I got drowned into it.
Mostly in erotic images,
But also so, so many other things…
And it will become more and more diverse, I hope,
With my first fire cooling down…
Is it true that I cannot find any activity
That I can hold in the long run?
It is probably true that I am absolutely unable
To find a proper balance between
Activity and passivity,
A middle way between rushing and stagnating…
That is the big thing.
I guess this, this bloody book noting,
Is the key.
It is the long run activity
The longest I have.
The most varied, the most diverse,
And at the same time the most personal.
Such a massive hurricane,
Only in a few days…
So many reblogs.
That’s all what it takes…
Just be the messenger…
Just like and pass to the next person…
This form of blogging.
The subtle art of liking.
All things already exist.
You make, by immediate affective reaction,
A combination of your own.
A combination that itself inexists.
You make a configuration appear.
As soon as I am not in activity,
She is in my mind.
Maybe I am switching now…
Maybe I am switching from work to love.
Back to love again, and to life,
Just as I was when still a teenager…
With roughness and immediacy,
As strong foundations.
More than technique,
More than knowledge.
How could I be certain?
Am I not now in the very process of ruining this academic thing…?
Is it not what I always dreamed of?
Stop meddling with those flat bastards, those grey brains?
But I love knowledge so much…
And, most of all, I love excellence.
I love this idea of work, of massive work, of incredible effort, of achievement.
It is impossible for me to get rid of that.
Funny, very funny stuff about Tumblr.
You could easily do it ‘as a job’…
i.e. do it constantly, very regularly, and with method.
Take blogs, read them through, select all the pictures you like.
But not randomly…
Classify things, with new tags, etc.
Do something properly ordered, although superbly foisonnant,
Swarming with things, ideas,
Multiples facets, many worlds…
I feared suddenly I could not
Get back to writing…
Because this ’emptiness’ – all this tumblring, etc. –
Would have dried my mind,
Would have transformed me into a pure erotomaniac knot,
A balloon of lust.
Maybe. But not entirely.
Could there be any form of, well, depth and height
In those new literary/cultural forms?
You could obviously
Pimp the design,
Up to every detail.
So that it is truly art.
(Although of course it would require so much work, and so much knowledge,
A craft that actually does not interest me so much…)
In any case…
I am writing, yes,
But writing what?
Emptiness of life.
Emptiness in search of something.
Some empowering twist…
Some formal dubbing…
Something that could help me get
From this low to that far high…
I do not consider this writing,
I never stop,
I never reread…
It is forgotten
When it is done.
It is not really me…
This feeling that this is going through me…
This is just as the instant’s as it is mine.
This is just some light, untouchable improvisation…
But since it is never remade, never reinspected, never reworked,
It is forever in the past, always already finished,
As soon as made, marmoreal.
(It is paradoxical to think that a text you rework most is the one that is
The most fixed,
The most eternal…
Whereas the one that is forever untouched, absolutely unmoving
Is the one you never even reread…
This one you leave in the past
As soon as it exists…)
(Yet I feel completely persuaded by this…
Profoundly, the only possibility
To create a true work
Is to start it,
And never let it go.
As you would start with definitions and axioms.
Keep working on it,
As you would deduce, ever further,
So, now I work, again and again.
But never for this bloody thesis.
Which means, well,
That I will have to leave…
Which means that there will soon be an end to this recluse life…
Which means that I will have to get myself to work.
Do something to earn a living, etc.
The biggest problem, I think I understand it now,
Will be people.
People are unavailable.
Unless you live by them, there is no way you can communicate.
Or you need to find ways.
Maybe through the internet you can find people.
But I doubt you can find the right ones easily.
Many amazing people do not have time for distance communication.
They are too caught in their lives.
Well, but there are probably many others who, on the contrary, dream of that, and feel alone, etc.
I will be hard, in any case, if I leave.
Very, very hard.
Probably the hardest thing in my life.
And I might have in front of my eyes a seemingly impossible way of life.
No exit, etc.
Yet somehow I am a bit better than before.
I take more time for myself,
I am more energetic, etc.
I keep on believing that it is possible for me to get rid of those depression moments.
The answer is pretty straightforward:
I need a life where:
- I love what I do
- I feel able to do what I love
- I am sufficiently busy, yet not too stressed (i.e. stressed to the point of losing control)
- The material conditions of my life are acceptable (or good)
It is funny how in the present context the idea of banking is present everywhere.
It is interesting to feel the temptation of money, the ‘advantages’ that you get
(This lifestyle of luxury, this ‘situation’ very high in society, etc.)
It is also very, very interesting to see that despite that
And despite all those difficulties
With literature, music, philosophy,
Despite my inability to be anyone,
A writer, a composer, a philosopher, or any thing creative, really,
Despite this hole in me,
Despite my utter inexistence,
I keep being persuaded that this purely monetary way is not thinkable.
(Except maybe as ‘the way of evil’, where you go there only to experience the true power of money, to know that ugly and sublime life of whoring, depravation, outrageous spending, etc.)
If I really go for something more ‘pop cultural’
With more, much more blogging,
(i.e. images, with also popular mottos, and a bit of text)
And if I were to find some more interesting alive literature,
i.e. literature that does not seem the mere product of some mind, as brilliant as it is,
But also of a being in a thrilling existence,
All that with a music having the same characteristics,
Then, well, it would be possible to really re-establish myself in life.
Get rid of depression,
Get rid of stagnation,
Be energetic again,
Maybe it all about being a bit more healthy…
Just be more healthy in my way of working…
Sad, sad, sad.
Many would say that it is now that I waste my life,
Not in those moments when I worked intellectually…
Intellectually, and I should add: academically, or institutionally…
I am lost now…
I do not know where to go, what to do.
