Maybe Friday I Can Get Tickets For The Dance

So many unfinished thoughts. This purpose thing is still lingering and is becoming more of a problem than what I imagined, I get a bit introverted this time of year though, since, well, I have reasons. Funny the things we can’t say right? I suppose to another it mightn’t sound like much, probably over sentimental and a bit indulgent, like all things, but maybe that’s what I’m worried about, part of me thinks that it’s better for me to indulge this, than to let it go and just become familiar with it. I find that is what one does with a sad thing, you don’t become dead to it, or happy with it, you just become familiar with it, and it stops being so shocking. Anyhow, disjointed sentences from half a dozen private entries because I just can’t finish anything at the moment. I figure since I can’t complete anything anyway I might as well try posting it to see if that causes a change.

It’s all so pretty, so engaging, complete, complex, isn’t it peculiar that things like beauty can be the product of genetic evolution? That we’re inclined to it. I know it’s not just me, that’s fulfilling, weather is a bit like that, tying us together, strangers and others, we think physically so things like watching the rain and knowing your friends see it too, somewhere else in the city, occupied towards some other goal, purpose, it’s comforting. It’s important I think, that others know beauty, whatever it ends up being for them. It’s hard watching others suffer through things, or worse yet, when someone else dies, the grief process is so complex, it’s selfish ultimately though I think, which doesn’t sound right, but it’s sweet in it’s way, you think, well, I think, that you don’t really lose them, not entirely, it’s cliched of course, everything is getting to be that way, but it’s more a change than a loss. The first death I had to deal with wasn’t a good one, not that there are good ones I suppose, but it was, more than my capacity. The typical thing just about everyone I know who has experienced it feels is how disjointed from reality it feels, and then how cruel it seems that it doesn’t seem to have affected everyone else, not in a selfish I shouldn’t be the only one suffering way, more in the sadness that this person doesn’t seem to have been as big an influence on the rest of the world as they are on us, this person isn’t in their thoughts and actions, they’re hidden away into a small social group, but for me, I don’t make many friends, I’ve got an optimistic goal thing at the moment where I try and make one friend a year, that’s not a small thing for me that requires real commitment and socialising, I’m the sort that deeply enjoys being alone, much to the frustration of everyone around me. Anyway that’s separate, back to my point, it seems wrong that no one else is walking around feeling that weight, a common and accurate description of it, it is a heavy weight, quite literally, all through the chest and the neck, it makes it hard to move, it did for me anyhow. So I was terribly upset that no one noticed, even at the time, I had been meeting her in secret essentially, so my friends and family didn’t know, I told some friends eventually, but I’ve never told my parents, I can’t, they’d worry too much, it’s, I’m a private person, I prefer things that way, I say more here than I do elsewhere, anywhere else actually, except maybe with Gemma, but that’s different, that’s special. Probably good for me too, lord knows. So, it upset me terribly that no one noticed, how absurd it all felt, the mind can’t really comprehend something leaving existence, if it is there then it is there. This threw doubt on everything, I was young, I didn’t have many formed ideas at the time, and not to be disparaging but my friends weren’t on the same page as I was, their concerns were with being liked, doing well in exams, the size of their allowance, how many guys they’ve beaten up, who made the biggest bomb, (don’t worry it’s not as bad as it sounds we never exploded one above ground, fortunately Sydney is rife with old tunnels), here’s the disparaging bit, all anyone was concerned with was the excellency of their bravado or insincerity, it was fickle and petty. 

After a while I began to think it is just us, being selfish, it’s just us who feels like the world is centered upon their point, but to the universe, to the nature of things, we’re not important, it doesn’t particularly acknowledge us even though we are the most special, with our consciousness being the single finest thing in creation, we’re still just common, we’re not exempt, we are not privileged and worried for. So in that thinking, it’s more that, when someone dies, the focus shifts, from that person, that protagonist, to another, so no one’s story ever ends, ever starts, it’s all just the same long story, that happens to pass by and observe things for a while, and then shift focus again, shift protagonist, as though nothing ever happened in between. To us that is cruel, but it’s honest and genuine I think it’s still worthwhile.

