” is getting more and more extinguished…

I cannot desire, because if I do, and I express it,

People might actually get to help me realize it.

And that’s what is taboo, what cannot happen.

 

Why, fuck, why?!?!

 

Always the same…

 

I forbid myself to compose, to write, to think (philosophy)…

 

I feel depressed as soon as I get close to the thing…

 

And feel ‘ok’ only when I do

Forbidden, or base things.

A blog, for instance…

Or a diary…

 

Only base forms are ‘free’…

 

Only base forms are allowed

 

The ‘great’ forms, on the other hand…

The respectable, the strong, the achieved, the profound, etc.

All this is absolutely impossible.

 

So strange…

 

*

 

And now even ‘reading’ seems really impossible…

 

In any case, well…

 

Why read?

 

I really can’t read for nothing…

 

It has to be connected

 

Read… with the intent of creation

 

Read only things that might… help you somehow, nourish you…

 

Academia, then, in a ‘sound’ way, would be:

study primary material that is really essential to you;

study secondary sources that help you access more essentially to those primary materials…

 

I guess that would be something.

 

Just like, hem, in the Game:

go seduce and fuck

read and discuss in order to seduce and fuck more/better…

 

Always, always,

My problem seems to be

The basis

 

The first layer…

This is what is not really well in place…

This is what obsesses me constantly…

 

The first, absolute relationship to music…

 

 

I really don’t see how I could not die

 

On the other hand, well…

There is at least one other option…

 

The one considering that

Without ‘academia’ behind my back all the time,

This burning energy I get so easily

(Say tumblring)

Could be free, could be true…

 

I see that it is something amazing…

The ability to work for hours and hours on end…

Simply because, well, it’s not work!!!

Or, depending on the definition, it’s true work!

2011.12.12

Enclosedness…

within myself.

And

this ugly openness.

I am far too open (which means also undisciplined).

I see all books, all fields, all knowledge,

even possible lives, incompatible ones,

and I want them all…

and in the end I have none of them…

Enclosedness

within myself, that’s for sure.

The evil of my time.

All those autofiction guys… uninteresting.

I wish that through work I might be able to…

go beyond that.

Be different.

Be otherwise.

Little hope, however…

The tendency seems rather to reinforce itself.

More, more, more self,

More openness,

More emptiness…

Guilt, also, to have tumblred.

Guilt, because it is not serious, because you cannot do… anything … great… with it…

Another part of me say that on the contrary it is absolutely possible

To do something great.

*

Today again this experience of going to the bookshop, having a ‘resolution’ to buy, and ending up not buying anything… There’s this thing about buying desires… It’s a lie. It’s a lie. It is a desire, but for something else. Maybe, simply, desire to read. Desire to learn things. So instead of buying, I should just… bury my eyes in some of those many books I already have!

*

I am completely lost.

Yet, something is new.

I have listened to music again.

Great, great recovery.

Listen to music again.

There is still this question.

How do you get into those cultural productions

– From speculative art to philosophy or science –

Which have this resisting quality.

Which are really not easy (either incomprehensible, boring or simply alien…)?

That is a major question.

More precisely: how do you get to access those

Without the sadomasochistic superego injunctions?

How do you get to be more efficient, more powerful, more virtuoso…

*

It is altogether interesting,

This Tumblr thing.

Something like my Pop eruptions,

When suddenly I would listen to pop music, or watch blockbusters, etc.

But with more creation into it.

With a ‘result’, a ‘product’…

It is very ‘passive’, yes…

Most of what you do is, well, just choosing.

But it is already far, far more active than just art/music consumption.

*

Music.

Love again.

I may be free of modernism.

I may envisage a way out.

Arvo Pärt, John Adams, Steve Reich.

No individual seems to have a solution.

They are all pointing towards it.

The solution may still be ahead.

Or I haven’t yet seen it.

Or it is there somewhere already, and it did not reach me yet…

*

Remarkable!!

Suddenly the view of XXth century musical canon

Appears

As progress

*

Rediscovery of the canon.

In an integrated manner.

