Archive for May, 2007

I seem to be in a constant battle to exist just as I am but I feel this is not good enough, that somehow I’m not in accord with how I am supposed to be. In a world ruled predominately by extroverted behaviour, being even slightly introverted will cause a level of grief to the point of feeling ostracized and alienated, all because one doesn’t talk much. There seems to be too much emphasis on talking and expressing the most trivial and unimportant information for the sake of noise and distraction from self and too little emphasis on silence and reflection. It seems to me that very few people fit into the same category of personality which I find myself in. I’ve never been a big talker or one for small talk or chatter and I find it burdensome to be in situations of a social nature where one must talk for talking sake. Most of my life I’ve felt this distinction between me and the rest of the world, that I am different, which has only been reinforced when others have labeled me with, you’re an embarrassment (an ex said this to me once, much to my horror…so much for support from someone you love), or you’re too quiet, or you don’t talk much or asking questions like what’s wrong? or questions to significant other “what’s wrong with J”. I was under the impression that because in a former incarnation I was known to have a tipple, I assumed that this was the problem, however on reflection I am now convinced that it wasn’t so much my excesses but rather the fact that I’m highly introverted and I find social situations overwhelming and extremely unpleasant.

I learnt early on to shut my mouth because all that I get for opening up is a tirade of humiliation, about how I’m a poor bastard (sarcastic tone) and that these are for dancing (pointing to feet) and this is for thinking (pointing to head)…Thanks dad for the support and I now know this is for thinking and its also for being conscientious and also useful to allow a little compassion and empathy. Perhaps the experiences I had when I was a wee little Tripper has influenced the personality I have but perhaps it is just how I turned out and has nothing to do with environmental factors, which is more likely on the introversion cause and affect scale. I am all too happy being on my own where the pressure to conform to social norms is zero, I am not accountable to anyone and I can revel in the quiet moments I have with myself as company. It’s how I’ve always been, alone or in small groups.

I’m not totally against being part of a social unit, nor do I shut myself totally off from the rest of humanity but still I don’t talk much. Today I was reminded of how I must be perceived in the world and it’s not the first time when someone has commented on my lack of verbalisations. A colleague said to me in the kitchen at work that I have a “reputation for being a talker” after having lunch with someone I used to work with. To be honest I went under after learning this and I feel embarrassed to go on a down because of it. Its what this monologue is about, the perception that being introverted is wrong and its how I feel when anyone reminds me of how I “should” be and when I think of SHOULDS I get into trouble. When I begin thinking that being quiet is something akin to abomination in societal etiquette, I will invariably feel not okay because I’m entering into irrational beliefs and pointless self deprecation. At the end of the day I’ve gotta be comfortable with myself and what I’m about and in most instances I’m doing the best I can, if I’m gonna be the brunt of extroverts misunderstandings then so be it. I still ain’t going to talk.

Yesterday I witnessed ABC’s Four Corners program, Final Call and was somewhat perturbed, not so much from the content but more so of the double standards by which society at large seems dictated by. I’d say a good portion of the community is appalled by someones wish to end their life and there may be some moral argument in holding such a stance. I, however, am not so dismayed by the idea that anyone, elderly or otherwise would want to chose death instead of life. In an ethical system designed predominately in Judeao-Christian belief it comes as no surprise that pro lifers will be hard on the case of Philip Nitschke as he campaigns for the rights of a human being to have a peaceful death. Perhaps I am making sweeping generalisations about a specific religious bent when I should dismiss religiosity from the equation and focus on morality of euthanasia without the delusion of other worldly sanctioned moral standings.

It is astonishing, living in a world where state sanctioned murder is considered virtue and the right for someone to exit peacefully and without pain is somehow immoral. We live in an age where the lives across the cultural divide, policed by a western hemisphere control machine are lost without prejudice, all because of some vague sense of freedom, which appears to be threatened by a manufactured “axis of evil”.

The morality of the system’s inability to endorse someone’s desire for euthanasia is as far as I can see, mandated solely for risk management. Having a system where the legality of euthanasia is permitted would also implement a flaw in the illegality of murder. Legal euthanasia would in some instances, also open the doors for someone to abuse such a legal loophole and commit a legal act of murder. The issue seems more complex than just permitting access to Nembutal, so a suffering individual may end the misery of their existence in a peaceable manner.

Ideally we could allow such measures, but we live in a far from perfect world and by allowing the doors of death to be opened, it would be a nightmare to manage in a responsible manner. Corruption would invariably be lead through such doors and whose to say that death wasn’t invited to enter even when it was an unwelcome guest? I believe the issue is an insoluble one and in the end it will be the pursuance’s of peaceful death that will need to take care of themselves, as they are doing so already. It is the only way for these souls to choose the terms by which they die, no one will help them end what is perceived as a gift, even when the gift has been medically enhanced. The dichotomy of prolonging the inevitable and allowing the inevitable is a dilemma which the purveyors of enhancement need to examine when medically intervening in extensions of time.