Sweet air in early autumn, soft green shade, quiet shuffling beneath the canopy, old bones lain unmarked, graves of those without a spectacle, hereditary features hidden to eyes that aren’t looking for the unique details, numbers applied, worth, with them, point and suggestion, even the clauses of being worthwhile, missed, too early, satisfactory, all of them just arbitrary numbers. I don’t think I’d mind too much if I died, I know I know, Paddy you’re channeling your inner teenager, next will be the bad poetry, but no listen, stop being so darn condescending when I’m talking, this is why we can’t have nice things. Nobody could be happy if they cared what you thought! Brent, my friend, actually said that last line to me once, the finest sort of ‘relationship’ jab I’ve ever heard. I was criticising him because he eats like an animal, for instance he and I are both fond of KFC because gastronomical sophistication isn’t as important to us as is eating something that has been cooked in an oil pressure cooker. Anyhow he picks up each piece of chicken and he just holds it to his face and gnaws at it, like he was eating a watermelon, just holding it there, dear god it’s difficult to watch, I’m not overly formal, one ought to be relaxed and enjoy their food, but small things aren’t hard to maintain, things like dignity, I always think "Well, if I have to consciously maintain something it ought to be my dignity." Which is why it’s funny when I scream like a child when I see wild berry skittles or something delicious. It gives my character some depth. Dignified absurdity.

The clouds have been particularly beautiful lately, yesterday they were coming in from the ocean out to the east, the first of the heavy clouds that form out at sea, a slow procession of perfectly formed clouds floating by, I get, lost in thought a lot when I’m in nature, Robyn, my mother, complains that the camera always has dozens of pictures of trees, I like trees I guess. I don’t own my own camera so if I ever want to take pictures I have to borrow one. It’s more about the time of day, the ambiance changes so dramatically during the course of a day, particularly when rain comes and goes, the light, horizon, sky, ground, shadows, they all change. In my park on a rainy afternoon, just at sunset, the sun often shines through a small clear expa

nse along the distant horizon. Along the path that I walk there are a group of trees that line the side of a lake, the trunks glisten brilliantly with the rain and the sun colours them this sparkling gold, it’s really very beautiful. Unfortunately that horrible green and gold poem often runs through the mind when I’m there, a friend of mine used to like that poem, and he was such a lovely person that I didn’t have enough bastard in me to tell him I find it repulsive. Aren’t I nice?

We are hidden light, glancing shadows, there is purpose elsewhere, quick rain, each incrementally above the other, all the way to the sky, cumulus smiles in robbed daylight. Ascension, contemplation, disregard, hope, quiet, thoughts and thoughts that stack, leading endlessly to and from each to the other, circular, don’t worry if it seems like the wrong direction, as it turns out the world is round.

What we occupy the mind with, cheap games, food and laughter, we’re all just proving caesar right, pronounced kaiser, like you would the German. Australia isolates, we’re not international, we are very much our own, when you can drive 4000 km and still be in the same country it’s no longer a country, it’s a section of the world, of the universe, these are small figures in universal terms, but by our own, and our fundamental intellectual understanding, being ourselves, so 1 in number, and ourselves, so what 5-6 foot usually in size right? That’s a fucking long distance when you’re that size, that’s a lot more than I am.

People try and fight me when I say I’m happy, they criticise, argue, they call me a liar. Isn’t that bizarre? They think it’s a freak social accident, the wider community encourages you to express your pain, but not your pleasure, sexual relations is an excellent example of that, ‘Oh yeah, that incredible biological driving force of yours, don’t you be talking about that openly! That’s sick!’ That’s why everyone is such a fucking child in our generation, terrified of an open discourse. Anyone that would make you feel embarrassed, ashamed, of your desires is only hampering you, it has gotten to the point where that sensation has become a major driving fetish in sexuality, people get off on being embarrassed, that so much more messed up than being honest about what you want. I mean, that’s basically Pavlovian training.

