Personal Circumstances, Part #2
Oh my God, how many times have I written that? This must be the third identical dry heave on the subject, I saw one from half a year ago and it brought half a memory of an earlier one . . . I am just not getting there, not dredging up the last toxic bit of bile. I’m fucking looping, is that a verb now? I spend half my year getting ready, working up the courage to face this task, work through this, figure it out and when I finally decide I’m feeling strong enough, I go back to the toilet to try again. Then I document my spasms and my view of the world from there.
I think I’m planning a Part #2 every time, but I never do, because it’s going to be toxic. That was my life plan, that’s what good Christians do, we absorb pain and nastiness, take it into ourselves and out of circulation in the world; the idea isn’t to groom it, grow it and unleash it. The idea is to grow a cyst or a pearl around it, quarantine it, and take it out of the world permanently when we die. It’s supposed to be strength and will doing what it can to alleviate evil and suffering in the world, it’s not supposed to be Frankenstein and his monster or Teller and his bomb. Now, I don’t recall Victor saying that he must create it or die himself, or Teller either, and I am a very patient sort of a person, but I’m afraid I don’t see a future for myself, I don’t see more than one solution for my pain and angst at this point and my life all day long consists of the awareness that I’m just delaying, holding out for as long as I can.
That, and the moral consideration that so long as the lights are on and I’m consuming resources, my ungrateful life is raising the sea levels and killing poor people the world over.
Hmmm. Does it bother anyone that in this metaphor, my personal sadness and my worldview/philosophy are interchangeable? This must be my major malfunction here, right? To me, it’s all one, but there can’t be another human being out there that isn’t saying, ““warrior society” and divorce? Really?”
I can make the case with “rational” babble, it’s what I do all day, “yes, the state of the world hurts, the human condition hurts,” but the world wants details, right? Make it personal, or no-one else will feel it, I know. It is going to be my life’s crusade if I make one, to merge the two, because public is personal, and our personal problems are too common not to be public ones, but not today.
Part #1 was January 10th., what seemed like a productive day, I was exhausted after writing it in the morning, which made me falsely imagine I was getting somewhere with it, and despite a bone weariness, I got a few errands done in the afternoon and even took a walk, although I gassed out and cut it short. I hadn’t realized the repetition of that blog yet, and I was telling myself that I needed to push forward, and that probably I needed to go to a dark place, let out some of the nasty stuff I wasn’t admitting I was thinking. It’s always something you’re afraid to say, to yourself or whomever, that is the problem, right? So, I was brooding on that overnight, hoping I’d be able to write my way through something in the morning.
I write in the morning, before the pain killing effect of marijuana accumulates and stiffens me up, body, heart, and mind, and I don’t know why everybody else writes, but one big reason for me is, that’s the way I can see my own thoughts. Promises made to ourselves in silence, no-one can hold us to. It’s a dangerous way to learn about race and such on Twitter, writing to see your thoughts and finding out they’re shit sometimes, but Twitter is sort of amazing. There’s a lot of bile, but if you’re really trying, someone will appreciate it. Total honesty almost works as a life strategy in that place. Anyhow, I was trying to get to a dark place, planning to write this part yesterday morning when I got a phone call, a crisis call, very possibly a suicide call from a good old friend who was absolutely on the edge – and guess what sort of a speech I had loaded up. Not only did I paint a horrible picture for the guy, who responded that he’s driving around with a rope in the trunk, but I said it, spent any righteousness I may have had about it by basically trying to murder a friend with it – and lost it.
Toxic AF, that’s me. I wanted to purge some negativity, truth above all, no fear, push through, and before I put my two fingers to the keyboard, I’ve already killed someone. I spent the whole day knowing this would be the end, that I would never be able to say anything to anyone ever again, before he answered his phone just before dinner, and it’s not over yet. He’s a lot closer to the edge than I am. It’s a serious addiction thing, as serious as it gets, and he’s been in the rehab system already, so, head in the clouds self-appointed situation analyst for the world that I am, I thought I’d get back to basics and try to cut past all of his learned stuff from the rehab industry, and say, “Man, we’re addicts because we’re not happy, that’s the thing, that’s about as specific and scientific as it gets. And if we’re not happy, then there is nothing and no-one making us happy and we need a new life, right?”
I have this idea that when we feel trapped and that there’s no way out that there is something we’re hanging onto, something we’re protecting, that of course we have locked at least one of those locked doors ourselves, in this case, I’m bitterly divorced, I think he’s trapped in a loveless marriage, and hanging onto that for some reason. I guess if he overdoses while still married, he never had to be as alone as me. Stay alive, my friend, please, don’t let me be writing how I pushed you over and don’t let my readers have to be reading it. He responded with what I think is a normal meme from psychology and rehab culture, that it’s not up to other people to try to make you happy. To which I freaked out.
