marzo 23, 2012

Fitter, happier

Within the quirks that I accumulated throughout my life – every time I would stop eating something in particular – it ‘marks’ an era. I tend to become quite religious about what I consume or drink or any other habit – just as we all are in essence when it comes to eating, drinking, talking, thinking and the rest of the feelingemotional aspects that we believe is ‘who we are.’


Well, we’re not that


Yet for some reason even if we realize we are NOT that, we tend to think that we are ‘missing bits of ourselves’ as in removing clusters that have been fucked throughout time – for various reasons really, not only bad relationships, bad eating habits, bad childhood or bad sex – but because of how lost we get ourselves while being imbued in such relationships. Yes, because every single relationship we have had has not been about the person, about the drink, about the meat, about the weather or about the single image that we see of ourselves in the mirror: it is all about how we think of it. It’s always been a relationship with our mind.


No wonder we would go through our lives always going through the same fuckups, pretending that ‘next time, it will be better, it won’t happen again’  and what do you get? It did happen again, it went on once again in the exact same way – different face, different color and different accent – but all the same.


Are ‘they’ to blame? Absolutely Not. And it seems that any empathy that I created toward victims within this society that I would call as my friends or fellow-miserable beings, I only took that as another way to discern my ability to ‘live.’ Why? Because I was taught that living is feeling, that living is liking someone that looks good on leather pants and black eyeliner, because I learned that ‘to be an artist you had to be tormented’ – and what do you get? I turned myself into exactly that, seeking the troubled relationships and all for the same reason, to have something to talk about, to have something ‘in common’ with people, to have a little ‘piece of heaven’ according to what I learned was to be ‘happy’ and ‘blissful’ – I have to be dead honest with myself, I sort of always knew I was fooling myself – and I don’t know why I did it, fitting in is one reason, definitely – so it’s a lie, I do know why I did it.


The idea of having nothing to say/ nothing to share/ having a ‘plain life’ without any trouble, troubled me.


I could not fathom imagining my life as a grown up having no experiences to recall as ‘good memories’ or ‘good times’ – that’s how I vowed to myself to create a treasure-box of memories that I could pick up in order to re-enact them once that I was ‘old and decrepit.’


I became a moment-keeper, taking photographs everywhere that I could, trying to ‘freeze the moment for an eternity’ which is the type of slogans you get at Kodak. And even though I never really used a camera with actual film in it – sacrilege within the art-world, I know.


I breathe and I see that within the acceptance of fooling myself to pretend to live, I dug my own hole believing myself to be that experience- yet in the back of my head, I truly knew that it could be stopped, that it all seemed too staged at times and that I had the same empathy people have for other’s  experiences just because I didn’t have much to ‘talk about’ when it came to having a tormented life. So, I created it for myself – first learned through all of those books to then find out the people that had read those books, hooked up with them as friends, then lovers, then the rest is history.


I made of myself that object that I knew could be admired or even desired, even though at the front of my head the lines read ‘I want to hide.’


I would fear not having anything to say and losing relationships – I feared that I could not ‘keep up’ to the idea that they had created of me. I kind of always knew that the relationship that they had toward me was like a flesh and bone self-reflection that they could talk to in order to get the expected answer – I also reflected their own contradiction, their own ability to challenge themselves – I merely resonated that which I was programmed to become. Is this a way to ‘get out’ of the circuit? No. Recognizing what I accepted and allowed only makes me the only ‘criminal’ in the scene – and the scene was always fake – therefore, what remains?


Not the drama, not the memories, not the ideas of the people that I believed I had a relationship with, but only myself, my mind, my own self-created demons and drama.


It was never about them, it was always about me.


Fascinating when realizing this. Who could have thought that we are all in fact Narcissists? No wonder we always thought the song was about us.


Hu-minds, always seeking the next fix and I sought it because I didn’t want to be out of the game, out of the circuit, not any more than I already was.


I’ve spent a long time looking at life through the windows, and I always wondered what it would be like to ‘really’ be ‘out there’ – I got some air and eventually a cold, only to recover from it to see that what doesn’t kill you, definitely makes you stronger – and not in the vengeful way, it’s just part of realizing that we are all the same – engineered to lose and win, to rise and fall and do it all over again.