I have made so many mistakes…
I don’t see how I could not make more, immensely more…
I am horny.
In my head.
I want sex, I want those pictures, I want her, in my arms.
And nothing is really responding…
There is something weak in my sex of late,
Although I can still come often.
Am I growing old?
On the other hand, it is probably too early for that.
Probably something else…
I am writing.
New, for me, to write things as concrete, as banal.
Should I resist that?
Should I embrace that on the contrary?
What could this mean, for me
To go from the most abstract-depressive
To the most simple, concrete, and, hopefully, happy?
Could all this mean that actually
All intellectual, and otherwise ‘serious’ (even in the arts or elsewhere) endeavour is now…
Could this mean that I might not be able
To make efforts,
(Not that I have been able to do anything, really, up until now…)
It would be sad…
Other voice, actually very strong:
No, on the contrary, what happens now
Is a profound reconfiguration
Of your use of self.
What might occur is
Some new way to approach intellectual issues.
A way that would not include self-destructive pain.
A way that would be more healthy, more ‘sustainable’.
A way that would associate effort with pleasure and
Oh! Here a very striking word,
Coming here to dialogue with me.
Instead of rejection, which was the case before.
Work for institutions because it was outside, imposed, etc.
To work for myself, work with inspiration, in the direction that I see fit.
It might indeed be something about self-management.
i.e. the value configuration in which you live.
i.e. when you force yourself, do you feel a slave, or do you feel a hardworker?
i.e. when you look at your life, do you see your own work, or do you see choices of others?
Thinking about her.
She does not answer my messages.
Because she always follows her intuition, her feeling.
She is lazy.
She will not answer if she does not want to.
(Both correlative: I would force myself to answer to things, because of the fear of people, etc.)
It also means that if I tease her the right way,
She will buy it in the second.
She will be sucked in.
Because that is exactly what she loves.
That’s what I should try on her.
I should do that, for us, for her, for me.
I should do that so that she gets to love me like she never did.
I should do that to resolve my inner knot, and be able to love, at last.
The whole point, is, of course,
This is the mindset.
Try, because you know that this is the only way.
Try, because somehow there is a hope that through work it will succeed.
Definitely, there is something in those days.
Something is changing.
Something is changing
In a non doing.
In a disciplined letting go.
Disciplined, though, is still not yet reached.
Proust, Joyce, Mallarmé…
All those guys that I supposedly loved so much.
And yet there is so much in them I could not stand.
So much that is really not for me.
And that, at the time, I could not realize.
I was too insecure, I thought I had to take everything.
And I got lost.
And I hurt myself.
Now I should get back to them,
And get repaired.
It does not solve my present situation.
I still do not have answers.
Opening Mallarmé again…
Apart from a few known lines,
I don’t really know this any more…
Or rather: I don’t see how I could get into that at all…
Is there anything in there for me?
Is there something that could interest me?
The difficult thing.
Maybe I just lack discipline…
Rather: I should learn to get to the inside of things…
Learn to be more focussed.
Or I just do that,
And fuck everything else,
And, well, become really poor…
Bloody hell… this will not do.
And although this is some kind of work,
Some kind of activity,
It is truly not enough…
Not nearly enough…
No clue how to get there.
Where it is all glorious, profound, mastered.
What is to be mastered in the first place?
And if it comes down to competition, I clearly refuse it…
No interest in that.
I wonder if there is something like a ‘delusional certainty of winning’
For competition lovers…
I think I know the thirst for competition…
I had that at some point.
Did I lose it?
Is it something I don’t feel now only because of some inferiority complex?
I am now in the fear of not getting back to work.
And I feel I should force myself.
But I also feel that forcing myself would be problematic…
That I am weak, almost broken by this past year.
I have this fear that ‘relaxing’ now means that I will not be able to work any more…
Maybe a classical fear…
The fear of the geek, the one who thinks life is only made of work…
Or just the fear of this disorganized one,
Who simply does not know how to deal with work and leisure…
I should write…
For the journal,
For the course…
I should get back on track,
I should progress.
It is clear that doing nothing won’t do.
Remarkable, how little remains…
I had many in my head at the time.
All by heart.
And what are those that remain?
Those which despite everything
I have to look for meaning.
That is the key.
Meaning, meaning, meaning.
I have neglected that far too much.
I thought meaning was a given.
That since the figure was canonic, it was sufficient to study him/her for a long time in order to get meaning out of it.
That is not true.
Meaning has to come first.
Meaning as a goal.
Select things, select much more.
But how, in this new context,
Keep the discipline?
Discipline was provided by the ‘figures’…
The figure dictated what was important to work on,
And if there were things that I did not understand,
The figure gave the security that there was meaning inside.
I just had to work for it.
Work until I found something.
I found things,
But on the whole it failed.
And it is, actually, a great joy.
Because it means I can get rid of this bloody method.
And try something else.
Try to be more intuitive, more appreciation-driven.
Yet again it was my discipline that gave me my success…
(Or was it?)
(Pretty sure of it… at least part of it)
(One other big part, though, was the one I am trying to heal, to recuperate: the love, passion part…)
Anxiety, this idea of not being able to work…
And yet confidence,
That this is the only way…
That this is a true way…
Of getting to know better how to work,
And reaching a higher level of achievement…
Yet of course…
Those are the last years of my youth…
Achievement hopes might be soon behind…
And, well, it might be all lost already…
Bloody hands, so sensitive…
Straight away into tendinitis, as soon as I start re-writing…
1There is the question, of course, to know how to ‘choose’ the right axioms, that is axioms that work somehow. Because although you can clearly pick coherent and yet incompatible sets of axioms, it is not possible to have any set. Certain sets work, others not. I wish I were a mathematician and new more about this.