So when people say I’ve known little other than great fortune, I agree with it, on surface at least, but for them it was never about highlighting my fortune to make me feel appreciative, it’s almost always done out of malice, it’s about the other person’s jealousy, their pettiness, anyone who begrudges another their good fortune, their successes, is not the sort of person I enjoy. That’s a changing thing too, like with music, the more you think about it, the more of it you experience, the more specific your tastes become.

Brent was lecturing me on not knowing some band the other day, I’m meant to be a vessel that knows all about music, but really only the genres I like, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about Rap except that from what I’ve seen on documentaries about it, because I like music documentaries no matter who they’re focusing on. I can tell you that Tupac was a violent psychopath who has been turned into some sort of modern Luther King for his pure desire for peace with his song ‘changes’ which was the greatest bit of musical hypocrisy ever. Music sucks that way, as soon as you die, you’re a legend, Nirvana didn’t have that many good song’s, Jeff Buckley was never as talented as his father, but he was beautiful, and he sung beautiful songs, and he was tragic, and that’s really all anyone thinks about when they listen to him singing covers, how the fuck someone can become so popular because he covered the songs of others is another bit that baffles me. Lennon was burnt out when he was shot in the back, but surprisingly that act gave the first real bit of legitimacy to ever come from the pathetic nonsense of Holden Caulfield, the interminable whiner, dear god at least in Gatsby Carraway had some character.

That’s the point, we have nothing so powerful and decisive as our character, that’s the bit that matters, everything else is just physical reality, consciousness is the only higher process in the universe, the most beautiful of all the accidents, it’s an existence incomprehensible to the majority of matter, to the majority of ‘life’ even, it’s more unique and precious than anything else, I think we’re quite humble to be honest, when you really think about it, we are more impressive than the rest of the universe combined. We don’t even realise that, all of us falling in love with landscapes, with melodies and photons, we are humble in whatever the most hyperbolic term possible is.

There doesn’t have to be anything that worries you, it’s a perspective matter, at times we indulge ideas that seem negative because it occupies us, the mind does bore easily, all things are as real and important as any other idea, it’s all us, just picking and choosing, no event inherently carries more weight than any other, it’s just us, always was. Sometimes we feel things oblige us, social expectation I suppose, the death if others is meant to be sad, but I don’t believe that entirely, for me and for others, at first, all I felt was anger, sadness came later, sadness came when I was okay with it all, when I had accepted things. In my case I found that despite it being much more painful it’s better to accept, it’s difficult to grieve properly till you’ve accepted it, I know that sounds simple, but at the time, that’s more than what most have left in reason. No, I was just angry at first and it made me confused because no one talks about the anger, the media doesn’t portray the anger. It wasn’t a noble sadness, it was petty and small, I was angry at how powerless circumstances had made me, how my mind ought to have been where my eyes were, how I should’ve seen things, understood things, simple things, sadness was the furthest thing from me.

We share the same birthday, it’s always a busy day though, usually I have Ashley to see, Jim’s little brother who also shares my birthday. Since his father, Simon died more than a year ago now, I make sure I’m there on the day, he turned 18 last year, that must’ve hurt. In my case, well, maybe I’m a bit macabre, I don’t discuss it much though, it’s bad manners. My father is old, and has been ill numerous times, numerous times have doctors told him he’d be dead within a couple of years, I was always treated as an equal in my house, so things like that weren’t hidden from me, I sort of made a deal with myself that so long Terence made it to my 18th birthday I would be okay with that, that would be enough for me, I just wanted to become a man, before I lost him. I’ve had 7 successful birthday’s since then and I count each one as the finest privilege, each one is just another bit of fortune, another privilege in my long list of them, just this one is at the top.

I love the insincere nature of punk music, supposedly the height of DIY the modern pop punk is the best example, this ballad singing, uplifting anthem, bouncy happy nonsense, it’s just wonderful that somewhere, some high school kid is singing that stuff like it’s the finest testament to

the unknowable nature of the self, all these nutjob narcissists calling themselves existentialists, singing aloud "Slit my wrists and black my eyes!" (Actual lyric from the song ‘Ohio is For Lovers’ by Hawthorn Heights.)

I’ll stop here.