Archive for November, 2008

22
Nov

ISTP

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Introverted Sensing Thinking Perceiving. I did one of those personality tests that you find online, in fact it was this one http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp and I received the high honour of scoring an ISTP. Well the high honour part is my contribution to the said label. Now I hear you ask so what? And so what indeed, because that is precisely the usefulness of these sorts of pigeon holing personality tests that some people find intoxicating and meaningful with their alleged insight into the soul of man. Although, having acquired this new knowledge of myself, I admit, it gave me a certain inner musing whilst gathering further information on this ISTP continuum I seem embedded into and even defined by. However I have come to the conclusion that whilst it allowed me to chuckle in agreement with some of the assessments claimed about this ISTP personality trait I possess, I can essentially find no real discerning relevance for anything other than it being an instrument used to pull one’s own dick.

I know, perhaps it is my ISTP speaking and my apparent intolerance for placing any weight upon feeling that is speaking, but can anyone tell me in what way are these type-casts of personality useful for? Unless it is just a glorified horoscope to amuse oneself with while reading the morning paper I cannot really make heads or tails as to why anyone would place any significant weight in trying to extrapolate further meaning from it.

I lie, there is one way that it can be used in a practical sense and that is by perhaps trying extract money out of your hip pocket, whether it is with a Jungian Myer-Brigg expert using some Archetype metaphorical language to flatter your subconscious into paying the 100 dollar plus an hour for a therapy session to examine the true nature of last night’s dream; where you were running through a rosy garden, when suddenly the petals all fell from the rose bushes and the Sunshine vanished behind ominous clouds and a dark shadow appeared out from the pond and then….. Or it may benefit those Scientologist’s when using some adulterated form of the Jung-Myer-Brigg personality test and giving you a Dianetic reading of your fucked up personality and concluding that you are a PIST (Pure Imbecile In Treatment) instead of ISTP and that it can only be cured by forking out cold hard cash to Ron hub Hubbard in your cub cub cupboard.

Anyway what more can I say, the forum that had the link to the personality test that I performed tonight also had a true believer declaring with rapture, testifying to the truth and accuracy of such tests while in the same paragrapgh extolling the virtues of reiki healing and other such psuedo therapeutic nonsense. Need I say more?

Category : Rants | Blog
18
Nov

Clocking In

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Today was a hard day. Although my thoughts seem to observe everyday as a hard day, it was particularly difficult today. On a scale between 0 and 10, with 0 being “slashing wrists time” and 10 being the rare “sheer ecstasy…I don’t want it ever to stop”, I rate today around a 3 or 4. It started when I looked at the clock this morning, my eyes flick open with a start and I look at the bedside alarm clock to see what time it is, certainly things seem ominous and the feeling I have closely resembles panic even before my eyes focus on the red digits glaring its mocking indifference and the damn thing is reading 9.03am. My next thought is what day is it, Saturday? Fuck no! It’s Tuesday! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Not good. 🙁

I jump out of bed, adrenalin surging through my nervous system, the fright or flight instinct is confusingly present and I’m disorientated by the influx of wakefulness that is abnormal for this time of day. My head starts scanning the options and after walking around aimlessly for a couple of seconds I make myself something to drink. Pouring the water in the glass reminds my bladder to take care of business. Even when the piss is gushing I’m panicking and in disbelief that I’d slept in, cursing myself for being..being what? Tired? Somehow it is my fault and it is, but what good is telling myself how wretched and inept I am? Well I tell myself that what’s done is done and proceed to continue with the usual routine, sitting down with a cigarette and a drink, dragging hard on the cigarette trying to make up lost time by smoking fast, but it’s pointless. I’m late! Smoking, thinking about how I can wind back time so I don’t have to face this predicament, so I don’t have to feel the shame of sleeping too much and not being an “early bird”. Then the crushing blow hits as the thought “fuck I hate this life” stirs from the abyss of self pity. My life force slips as I exhale the venomous fumes or perhaps the adrenalin surge ends and I seriously contemplate this thought, my focus narrows on these five words , savouring the truth of how wretched it is being enslaved to a clock. It reminds me of Camus’s Sisyphus rolling the rock up and down and the absurdity of doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result but the result is invariably the same. Each day I’m usurped from oblivion into a world that is governed by the hands of time.

The five words wrecked my day and I curse my insight and pessimism for revealing the truth of life. I say “truth” facetiously but the idea of being ruled by the cruel master of someone else’s time is one that I am constantly battling with. Acceptance is the crucial element in overcoming this formidable foe however it is one that frequently is overcome by the “truth”. I’m constantly racking my brain for escape from the slavery of the clock but am dumbfounded and almost beaten into submission and in effect that is the sense I get from life. Submission and Servitude, the great theme attached to working the nine to five grind, making my masters wealthy while the reward I receive is meager and unassuming, without passion and joy. Yet I am bound to at least appear grateful in my subservience but it is merely an appearance and it can’t be anything but a superficial acknowledgment that I serve in order to receive. However it is not without the acknowledgment that life is passing by while the clock hammers the seconds away, counting production output while the cashiers registers ka-ching the rhythm of profits filling the executive bonus pool with gold.

