Melancholy Mondays: Archives of Pain

We are all the children of murderers, rapists and war criminals. To think any different is to ignore the guilt of the past.

We are also the children of altruists, iconoclasts and serene kind-hearted peace-lovers. To believe any different is to lose the hope for the future.

Any fool can regret yesterday, as the Manic Street Preacher correctly says.

The potential for pain is infinite.

The capacity of the sufferer is finite.

Thus, there will always be pain in the world.

An individual's ability to suffer is limited.

While there is being there is pain.

Only in death is there freedom from pain.

Death is the endless 'experience' of nothing.

Existence is the constant suffering of pain by degree.

Pain is infinite.

The sufferer is finite.

Alleviation can therefore only be partial or temporary.

The can be no final escape unless one believes in rebirth or existence post-death.

Pain is being within the world. It is an excess of contact.

Managing pain is control of the circumstances of the world.

Something that can never be total. Although it is the dream of every dictator.

Pain is the outcome of existence. It is the proof of the passage of time.

© Jenny Saville

Magickal Melancholy Mondays: Are you a person that needs people?

This isn't quite Melancholy but it isn't quite Magickal either.

It's an old piece written by a previous self sometime in 2009. I wonder if that self would be pleased to find himself where I now am? I'd hope so, but I've found myself worrying about my past selves in a fatherly manner. Perhaps as some sort of practice for dealing with my own son and his future problems etc. More 'What Ifs' again.

Are you a person that needs people?

I certainly am.

For a long time I believed that the paradigmatic existence was one away from people, living like a Nietzschean hermit, standing above those that would 'destroy' me. I now see this as youthful cowardice, an attempt to deny what made me by distancing myself into a cold distant realm of dream-like thoughts.

An obvious fantasy of the sort of life that is very attractive to the quiet withdrawn boy I once was, but still its attraction is no mistake or flaw although I called it cowardice a moment ago. It might be seen as a necessary step for the type of person that I am.

I've come to the realisation now that what I desire is not the absence of all people, but the inclusion of the right people. I both want and need a small friendly community in which to live, a dedicated group of close friends with whom I can share, and, perhaps most of all, someone to love completely, to wake alongside, and with whom I can share everything, or perhaps this is simply my new fantasy.

The dream of the ideal partner and the ideal life. If it is (and it might be) it is still a greater more detailed and richer outlook than the dream of the hermit.

Of course, the last clause need not be realised. I think I could manage to live alone as long as I did not live alone. Aristotle once called friendship one of the most important aspects of human existence. Who am I to disagree?

Lascaux cave painting, an example of community co-operation

Melancholy Mondays: What If?

I often wonder of a film, "what if the writer or director had decided to go this way instead?" It's something that has been most prompted by the recent Star Wars sequel trilogy, a collection of films so disjointed and mismanaged that you can't help but think 'What if?' However, I'm not going to talk any more about Star Wars today (maybe another time), but instead the similar sort of thoughts that one directs toward their own life.

There's a sort of constant longing for the life one could be living and this anxiety is preyed upon by Capitalism, or at least those that want to keep power in the current Capitalistic system. Perhaps it would not be any better under another system, but again what we are doing here is speculating in an abstract and unchallengeable manner.

Perhaps it is an aspect of an anxious personality, combined with an over active imagination, and tied together with a (narcissistic) narritivising of one's own 'life story' that leads to this worry.

What do I mean that this is "preyed upon"? Well, it makes one more amenable to sustaining an unsustainable situation in the hope/belief that you are due a positive change of circumstances based on; hard work, what you are due, good fortune, or any other of the countless things we tell ourselves are 'coming our way'.

But this is just a general 'What if' my life was better than it was. Something that is based more in what might be, looking to the future with (unrealistic or naive) hope.

What I am thinking of is more of a 'what if I had decided to go this way instead?' That is, rewriting the past and imagining what could have been.

What if... I had had the piano lessons that I asked for when I was 10? Would I be a musician?

What if... I didn't go to University at the age of 27 to study philosophy? Where would I be now?

