Study in the Suburbs
April 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
I’m considering going somewhere else. Somewhere anonymous. I just haven’t really enjoyed some of the completely understandable suggestions that this is an exercise in “Creative Writing” rather than the diary of one of the world’s strange, lost and tiny creatures. I wouldn’t mind just leaving something, message-in-a-bottle style, lingering in this fluid of indiscriminate genius and nonsense. Perhaps that’s a bit precious.
I don’t have much to add, either. I should be working. I tend to read shit on the internet and waste lots of time. As someone who is (therefore – ha) staring at a future in journalism I am perturbed at what passes for such; basically a shallow and thinly veiled incitement to the latent self-importance of this type of commenter:
“I knew a person once, and s/he was a dickhead who wanted to have money and didn’t care at all about working in retail/finance/recruitment, or any other responsibility to SOCIETY, ipso facto almost all people are like that: why won’t the government do something about dickheads instead of looking and sounding funny and working on boring policies that I don’t understand?”
Ah, some place to go. If I’m going to be a correspondent I need to have an opinion on The World I guess. I think our potential new leader Mr Romney may have the right idea actually – create your own holy land in the middle of fucking Missouri or wherever. The secret of peace and happiness: value something that nobody else could ever possibly want.
I’m really tired of writing. The culture of it. I just don’t think it’s good for me to be sitting in a room by myself scrutinising the finer points of my various emotional and psychological disjunctions, mining them for horror stories. Which is what I have been doing for years now. I’m always more upbeat when I’m on the move. I’m good at acting and debating. One of the best antidepressants is walking around taking interesting photos. I think I am compelled to do these things in some ways because I don’t really like myself physically – I’m just that driven to be outside myself, in the realm of the creative or the intellectual, because being there has a chemical benefit to my brain. And then this is why I find getting involved with men difficult because it feels like I am dragged down out of that world and into a perpetual circular conversation about my body vis-a-vis the bodies of everyone else. It gradually makes me sad, then bored. Then, as always, my brain makes better chemicals when I’m away from that. Don’t get me wrong: my favourite thing about my body (apart from my brain) is that it works. I regret smoking a lot, and one of my google vortices is: “damage recovery smoking how long”. I feel good in that respect – I never smoked much. Unfortunately after my first few years at uni I became extremely confused and just needed to sit and drink and smoke. I thought maybe for a few hours but it turned into more like four years. Academia didn’t seem particularly intelligent – that was one problem. Knowledgeable, yes, but the harder I worked at uni the more naive I felt I became, the difference between, I guess, doing what I am doing now and being in the extreme thick of life. Did I ever find it? Irvine Welsh has this line about going out in the city, everyone talking bullshit, convinced that real life is happening some where else. I got a pretty good slice.
Some days I wake up and feel full of purpose, like I know I have to spend the remainder of my time doing something for the natural world, and that doing that will put my petty troubles behind me; but then other days I can’t move for despair. I can’t see anything in human beings that leads me to believe we can hold back this juggernaut of death. The population will just keep getting bigger at the expense of other species and environments. All of this could lead into me talking about le dossier stupide, my thingy. My THESIS. It’s post-apocalyptic, that’s all I can tell you. That’s right, fantasies of mass destruction, and two minute noodles. MY LIFE.
So yeah, that was really boring.