The idea that one may readily be able to kill themselves is in essence what the whole freedom paradigm is about, and what we are fighting for when we send troops over to Iraq. It poses an interesting preponderance when we define freedom and what it is we are trying to preserve.

Sadness, a mere breath away, joins us as we gasp for unburdened air and in moments only just past, were skies clear and crisp in abandoned gay. As we gaze at a flat horizon, stormy mists swirl and gather across, empty and vacant skies. Filling the quiet seas of blue with angry, leering grey, grey which threatens to weep, weep the wretchedness of heaven lost, in tears of solidarity with the plight of an ordinary day. Wishing to wash, wash us from the happiness we cling to, but can never fulfill or attain. It remains in our hearts as dream, ever reminiscent of what could be or might have been. Angels of a shameful heaven, lash us with promises and appeal us with thoughts and ideals, in visions of a world that resemble peaches and cream; all the while distracting our intentions to live with the what is, with apparitions of the carefree. Whispering the poppy rich violets, blues, oranges and reds, into ears drawn heavy from the anguished cries of frightened and troubled child. Seducing the heart with opiate dreams, luring us away from real and muddy and earthly soil, which carries weariness of blood and toil, from our aching feet.

As we lust for unrequited dream, the thunder shudders and roars in solemn sky. Furious and vicious and savage lights, whip at the darkened sky. The storm has come! It hath awakened us from insouciant desire and fitful sleep. It shakes us with vivid clarity and in earnest do we now despair, the soft dreams of deception, lost and vanished inside clouds of heavy, dank lair. Grey envelops our feeble senses, inviting and demanding that we may share, in the truth it wishes to speak and again do we now despair. We listen. We cower, quivering and afraid, afraid that the dark will smother and consume us and oh how we long, long for poppy cradle of painless slumber, so we may not despair. But alone we are now, alone in omniscient grey and in fear we struggle and pit, against haunting wails and ghosts which beckon and call us; in tearful cognisance do we now embrace, embrace the true and real, amidst sleeting grey.

At last the storm abates and alone we now understand, having learnt of oft spoke lies, lies of angels heaven sent, from lofty skies. In tribute to rebel lands afar, we summon truth, truth which grey has adorned us and no longer do poppy fields float in wondrous willows of sleepy haze. As we shed tears in melancholic grief, befallen yesterday in the moments of sorrow, sorrow for mother who hath suffered in the hands of lofty heaven and angels of wind swept lies, we begin to stand and make our journey through uncertainty, fear and the decrepit wind swept lies. We walk upon the earth and cherish the mother, our mother of dust and sand, river and ocean, who nourishes with the cool anointing rain. Through bleakness and in despair, we have come to love the true and real, painted from bristles of grey. We have life, spun in webs of sorrow, glistening misty in grief, but it is naught now that the grey has cast its shadow to mark the sure and just way.

Anger is a insidious creature that seems to crawl at the back of my legs, clawing its way up my spinal cord into the back brain where the lizard and snake curl together, conspiring to reek vengeance upon a victim of their discretion. The victim that more often than not falls prey to this scaly abomination is I. I am the one which bears the burden of having to reconcile the fleshly pleasures of the reptilian back brain into a rational bargaining that is directed at an irrational, unearthly and superstitious entity that simply does not exist. I keep asking this unseen spirit for one wish that it seemingly is deaf towards. The wish is for the removal of my fathers presence, in not so pleasant petitions or demands, considering that what I’m asking for is a total removal, of body, mind and spirit. Of non existence! It’s a superlative request, to the gods or the universe, of a decrepit nature but I feel justified to make such debased requests. I’m just so sick of having to pull up the slack of my dad’s depravity in domesticity and his total disregard for the kindness I exhibit, which he simply does not deserve. I feel that the only way for me to be rid of the discomfort, pain and emotional subsidence is for him to be gone, gone forever. It’s an absurd proposition, I’ve been corrupted into a semi belief, that a Higher Power; a benevolent, loving and caring being, which somehow takes an interest in the affairs of my life, may exist and if I’m to believe the hype then it is a certainty rather than just wishful thinking.

It is He, this higher power, with whom I petition with pleas for redemption from the invasion that has usurped the peace and calm I once had. However, in reality, having a belief or faith in supernatural deities is a furtive desire at best. One which I would be better off abstaining from all together, to banish it from thought absolutely and in truth I am becoming more and more convinced that it is indeed wishful thinking to believe that a benevolent father figure in the form of a sky God exists. Loving and caring is merely attrition of facts and truth. I can petition a God or the universe until I turn blue in the face with despair and still not a damn thing will change. I was flirting with the idea that the Law of Attraction may be a way for me to sustain a level of peace and to gain the things which I want, but again it is based upon superstitious wishful thinking. In fact I have reverted to original sin as it were, doubt! I doubt the reality of God, gods, higher powers and deities which serve to protect our wishes, lives and well being. In fact I doubt reality even exists or that I can modify reality if it does with desire and feeling. If anything such deities would be all together of an opposing constitution, perhaps with an indifferent, spiteful, jealous and maliciously mischievous disposition.

