2011.12.14

by J C W

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.

 

*

 

 

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