Like I said, acceptance is key to grappling with the existentially absurd and something I am yet to embrace. I keep trying to find the fortitude to foster the mind set of optimism required to ease the load of absurdity but pessimism prevails for the most part and days like today reinforce the possibility that I may be in for pain and suffering for a while to come and that my master will be the red digits on an alarm clock for the better part of the rest of my days. In truth accepting my plight or resigning myself to adapt to the long haul of many days and years performing the same scenario is probably the only source of relief that I possess but one that merely manifests in cognitive dissolution, a dissolution yet to resolve itself one way or another. The constant nag in my mind tells me that I only have thirty more years before I can own my time but the dread this vision stirs in the soul is unbearable and intolerable to entertain as a form of consolation.

Well the clock is telling me that it is long past the hour of calling it a night and the fear of a repeat of the calamity I faced this morning is now in the cortex of frontal lobe tissue, but my body is seemingly working on a different clock than that of the nine to five grind and it is why I feel so repulsed and helpless when staring at those menacing hands who unaware just circle in loops for the sole purpose of marking episodes in history.

Category : Journal | Blog
13
Nov

Caffeine

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I’m in an agitated state of intoxication. And what intoxicant am I on I hear you ask? Well my primary drug of choice is nicotine but that is not the drug that has so scrambled my brain cells into a mash of hypertensive jitteriness. That pleasure can be given to the exquisite elixir of the Gods, the black nectar; Coffea arabica . It is pulsing through my arteries, twitching and stimulating the fibres of my soul with heightened awareness and wakefulness. I bought a new coffee maker tonight and I just had to test it out and am now so caffeinated that I’m about to burst with jitter bugs.

Well I exaggerate but don’t let that stop you from brewing up some of your own, just to experiment a little and develop your tolerance just that little bit more. It’s Thursday night and a sleepless night before Friday isn’t anything you haven’t experienced before right? I had to make it sound more extravagant than what it really is just for proprietaries sake but it will undoubtedly give me untold nights unrest, considering I can brew up some ultra strong coffee in this new fan-dangled contraption and take caffeine toxicity to new extremes. I’m excited by the prospect of taking sleep deprivation into unchartered territory, although my limitation is around three nights without sleep, reality begins to shape shift into hallucination and delusion after that period however it might be different this time (famous last words of any junky).

A friend of mine has one, not exactly sure the technical name of it but I’ll call it the stove top brewer upper-er, it produces some nice coffee and I saw one at the supermarket and on impulse I had to have it, to add to my collection of caffeine paraphernalia. My leg is moving at the moment so I’m far from detoxed from that last hit. Writing seems to be boosting the hyper activity and now both legs are twitching in unison, the rhythmic dance of the wired.

Just thought I’d share the trivialities of my ever so ordinary night. If it’s good enough for Facebook then it’s good enough for twistedtripper.com

Goodnight ‘n’ don’t let those jitter bugs bite 😉

Category : Journal | Blog
10
Nov

Classical musing

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As it says, presumably buried deep within the Bible, “No rest for the wicked” and so it is for this wicked soul. My apologies for the ignorance I exhibit to sacred texts but never fear coz Wikipedia is here which has confirmed the origin of the aforementioned quote as The Book of Isaiah. Although the Bible is oftentimes praised for its poetic and beautiful verse, I admittedly find it somewhat tedious to read and for the most part, my aesthetic is too base to find admiration in a series of books that speak in colourful language to articulate the meaning of existence. That is ostensibly defined as the glorification of God. Well that is the impression I get from Bible Bashers and from my limited knowledge of religious matters.

It has been pointed out to me from the most unlikely figures that the Bible is fundamental reading in order to appreciate some of histories great literary figures, like Shakespeare, whom I’m lead to believe, sources Biblical texts in many of his plays. I’m fond of some classical literature but I seem to have an aversion to Shakespeare, perhaps because I have shady memories from High School where we attempted to de-construct and analyse a couple of his plays, Othello was one and I also recall Macbeth, but it all flew over my head. Interest in poetry was pretty non existent at the time and even today it isn’t too appealing. Having to decipher Old-English and to then decrypt metaphorical speech into some contemporary point of reference is too hard for a simple and feeble minded person such as myself. Perhaps I could go back now to acquaint myself with such great literary heritage, now that I have a better grasp on language, however care factor is essentially zero and I have more pressing matters that need fulfilling. It isn’t to say that I wouldn’t mind possessing greater awareness of cultural heritage but it is something that requires extensive research and study to make gains, a big call in these times of idle distraction and the fast pace to nowhere we seem driven by. The best I can do is the occasional reading of poetry I find compelling and pleasurable, The Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge is a favourite and the beauty of it is that Iron Maiden has a cut down version of this lyrical beast, set to music – I recommend having a listen if you are metallurgically minded. I was also directed to Faces In The Street by Henry Lawson when I was doing a short course in creative writing as something that would be up my alley. I found Faces In The Street chilling, provoking a profound sense of sorrow but the lecturer was right, I did find it fitting to my aesthetic. Perhaps one day in retirement the classical aesthetic will draw me into examining the gifts to be garnished from the masters of yesteryear.