What I need to remember at all times is that there is no power that will save me, I must save myself from harms way and make my life as enjoyable as it can be. Petitioning the universe to shape shift my reality is a waste of time and time is something which is valuable to me, it has to be because I haven’t another time with this consciousness present. When this flesh decays into dust, the memories and life that it once experienced will be gone. So to waste the experience on wishful thinking is futile and counter productive. I create my own reality and feelings so it would be wise for me to come to terms with the anger that fuels my day to day grind. It’s something that’s easier said than done when the disdain of a present reality has no hope of changing for the better anytime soon. Expectation and the meaning I attach to the present is wholly the cause of my troubles and if I could just learn to disassociate myself from the wretchedness, I’d be in a different reality from the one I find myself in now.

I could go to sleep right now but I’m still goofing around, putting off what is good for me because I want to push the limitations of my endurance just that much further. I have no good excuse or reason for committing this self abuse. The only reason I have, as to why I perpetuate this deprivation of much needed rest, is because I want to be free of the waste that sleep represents. It is an extravagant ambition and holding onto such extravagance merely suggests self delusion, little more than a deception I tell myself to justify my sleeplessness. My rationale being; I give away my time during the day, so it then must be reimbursed somehow and the way I reconnect to this lost time is by staying up late. The delusion of such thinking is that I gain nothing, because my mind is so burdened with sleepless depravity that I end up wasting more time, precisely due to a lack of alertness and lucidity. Yet I remain in the habit of burning a midnight candle hoping my days will somehow change, all the while, having a fantasy that I will move into something which will be worth a little more than a wasted day doing a repetition that I’m not so sure even has any significant meaning or usefulness. Only to then arise the next morn, once the sun has long past the horizon and consequently leaving work after the sun has once again met the horizon while nightfall begins to blossom. I get home later and eat dinner later and the list goes on, always suffixed with later. I just feel left behind, behind the time I am in constant chase with but can never catch.

It would be a great deal more efficient if I just went to bed early and caught up with this nemesis but I am too stubborn and deluded to heed the call of normalcy and efficiency. This chase has gone on for years and it’s true, there are ways in which I can deceive the night watch of time but it requires stimulation that is not readily available through legitimate means. It is a freak show that I’d rather not be part of again but the knowledge of this cheat system is always in the back of my mind and perhaps it’s safer and more appropriate if I keep this cheater in the back door of consciousness. It’s foolish even to entertain and humour the accelerator and his demons so I’m left with only one option. Sleep!

This is a graphic I created in GIMP and was thinking of using it in the website I’m currently and slowly working on.

Anyway I gotta close these damn eyes or my head will start to resemble this picture.

Not a great deal happened today and the truth is, nothing much ever really happens in the life of TwistedTripper. I may be heading down to Melbourne to do some work, so if that eventuates it will add some flavour to the dull and drab monotony which pervades my waking moments. Consciousness seems to drift by in a cycle of night and day without any real substance, I’m often puzzled by this existence. Surely this is no way to live life. Trapped. In a perpetuating cycle filled with the same monotone of grey, day in and day out!

How do the other souls I see walking about in this same grey haze cope with this absolute repetition? I see them smiling and carrying on as if this is to-ing and fro-ing is somehow the ultimate experience in which one lives life. Perhaps it is or perhaps I desire something more. A little more than exacting a charade that needs to be repeated and performed as a daily ritual to appease the culture I am a part of, while at the same time am so distant from. I was wondering, as has been norm while I commute home on the train lately, if I’m ever gonna get laid, if such a small token of intimacy could save me from this nightmare of grey concrete and bustling ego’s. If it will make this hazy dream something worth illuminating while I sleep.

Yet I am far from falling asleep, I feel weary and am filled with plagues of chronic fatigue, a fatigue that stems from force feeding consciousness into listless nights of frantic searching, while the moon hovers overhead, keeping watch upon the wretched. The weariness isn’t enough to allow the slumber that my fellow concrete dwellers seem to thrive upon. The awareness of a menacing face, smiling a crooked smile, which seems absurd, arouses my sympathy for a humanistic devil to come and liven the waking from their sleep. However the dark messiah has yet to appear and I am alone in my sympathies. All I have, are these fleeting moments where I imagine the great piece of arse in front of me, while I hop in and out of the train, in my hands, making the nightmare go away. Just for a little while.