I wondered as a little girl: how big is the universe? and my mind would get tired even by the thought of it. Later on what do you know? billions of light years that a single head cannot actually comprehend, yet it sounds like insurmountable which makes us believe that we do in fact know our shit.  We’ve put all the show all the time, the good and the bad, the gods and the devils – it’s all in our own head.


Later on I wondered why I had to feel so alone? what was ‘that’ exactly that I was yearning for? Unfortunately I read it was relationships, I activated my systems and sought the next fix that could keep me well entertained for the remainder of my years, up until now even though with having the clarity of how it’s been all about ‘me’ this time, living out a predisposition that I merely spiced up and played out as myself.


When someone says ‘I like you’ is simply recognizing the aspect that they have separated themselves from – this is why it always felt so awkward and phony – yes the Holden Caulfield ‘phony’ – because it was never about ‘me’ or but ‘them’  - and it was always about ‘me’ when I got so downward ‘lost’ within desires and daydreaming about platonic loves that I eventually lived out to the T – only to find out that our imagination never actually matches reality. And that applies not only for the fluffy-spirited dreams, but to everything that we live out within our lives.


It’s fascinating that we only call ‘fantasy’ that which has unicorns or pink elephants as a theme – yet we don’t question the very feelings, emotions and ideas that we also form of people in our own minds. It’s all in our head, once again.


Why have we missed that very fact all the way? what has made us ponder our lives over clothes, cars, lipsticks, lovers, drug tips, religious experiences and spiritual seekings – never realizing: hey I came into this world wherein there’s not food given to all beings and they are starving yes, but have you looked at my new suit? Hell yeah – that’s called human insanity, and we all have it – to various degrees.


Virtual Insanity is what we are having now and this is as much as what I learned back in 98 while being mostly entertained by wondering how could Jamiroquai move around that room in all those various directions? Yet the thought remained in the back of my head – and later on, I was part of it, well wrapped in it, obsessed about it just as I could get obsessed with anything that could keep me well away from pondering more about the questions that I had as a child, questions that I covered up with trifled infatuations with cultural bonding.


‘Seek your identity’ – I tried, looked back in history and found nothing, read books and got the same old feeling-sorry-for-myself type of personalities that I eventually got hooked on. I read Kerouac and tried to hard to get his Desolate Angels – I fell asleep in front of the ocean when reading the triangle poem and it was the best rest I’ll ever had. I could never really get poetry, no matter how hard I tried.

And the fact that I can use words to express me is still something fascinating, probably the last resort that we have to create in this world. Matter is currently being so abused that using a single acrylic painting is already killing a thousand flowers – and this is just to create an idea of what I mean – I have no particular data on this.


My personal heroes I never met – oh wait, I did meet one for a moment, only to find out that he was just as any other ego on two legs that I had idealized in my mind, just as anyone else that I had taken as a sources of inspiration for whatever the cause was at the time. Yes, art.


What do we fear losing by stopping our head? What can be so ‘valuable’ within a never ending rollercoaster of the third kind? Why do we even accept a ride wherein you know there will be a high and a low and that it won’t last any longer than a lifespan that is being reduced every day due to the countless chemicals and hormones that we’ve implanted onto our own food, turning it into poison while masking it up with a perfect peel.


Don’t even get me started on high heels – I’ve never ‘gotten it.’ I am aware that women use it to enhance the look of their ass, but it happens that I’ve spent half of my life trying to hide anything that I could have just because of fearing any possible lascivious look that till this day can generate voices that I hide by using earphones in a religious manner while walking on the street – is it that we do all of it out of fear?

The only time I wore some shoes with high heels was a wedding some  10 years ago – I ironed my hair while placing the condition that I would only go if I got to choose an all black outfit – so I did, somehow I was still supple and went for the heels – I regretted it and ended up being barefoot just at the same time that any other women did in the middle of the night. Even then I just remember wanting to leave and not really enjoying it. I probably only enjoyed it when I was 9 – what the hell was I doing at the age of 9 in etiquette parties and behaving like a 19 year old? Why did I wanted to grow up so fast?