Anyways more to the point, my weekly dose of insomnia has been fulfilled and I have no real idea if my wickedness has been attoned for by the sleepless angel keeping watch over my weary body but I sure could use some sleep regardless.

Category : Journal | Blog
5
Nov

It’s over….at long last!

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A new era is born and we now await to see if anything really changes or if the spectacle of the greater part of this year’s US presidential election campaign has been merely an extravagant infomercial or just plain old rhetoric. Although having a black fella as the President of The United States of America is a great milestone in history and certainly a symbolic event to mark the transition from slavery to equality, it remains to be seen if the great super power is ready to re-evaluate its position in the world and make changes that will liberate all humanity from the tyranny of its desire of world governance.

I liked Barack Obama, perhaps only because he possesses a fantastic talent in oration and also by the fact that he is not all that bad to look at either, I think I’m allowed to say that as a male without feeling queer. But my scepticism and cynicism is unperturbed by glossy looks and flashy rhetoric, on the face of it Obama is but one man and the White House is made up of many men and women who undoubtedly have their own agendas and visions they wish to enact. It is hard to imagine that all but the most superficial things can be changed with Obama or any other President Elect. One only need to watch Question Time in our own Parliament to be persuaded into disillusionment and it probably isn’t too far a stretch of the imagination to envisage a similar scenario happening in Congress. Next time you’re up late with insomnia flick the channel to Question Time and ask yourself “And we’re paying these guys to bicker like some bitterly married couple?”  It’s phenomenal, the amount of wasted time these parliamentarian’s get up to; couldn’t they just answer the questions without the nonsense? Even on prime time television they stomp on each other’s rhetoric without even trying to resolve the issue at hand, the same party line is slung from one side to the other and nothing seems to be achieved except greater confusion and a steadfast strangle hold of some slogan to batter the viewer with.

Perhaps the best outcome of the Obama victory is that it is now over, the long campaign that we’ve all become so acquainted with, is finished and we no longer have to bear witness to some foreign circus of bullshit. At least Australian election campaigns are over in a matter of weeks so we can be thankful for small miracles and being spared from extended infomercials inculcating us with some lame slogan. It has to be stated that I am now more famliar with US politics than I am with Australian, so one thing has been achieved with the media bombing and obsession with all things American and that is that I am ready to vote. The comedy of it all, shouldn’t we have polling booths ready globally considering more air time has been extended to the US presidentail election than any other cause so it seems hardly fair that we aren’t permitted to cast our votes. To be fair though, I did notice on Channel 7’s Sunrise Program that they were conducting a phone line poll on who would you vote for. Fucking Madness! “Australia! Don’t become America!” isn’t that a line from a song? Well are we now able to focus on the Australian politcal circus now that America has voted? One can only wish eh?

Category : Rants | Blog
3
Nov

Self Indulgence

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Another day goes by and nothing has happened. Events happen but it seems that each day is essentially the same. Sometimes I’m eager that something should happen but nothing ever does and when I think about it, there is absolutely nothing that can happen. That sounds a little over dramatic or excessive, boldly stating that nothing can happen but what is there that can? Seriously? Isn’t that why we create dramas within our minds, imagining some terrible outcome about arise and preparing ourselves for some misfortune. I’m pessimistic so I’m endlessly embodied within some catastrophe about to unfold but it could be that the opposite is true that you, the optimist, may be be confabulating the great fortune that you are about to receive. Perhaps I am merely projecting my own fanatical thinking upon a wider population which is totally errant and ill conceived, however I am of the opinion that human beings are for the most part selfish in nature and more often than not preoccupied with self. Well there are perhaps exceptions to the rule but the majority of people, I think, are in a constant dialogue with themselves over the events that are taking place and how it relates to them.

Call me cynical and I won’t deny it, but in all honesty if you examine the last 24 hours how much time was spent thinking about yourself? I’ll confess that pretty much the whole of the time that I’ve been conscious today has been thinking about me. But I’ll grant you that I am an exceptionally self absorbed individual and I’d say even narcissitic but that wouldn’t be correct in the true sense of the word. I know I am not painting a flattering image of myself and it is probably a caricature of my  flaws and how I see myself at moments of weakness but it is perhaps a telling indication of the level of involvement that I place on self. My excuse is only that I derive some senseless satisfaction from it and that it is a nasty habit I’ve developed and perhaps even a malady of my depraved mind,  like a parasite that has attached itself into the deepest caverns of consciousness, feasting upon the abundance and indulging itself on self.

But that isn’t to say that something won’t happen tomorrow, I know that I can certainly imagine some abominable event which could befall me and give me something at least to justify my deepest fears. But I can also imagine that it will be just another day. Now I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils, nothing happening or something happening. You can begin to picture the anguish I face with having this uncertainty. That terrible something or that equally mediocre and deadening nothing. Which would you choose? I bet you’d think that tomorrow will be a great day but how can you be sure, isn’t there something that could go wrong? Just a tiny little thing that you couldn’t try and inflate and examine with a fine tooth comb, looking for the forensic evidence to prop up the self indulgence of thinking about yourself?

Category : Journal | Blog