Oh look, it’s time to take a brief journey into marginal productivity again?
Yippy fucking skippy.
Feeling increasingly disgusted by this stupid fucking life of mine. A worthless existence playing video games all the live long day, punctuated by brief interludes of self-expression like this one where for an hour or so, I technically do something.
And it’s…. Jean-Luc?
Thank you, JLP.
Increasingly I find myself looking at the day ahead of me and thinking, “Seriously? That’s it? That’s all I am going to do with the hours of the day? Play video games and blog? That is IT?”
Which is, as patient readers know, all part of the plan.
I’ve been carefully letting the pressure of impatience and dissatisfaction and frustration build within me in hopes of forcing myself to the point where I am just so god damned sick of it all that I blow out that clog in my motivation system for good and end up actually doing something productive.
Historically, it has been this kind of rage that has moved me to action. When I had my total psychological and physical breakdown in my early twenties, it was getting really fucking sick of being sick and frail and miserable that gave me the motivation to grit my teeth in ferocious determination and fight my way out of that hole.
And it wasn’t easy. It took a lot of grit and determination to force myself to eat when I had no appetite, drink when I wasn’t thirsty, and get up and move when the slightest motion made my head spin.
And all that time ghosts and visions and unhinged emotions swirled around in my head.
But none of that mattered.
Because I was pissed off.
And that meant I was going to keep on fighting until I won.
This is when a capacity for bloody minded para-psychotic determination comes in handy. Once that mode kicks in, nothing will stop me from attaining victory because any obstacles, difficulties, or opposition will only make me angrier and even more determined to see things through.
I’ve stupidly avoided engaging this mode for decades now because it’s pretty scary. It’s a mode of mind that starts out living in the outskirts of Crazytown and can end up on the express bus downtown pretty damn quick.
But I need not fear its power. I can control it. Bruce Banner can retain enough control of the Hulk to keep him from truly hurting anyone who doesn’t deserve it.
So bravo to me for building up my inner fires to this point. I can’t say exactly when I will reach critical pressure and come busting out like an explosive jailbreak.
But I know it will be when I am finally mad enough to stop caring about the comfort and security I am leaving behind because it fucking sucks and god damn it, I WANT STUFF.
And I am sure as hell not going to get it sitting on my ass playing video games.
More after the break.
I stalk the night
Well, it feels like I do. Metaphorically speaking at least.
Been pondering the complexities of my nature lately.
Let’s start with this little speech of mine :
“I am capable of anything. Absolutely anything. I can be secular Jesus, overflowing with pure selfless love and compassion for all that lives. I can be the Devil himself, diabolical and malign. I can be a clumsy clown, capering around just to make you laugh, taking delight in your joy. I can be a dark magician, using my illusions and tricks to trap you and take your life force to replenish my own. I can be the hyper competent administrator and leader, understanding your business better than you do. I can be the lazy but spectacularly gifted talent. I can even be the nice lady who makes the tea. Alpha to omega, everything and nothing and all points in between, I am the ultimate protean superman. capable of being any damned thing I want to be.
Now what I willing to be, that’s another story.”
Now that little speech makes me feel powerful and strong.
But it’s also creepier than the average fuck.
These factors are not unconnected. Being creepy and weird and beyond the comprehension of most can be a potent defense against the world, and knowing that I can think concentric circles around most people to such a degree that I am quite simply beyond them makes me want to laugh evilly. Mua ha ha ha!
On the other hand, I really want people to like me. And I love everybody. I want to give the world a hug and a pat on the shoulder and an understanding ear.
And light snacks.
Traditionally. as patient readers know, I refuse to even contemplate questions of which facet is the “real” me.
All of them. None of them. They are all me. And so on.
But it now occurs to me that not picking one does not absolve me of the need to figure out who I am. On some deep level, I need to somehow add all these crazy vectors together and figure out which way I am actually going.
I mean, who is the man behind all those masks? I can’t dodge the question forever. I am not going to be able to plat my flag of identity in the ground and make it grow (work with me here) if the fundamental question of who (or what) I am is left blank.
Somehow, I will navigate this jungle of costumes and find out what I look like naked.
I’m as scared as you are.
So as much as I hate the question, on level I will have to figure out who I really am, and smartass glibly evasive bullshit just won’t do.
I mean, it’s me asking. Who do I think I am fooling?
The magician who tricks himself is a fool.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.