Saturday, September 16, 2006

Trip Mckenzie and the Desperate Man

A desperate man tears at his oil paint hair. His eyes wildly stare at what?

At you, at me. We are the second party.

All the world's desperation turned upon the observer. See what is in my head, see what I face. How will you live with that? Now deal with that.

Piano keys fall out of the sky, exploding in rioutous fireworks. The sounds, stagerringly beautiful and utterly out of context surround and envelop you. There is nothing there to produce them, just an empty park. The sky. Grass. A bench. No fireworks, certainly not a piano to be seen. But still the sounds come, surround. And you cannot handle it, it is too much for your heart. Squeezed tight to keep the blood pumping but unable to handle this unexpected load. The increase in pressure, too much is asked, too much blood, too fast a rate. It explodes, splattering the inside of the ribcage with whatever it is that hearts are made off. A chain reaction begins, first the lungs, then the liver, kidney. God I don't know the order, this is all a fantasy anyway. Chain reaction, organ after organ, the inside explodes. Crashing against the structure of bone and skin but not making a dent.

I fall down. The fireworks keep exploding. The piano keys tumbling all around me. I can see them now. Somehow they are falling perfectly in pattern, black next to white, in whatever order it is that piano's have their keys arranged. I could not recall it if asked, but I know that what is unfolding around me is correct. None of this makes sense.

Piano keys, explosions, organs... none of this fits the picture. I'm lying in bed, alone, outdated drops of semen drying on my stomach. I wish there were piano keys around me and fireworks in the sky. That would make this scene far more beautiful. But its just me, in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing. Feeling like nothing. Always just me. I close my eyes, I try to think of the music, picture the epic that is my life. I close my eyes and what I see is a desperate man staring back at me. His eyes pass the desperation over to me. How will you live with this he asks?

I shall sleep, is my answer.

I shall sleep now. And when I wake I shall still sleep. I shall walk through life asleep. I shall even sleep through my dreams.

I don't say anything of the sort. That would be even more desperate than the plate that the man has handed me.

What I tell him is this:

You are desperate because you dream of greatness. You may not know what it is, you may not be able to picture it and you may feel that you shall never find it. But still it is what you dream of. You feel it every minute of your life this greatness. And that is why you are desperate, you want to touch it, to let it envelop you, to lose yourself in that greatness. You are desperate because you dream but you believe that it is only a dream.

And you are right to think that you shall never find this greatness, but you are wrong to despair. You will never find it because there is no greatness for you to touch, no greatness will surround you, you cannot lose yourself, cannot drown in the greatness that you feel in every minute of your life. Because that greatness, that thing you feel, is not out there. It is not apart from you, how could you feel it so readily if it was?

The greatness is you.

That is how I shall handle your gift, I tell the desperate man. I tell myself. I shall reveal its truth, its emptiness. I am not empty, I am not desperate. I shall be great.

(inspired by Gustave Courbet: The Desperate Man (Self-Portrait), M83 and a non-existent love life.)

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Trip Mckenzie and another bout of instable idiocy.

My god my head is hurting.

Feels like some tiny ugly creature is trying to hatch its way out through the shell of my skull. This is not a pleasant feeling.

Of course I could just go to sleep. It would certainly seem like the sensible thing to do right now. But sensible is related to stable and I really don't think that that is a trade I have much stock in right now. Earlier today I started furiously pacing around the room, except it was not even pacing, more a constrained combination of running and stamping. Pretty much the kind of thing a really drepressed polar bear might do if it was locked up in a really inhumane old-fashioned zoo... except more frantic. And I would imagine somewhat less imposing than the bear.

Now at 4.46 pacing is not my adopted form of relentless half-valve open vent destruction. Now I just stay awake, long past the point of production or benefit. No way in the world am I going to manage to do anything I should be doing now. Instead I am practicing planches and fondues. Tondues, whatever... that is not even close to the right term anyway. Some dumb ballet shit that I imagine will help me to get where I want to go. It won't. It might make my arse look a bit better though. Won't that be great huh?