Schoenberg,

Berg…

Ligeti again.

Extraordinary.

Truly powerful.

I am able to listen to him like never before…

Such a beautiful sense of harmony, and of sound.

Form, as well.

There is drama, there is narrative.

*

Ok.

I listen to music.

And my state does not go down.

Remarkable.

I feel stable.

I feel in a bubble.

Well being?

Not even: just flow.

Just absence of self.

Now, of course, the thing is

To be able to reach a point

Where other activities:

  • disciplined creation
  • maybe some forms of discourse, like essays

can exist as well…

In this very same state…

Difficult, difficult, it seems.

Almost impossible I would say…

Certain kinds of reading, also.

Reading philosophy,

Reading abstract, or intellectual things.

*

Finnegans Wake

I shall read that.

I shall resolve this dreadful knot.

I am now

Strong enough,

Ready,

For this meandering

For this ascension,

For this descent into inverted bowels.

*

The problem, of course,

Is to become.

The problem is

What I am.

For I am not.

This self-gaze sees nothing.

Emptiness.

In search for something full

Inside.

Always looking,

Always craving,

Always devouring.

In vain.

*

2011.12.09

Inaction…

 

dreadful.

 

I feel I become silly.

 

I feel my mind is dying…

 

Yet, of course, I cannot force on the body any more, as I used to…

 

Library… I feel the stifling…

 

I wish I could find some… other way

 

A way of being in activity

 

A way that would be more productive than, say, re-blogging,

And yet which would not be stained by the life reducing disflow of my usual intellectual habitus.

 

Read bits of literature…

Always bits…

 

What I lack, of course, is this sparkle.

 

What I found in tumblr recently.

Discovery of something amazing,

That draws me into it.

Passion, deep passion…

 

I guess the objection to that would be to say that a more regular, more stable kind of work would help me a lot…

If I were able to invest less energy, but more ‘reasonably’…

If I were able to read less fascinating things… I would be able to escape the ‘lows’ that those ‘highs’ create…

 

Maybe, maybe not…

 

Two ways of working, I suppose…

 

Now again I think, think, write…

 

Without direction… (and always with the potential… tendinitis thing on the right hand, I need to be careful…)

 

 

My ‘official’ work is still completely suspended…

 

I am supposed to read a lot…

And I am not, of course…

My assimilation process is blocked. Almost entirely blocked.

 

*

 

Slight obsession with her.

What should I do…

Forget her?

Manage to reach casualness?

 

Sadness, really, to see that the Game seems to rule after all…

Sadness to see that there is no escape from it…

 

? Escape from it, meaning…

That in this frame of mind I am an absolute loser…

Somebody without hope, without any solution.

 

This is the thing that should be avoided, overthrown.

 

*

 

I try to read philosophy…

Descartes, Spinoza…

 

Maybe someday I will manage to reach contemporary analytic stuff,

Zalta and his axiomatized metaphysics…

 

My mind seems so weak, so lazy…

 

Rather, my mind needs an energy that I do not seem to have at hand…

A corporeal energy…

When I try, something in the body happens. Anxiety rises, tension occurs…

And I don’t want that.

Tonicity is great, is the goal: I don’t know how to achieve that.

 

Tonicity of the mind.

 

This is the big deal.

 

Strange, by the way, how my ‘concrete’ situation is less of a problem…

That is, strange how I don’t feel anxiety regarding that.

 

Sure origin:

Blog.

i.e., those hours and hours spent in pure forgetfulness of myself

In pure flow.

It is a radical cure. For anxiety as such.

Anxiety of this thing or that might be, indeed, anxiety as such, which is fostered, encouraged, by this or that thing.

A strong cure against anxiety would do a global job..

As anxiety decreases globally, anxiety towards this or that areas of my life is, logically, less important.

 

And, indeed, it is not clear at all that this would mean a disinvestment from those problems.

It might be that I would be more available to solve them.

More ready to give energy to them, because I have enough

Because I am no more in this dreadful scarcity, etc.