“So, what, they’re not supposed to care? Are we not supposed to try to make them happy? We are not our brother’s keeper, every man for himself?”
And then it’s worse, if only for me at this point, and maybe you, going forward. I’m sorry. If you read my main blog, you know I see things as quite a bit worse along this vector, that I see human beings as discipline-obsessed warrior groups, and not only are other people “not responsible for our happiness,” but quite the reverse. We are responsible, charged with making one another miserable. “We are not responsible for the happiness of others” sounds like a nasty truth we’re avoiding, and so we want to think that’s the bottom, the worst of it, but the truth is rarely only one step away. So, now we’re in my trap, alone in this second layer, and I’m pissed off. I haven’t yet clued in that my man is on the precipice, or quite so close.
“Addiction is about happiness, and the world, the warrior society is geared up to piss us off, the whole world creates the situation, but rehab tells you it’s just you, and figure it out yourself.”
Of course, rehab is my friend’s only fucking hope, I am a toxic, insensate monster.
. . . 1:00 pm, he’s OK.
. . . morning again, January 13th., and I can’t believe it but it’s true, what I’ve been trying to get at, what I’ve been looking for, I said to my friend when he absolutely didn’t need to hear it, and now I can’t fucking remember it. It was some connection from my warrior society argument, that the human world’s majority function in terms of our happiness is to destroy it rather than create it and . . . women. His wife, my wife, both of our daughters. It’s what’s in the dark place for me, I think, women and my ambivalence about them in my life, but although I can make the “logical” case for a connection, it’s what I think I do, in that blind passionate moment where I was steamrolling the whole world including my friend’s immanent suicide to express myself, I think I found the personal connection for a second . . . and it’s gone. I can’t seem to re-create it in my mind since, and he’s not going to remember it, or I hope not for his sake.
So, this happens to me now, either marijuana is finally having the desired effect of wiping my memory out, or it’s because I’m crazy now, or psychological blocks are in effect that always have been, surely some combination of these and more unseen things besides, I can’t get there from here. Not a solution, just a new attempt, we’ll jump in at the end, try to work backwards. Straying into the sterile, I’m afraid. I’m trying to find my way back.
Women can be warriors! Women can do anything men can do except for specific physiological things that define the sexes, reproductive things, and men sure can’t do what women can in that area either. I’m not globalizing, not defining roles, I only mean this at the level of sperm, egg, and zygote. Women can do any human role except grow and ejaculate sperm, and men can’t do lady reproductive stuff, not news. Women can be warriors, and they are, and they have been – and if someone magically turned all the world’s beer to chlorine tomorrow, a lot more of them would be. It’s warrior society, is what I’m saying. If all the men disappeared tomorrow, women would be fearsome defenders of their homes and their children, game theory would still apply, and fighting would ensue where resources came into conflict.
We can see the world in positive or negative light, and of course, as a complex mix of both, etc., but if we can view humanity in a dark light, then I’m, sorry, but it’s not some few of us, the power elite – and it’s not just half of us either, the males. It’s all of us. If we’re walking out on that limb, making value judgments of our species, if that is in any way useful to do that, then let’s not explain our species by the behaviour of half or fewer of its members. If life on Earth for humans is a fairly constant state of détente or war, there are not half or more of the humans actually creating peace. Succeeding at it, I mean. We’re trying, but if what you got is detente at best, our efforts to make war are outstripping our efforts to stop it, and I’m sorry, but God has left us in charge. All the energy spent on both sides of this debate, war or peace, that is human effort. We have to understand that we create the human world.
And women are creators, powerful ones. The ladies’ efforts are not washed away in a flood of testosterone, their power stolen by men, they are creators, and this world is as much women’s’ creation as anyone else’s. I know we all want peace. Women want peace. This is where I invoke my consequences mimic meme, mothers trying to civilize their children by un-civilizing force; our intentions are peace, our behaviours are war. Now this.
It’s our behaviours, this is what I’m trying to get at.
“Male aggression” is not a thing in itself, not some Socratic essence; aggression is a strategy and a behaviour. If men disappeared tomorrow, women would get aggressive really quick, because that is human behaviour, to act believing that the best defense is a good offense. Is this not the so well received feminist message of Wonder Woman, women can be warriors? It’s part of my worldview, that in this fantasy, men disappeared or the Amazons’ land, that the girls get beaten as hard as the boys are in male dominated warrior cultures. I think that’s human behaviour, I think “the best defense is a good offense” is almost the human motto, and a good offense is guaranteed through systemic child abuse.
I’m ready to be pleasantly surprised, someone show me an all female peaceful society, I want that world, but the women are raising the kids now, in this world, and it’s not working out. Ah, maybe this is it!
And they’re trying the same tactics with me.
Eureka. This will be my take-off point tomorrow.
Jan. 13th., 2018