I am a lover of language learning to hate my lover. She is my muse as well as my oppressor. You're really going have to have to deal with more of this as I dig ever deeper into Nietzsche. He says the wise learn to love their enemies and hate their friends. Language is my bosom bud and I am learning also to despise its tyranny of personal pronouns, polemics and its proclivity toward cultural memes.
For instance, right about now a funk soul brother is feeling light and free and doesn't care about making sense to others or about being comprehensive. Joyful. And you know what? I'm afraid to appear excited. I fear labels of manic and euphoric as they seem to indicate a lack of perspective. Good! I don't want too much god damn perspective. Which has been conflated to mean MENTALLY ILL. Doesn't perspective refer to the point of view of the herd? Doesn't it chastise and shame the invididual for being other? Doesn't it call us crazy when we don't conform?
Ugh. Fuck off, herd. Everytime I get up close to the other animals it feels gross - it stinks with rot and corruption. I'd rather hang out over here and enjoy my own aromas and get comfortable with the fact that I am not moral or upright. My shit stinks, but it is necessary to my existence. Keep your various perfumes.
Only that without history can be defined, says Freidrich. I have a history. I definitely have a past - a really sordid one full of selfishness, fear, dishonesty, crime, drug abuse, alcoholism, sexual abuse, physical abuse, psychological trauma, irresponsibility, recklessness, pain, pleasure and unbelievable opportunity. Not least of which is my will to survive through self-reinvention and exploration. Will to power. The herd don't like that will to power mojo.
I am not definable for I am ever changing. This isn't a new idea. Darwin, baby. Read that shit. My species: artist. I have my eyes and my heart open. I am evolving. My mobility defies definition.
I'm tired of apologizing for that. I'm tired of hiding my joy and my excitement. I am tired of apologizing for my suffering. You gotta suffer, darlin. It's part of the deal.
Furthermore…
I'm tired of being a critic -- Disgust with cynicism is being experienced.
Your,
Signore Direttore, Goddammit.
1 comment:
Once you're done with Nietzsche, read Kierkegaard, especially his work "The Present Age". It's an excellent attack against "the crowd", much like N's herd.
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