 

*

 

Activity does not seem to be so impossible…

It started again, slowly… very slowly…

And in domains without real public diffusion…

But it started…

 

The thing is now, to be able to reach this visibility state again,

But with an integrated, organic being-in-activity…

i.e. without inner self-denial, destructive torsion, etc.

 

Difficult.

Maybe impossible, at least in an Academic context…

 

*

 

2011.12.08

Schoenberg fascination…

 

Verklärte Nacht, Kammersymphonien

 

Such beauty, such romanticism…

 

But tension, darkness, thickness, too…

 

 

*

 

Mad, how still I am.

No work flow,

No energy current.

But I am well, strangely…

 

Or at least… I am not bad

 

Interesting session of counselling…

Very rewarding.

Looking forward to the next one…

 

I suddenly have a feeling of hope…

 

That things might actually get better…

 

*

 

Ultra-fascination

 

With Descartes!

 

Preface by Durandin to his Principles.

 

This thought gesture is so grand, so profound…

 

And, again, like so many others, he did things so young…

 

Such a beauty to have had this knowledge of mathematics…

2011.12.07

Superb anxiety

 

I need to choose.

I need to know what I do.

In my life.

 

I feel this stress.

That is a good thing.

 

It is far better than depression.

 

I need to know.

I need to choose.

 

It needs to choose,

Inside me.

 

*

 

Very, very clearly

I see the effect

Of being in that library…

Without ‘goal’

Without hope for any better flow…

 

It gets inside me…

It makes me become less and less active…

Grey shades in my mind…

 

I need to get out of this dynamic…

I need to reinvent myself, to do something.

 

At least maybe

I let it out,

I make it a work surface,

Which echoes as I watch it…

 

A word surface,

Like an object,

Craftable,

A sculpture,

Some outer self I can act upon.

 

Modifiable ‘I’,

If only!,

Against this brute instinctive uncontrollable one

– The writing one.

 

 

*

 

Where would be the direction?

 

If not Academia,

The jump will be hard.

 

But if Academia,

The inner torsion,

To fit in,

Might be unbearable.

 

Two paths,

Both … nearly impossible.

 

And otherwise, well,

Only musing,

Only divertissement

 

Although with some … shaping…

Very gradually.

 

Something that might emerge.

The beginning of a working space,

In the mind.

 

*

 

Un sonnet de Paul Verlaine

La mort des cochons

Nous reniflerons dans les pissotières,
Nous gougnotterons loin des lavabos,
Et nous lècherons les eaux ménagères
Au risque d’avoir des procès-verbaux.

Foulant à l’envi les pudeurs dernières,
Nous pomperons les vieillards les moins beaux,
Et fourrant nos nez au sein des derrières,
Nous humerons la candeur des bobos.

Un soir plein de foutre et de cosmétique,
Nous irons dans un lupanar antique
Tirer quelques coups longs et soucieux.

Et la maquerelle entrouvrant les portes
Viendra balayer –ange chassieux-
Les spermes éteints et les règles mortes.

extrait de l’Album Zutique (circa 1871)

*

Oh dear, I shouldn’t read poetry like this…

I am further and further away from…

Academic life…

And if I leave, where shall I go? What shall I do?

This is what I wanted…?

Do I have what it takes?

Do I have the guts?

Jump into the unkown.

So cliché, so true.

At least for the organisational part…

*

Re-reading Rimbaud…

Lettres du voyant

Oh dear, it’s dangerous…

I might just… leave right now

To go where?

*

2011.12.06

Vide

 

 

 

 

break up.

 

Something strangely purifying…

 

Something was unknotted… somehow…

 

The feeling of an ending,

Of something new.

 

An ending in this relationship.

An ending also in the Game.

 

Something new may emerge.

 

Something… unexpected.

 

It might be the best thing I could experience.

 

Something yet to come.

 

Something that would completely escape those intellectual schemes of my mind.

 

My limited mind.

 

*

 

There is work to do…

 

What work?

 

I guess the only thing I want now, is …

meaning

 

Keep on with meaning…

 

Meaningless work

Is self-destruction.

 

Meaningful work

Is pure life.

 

*