That's it you see. I've lost any thread of what I might have been saying now. You know I would really like to write a story  heaven forbid a thesis a review an opinion a structured something. Not necessarily even a structure just a complete something. Instead of these bits and pieces that are all I can ever manage, until 20 minutes later my brain breaks down again and all ideas and inspiration seep out of the shards.

Maybe I should just pummel the crap out of my head again. That is always fun. Or try and split my fingers down the middle of the knuckles punching a radiator or whatever else is at hand. Oblivion baby here I come.

Actually screw that. Oblivion is alright but I'm not so into that means of transport. I mean... bludgeoning my way to anything. That is hardly elegant or graceful. Pirate, highwayman, musketeer, acrobat or harlequin. Dreams and childish images I'm sure. But I never thought a caveman was cool. I never liked the big guy smashing his way to victory. Spider-man over Super-man any day. Brute force is just has no aesthetic. And it certainly does not fit my idea of cool.

Of course those rules don't hold true for a bear. But bears are an exception. What are they exactly? What evolutionary niche do they fit into? Thats right. You can't answer it. And if you can your answer is rubbish. Bears are just bears. And well... that is just about the coolest thing you could be. (which is not to say that bears are the coolest animals. They aren't. Sorry bears.)

I read something new today about quantum physics. I guess its a new take on the whole shrodingers cat thing. The cat is neither dead or alive till someone takes a look at it in a box. Quantum uncertainty I think. Or maybe I am mixing stuff up? What the hell. Works for me.

Anyway the thing I read was about these quantumly uncertain things, I guess the idea is nothing exists in a quantum sense (and so not really at all) until the quantumly uncertain state is certified one way or another. So all that exists is a probablity or a possibility, waiting to be observed and made concrete one way or the other. Which is a pretty good candidate for what the Ireal is. Something that isn't real but still exists.

What was new was the argument that this observation had to be done by an actual conciousness. What observation could be without something to observe I don't know, but apparently this idea is new. Or the absoluteness of it is new. Conciousness or nothing.

Do I have a point. Yes. Yes and no. My point is that I should damned well have been able to think of something interesting or worthwhile to say about that. At its most basic level nothing exists beyond a potential until a conciousness observes it, validates and certifies existence. God that is pretty mind-bending stuff; but I have nothing. No creative spark comes to mind, I just sit here. Staying awake as long as I can (well not as long as I can but needlessly long), knowing that all it will do is prevent me from doing anything tomorrow, to match today and the day before that. When the hell did I flick this stupid self-destruct switch anyway? And why the hell. I mean its some kind of hairtrigger I have to do this given how fucking easy my life is...

Meh. Worst blog ever.

Trip Mckenzie and the bitter beans

My god coffee beans are a disgusting thing to eat. 3am in the morning, coffee machine switched off and a refusal to even have instant coffee in the house, however, and this is the only way I have to get a caffeine hit.

I suppose I could take an inordinate amount of over the shelf pain-killers, they often contain caffeine. Seems strange to include a stimulant in something that is meant to kill sensation, but what do I know I'm not a pharmacist.

With no sugary drinks, all out of chocolate, it seems that the bean is really my only option. Of course if anyone can suggest anything else that would be appreciated. Have I mentioned that these things really don't taste that good.

The whole idea of taking a caffeine hit at 3am is perhaps a little idiotic, but this is really the only way that I am able to make good on any motivation I might have at the moment. I can't self-motivate myself to do the whole organised, time schedule thing, obsession is and always has been my way of getting things done. Some people might suggest that this is not a healthy way to be of course, that I would be well served, instead of trying to cultivate obsession in the things I want, to learn to do without the mindset at all. Go that whole organised time-schedule route. And you know what, they would be right. This is a terrible way to go about things and to go about leading life. What can I say though, I find chaos romantic. And at heart I'm a romantic. So for now, and with stuff that I have to get done before my brain falls apart into tiny pieces for good, I shall try and cultivate some obsession for the right things. Which means eating coffee beans at 3am. Hey that must score me some points for dedication at least!

Coming soon... the story of speeding awareness and The Jacknife.