I missed my childhood, I barely even got one. However I remained like a child and still kind of am when I allow myself to fully express. I guess that’s why I like that Amadeus movie, he didn’t really give a fuck – well at least the character in the movie didn’t – and couldn’t really place himself as a rug with the royal asses that he’d meet. That’s cool and he was playful as hell which is how I would tend to act and be pat on the head while saying ‘it’s alright’ – I took it as a joke, but as it became a regular thing I did start questioning if I was really so.


Maybe the coocooness that I created for myself was a nice nest to suit myself in, to not have to grow up and cope with the ‘phoniness’ of the world. Yep because that was pretty obvious and visible to me – it was like being along with characters that I could not really ‘fake’ the whole time as myself, because I saw myself ‘doing it’ to myself all the time.


IT’s just like that story of me having an ‘imaginary friend.’ I actually got it from somewhere on the TV maybe, and said ‘uh I wanna have that, how do I make it appear?’ And actually pondered why some could be so ‘special’ to have their own imaginary friends and I had to fake mine? So I did, I faked her and developed a self-created imaginary relationship with ‘her’ until I decided that I required some drama and ‘sent her to another state’ – that was my understanding of ‘breaking up with someone’ in a relationship/ friendship. I was probably only 5 when I created the whole thing, the favorite moment to self talk has always been while being in the toilet, while showering, while being in the bathroom. Somehow that space seemed the only ‘privacy’ I could get when living in my house and not even that was a certainty.


How come we develop a sense of ‘not fitting in’? How come we all know that we are faking it till we ‘make it’ and accepting that as a ‘living process’? It seems ludicrous to me to be accomplices of this huge crime against life which is covering it up with either black or white and believing that to be ‘life.’

We’re so screwed and we even think that ‘being a schizophrenic’ is the worst thing that could happen to a human being – never realizing we’re all it in fact, by the single fact of being role-playing in this huge scenario that we have dubbed as ‘life.’

What a great unacceptable joke – and the joke is definitely always on us.


And, aside from being a designer’s joke – yes, because he wasn’t really a ‘creator’ but a trend setter of the god-kind – we all bought the lie, and we are still buying it, literally, by the single use of a coin and a bill as the right to get something that we barely have an idea how it is produced, how does it get her, what is actually moving any mechanisms to make this possible?

I write blogs and I have no idea of who pays for such services, how does the storage of the information work, I don’t even know how it is that we have been pouring ourselves out in a cyber space that I cannot pin point how it functions through signals and waves.


Lo usual es pensar y decir que se requiere de un gran esfuerzo para entender, sin ver que en realidad es esa misma idea que nos mantiene en la trampa de ‘querer saber y conocer’ – ‘saber ver’ es un título curioso y enfundado a revista de arte, sin embargo sobre la observación, no hay engaño.


So here we are, fellow mon keys – mon amies –  21st century and still having to decide ‘how we feel today’ and if ‘our thoughts will allow us to be effective today’ – and for this I speak for an entire race that is filled with pills and saturated fats – yes that’s a line from fitter, happier, more productive – comfortable – not drinking too much – regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week) getting on better with your associate contemporaries, at ease – eating well, no more microwaved dinners and saturated fats – a patient better driver- a safer car (baby smiling in backseat) – sleeping well – no bad dreams, no paranoia (and I’ll copy paste the rest because I can’t remember now)

keep in contact with old friends (enjoy a drink now and then)
will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in wall)
favours for favours
fond but not in love
charity standing orders
on sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants)
car wash (also on sundays)
no longer afraid of the dark
or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
nothing so childish
at a better pace
slower and more calculated
no chance of escape
now self-employed
concerned (but powerless)
an empowered and informed member of society (pragmatism not idealism)
will not cry in public
less chance of illness
tires that grip in the wet (shot of baby strapped in back seat)
a good memory
still cries at a good film
still kisses with saliva
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick
that's driven into
frozen winter shit (the ability to laugh at weakness)
fitter, healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics


And that, was the soundtrack of the beginning of my ‘creative days.’ OK Computer – it’s time to sleep now.



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