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Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Paddy, will you carry me
I think I've lost my way
(heart's filthy lesson
heart's filthy lesson)
I'm already five years older
I'm already in my grave
I'm all ready
I'm all ready... hnreah
I'm all ready
Will you carry me??
Oh Paddy
I think I've lost my way...?
Paddy? What a fantastic death abyss
Paddy? What a fantastic death abyss
Tell the others
-- Leon

I guess this is me at 30.

I always said that by 30 I'd either be rich, or dead. Now I feel like both.

At some point, very early on, I was naturally a happy person. A life with severe psoriasis changed all that. When you have pain, and disfigurement, and have to deal with ignorance and jeers and answer questions from rude fuckoffs as well as from the nosy, well-intentioned angels, you start to implore the universe, 'Why me?'

'Why did I get picked for this twisted life of joy and pain?' Indeed, a question we've all asked at some point. At the end of the day the only answer's another, very sarcastic, question: 'Why not??'

Naturally your human, cultured mind will search for a reason, for structure. And if you're severely affected like me, ostracized, avoidant, troubled, you can build up two very compelling reasons. One is that you are being punished for some sort of failing, or just out of the supposed 'wanton cruelty' of life. The other is that God or something put this horror in your path as a 'challenge' that will help mold you into some kind of an extraordinary person.

Both of these reasons are bullshit. Causality and time are both human constructs; and good and evil exist in praxis within each of us, and are not free-standing accountants of ordeal, or judgers of men.

I am not the evil whipping-boy for humanity's iniquity. And I am not a golden god in waiting... any more than any of us.

But for years I vacillated between these two viewpoints, acting as if they were true. To redeem what I could with my own two hands; to realize some sort of supposed destiny - I devoted my life to art, moreover, fine art, art meant to make a difference to people in their lives. In a very real way I sacrificed everything.

I feel rich in the success of my endeavour. I feel rich to have created works peppered with ideas and references to make people scratch their heads and go 'aha!' for a hundred years. I feel rich to have a tight band of beautiful fellow insaneiacs who love me and appreciate what I do.

I also feel dead. I have devoted my life to the most powerful forms I could find - electronic music, poetry - that are marginalized, even criminalized by the pseudocultural/business establishment which has been our bugbear since the 1990's. I feel dead because I am thereby denied a way to 'the public' with all the resources and positive reinforcement, and fulfillment it could bring me. I feel dead. I am not a golden god. I am a man. And the last lifetime spent suffering and sacrificing; pretending to redemption, or godhood, which are illusions; pretending that there is a reason for all of it; has left a hole in me. An abyss.

I have become very skilled at avoiding this abyss, which exists and perhaps will continue to exist. I know these deathly feelings of fear, anger and shame are not real in the same sense as are the feelings of fulfillment and love I exchange with my human family, and that I feel every day. I am unnaturally a happy person. :)

I accept my dark side. And the more you assist me with joyous distraction, the further away the abyss will seem, and maybe in another decade it will close.

Love always


1 comment:

  1. Two together, worlds apart.
    Blood in, Blood out.