What if... instead of engineering, I tried to get into art school right after secondary? Would I be an artist?

Many thoughts like that.

Recently, I passed the anniversary of a dear friend's death, which meant that I have now lived eight years since he died having only known him for seven years (2005-2012). Now you might think this an unnecessary obsession with statistics that are otherwise meaningless and I would agree that you are probably right, except for the meaningless part because this passage of time-with and time-without is [I think] an important descriptor. I am not making this point in order to lessen or distance my relationship, but instead it shows to me the depth that can grow in a short time and that can last, outlast, even the passing of that relationship. As I've said before it is now a 'frozen moment' that I hold, one that I in my changing state (developing, be that evolving or devolving) also changes with me, but it is entirely one-sided and unfalsifiable. Memories without other witnesses cannot be checked for correctness after all.

What if... I had never met him, or we met differently? How different would I be? Would I now be in a long-term loving relationship and a father?

What if... My story were otherwise 'written' differently? Would I still be 'me'? If I met this other 'me' would they be recognisable to me as me?

However, we cannot live in the past or the future, but nor can we live totally in the moment. We have to be able to take the lessons of our past and apply them pragmatically and truthfully to our present in a way that will positively effect our future.

This said, there is still the desire to be free of pain. The pain of grief. So, we think about never being in the situation that gave us the grief in the first place. All of these are an attempt to run away from something that is hurting us. Pain cannot be imagined away, but it can be ignored. However, some injuries will not fade unless they are dealt with. This is not like distracting yourself from a paper cut.

What if... the pain is greater than one can bear? Is emptiness an acceptable alternative?

"Cessation of suffering is possible by relinquishing attachment, not to deny but to be liberated from." Says the Buddhist.
"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something." Says Westley...

Magickal Melancholy Mondays: Try Again, Fail Again, Fail Better.

Note: This is labelled 'personal' because it is mostly an unmoderated rant without research or citations to back my thoughts up with. As such, it is to be taken with a pinch of salt, as it is mostly strong emotional reactions to things not thought through clearly enough beforehand.

I've been trying to write about several things presently and they keep coalescing into one mess. This might have more to do with my own state of mind as I wait for the birth of my son, rather than any definite connexion between the subjects. Although I think that there's something there, even if it's just my own narrative attempt at understanding.

First, I've been trying to write about our, what I call, 'Emerging Online Ochlocracy' that is to say, the way in which we are becoming like a mob when we 'connect' online into groups or societies or communities (whatever we call them). I think that perhaps this is due to the depersonalisation of the connexion, but also because some of the online communities are actually trying to raise their talking points across all media on the internet, which means that on any topic that is interacted with or discussed online you find their 'take' on these things creeping into the discussion and eventually simply replacing that supposed conversation with their own ideology.

It is at this point that I realise that I've moved from a generalised look at depersonalisation online causing groups to become close-minded and isolated into an actual analysis of the alt-right and their tactics online. This especially in wake of recent events and the very active effort by the alt-right and their allies to deflect any criticism, valid or not, from touching their base. And this starts to make me think about the connexion with right-wing politics and our digital lives in totality.

That, politically, we are also become distanced and 'held at arm's length' from the real work of the government. And this in turn brings up the subject of Brexit, which is very much on my mind presently as you might imagine. That people are becoming disgruntled with the lack of voice within politics, their lack of involvement in the sense of being paid any mind by the people in control. And this makes me think about what are we meant to do to change this? Being online, gives one the illusion of immediate access to things, it also gives us the opportunity to air those thoughts 'to the wider world' and makes us believe that our personal opinion is important (after all, it always seems that way to ourselves). So, we engage with the world online, perhaps we simply comment, or join chats or forums about subjects of interest, or perhaps we become a content creator ourselves.

We can make angry videos that are sad.

We can make sad videos that are angry.

But although one might be more theoretically stable and the other mostly just cathartic entertainment, in the end, our lack of agency means that all most of us can do is watch these videos on YouTube, adding money to Google, or we circulate other forums and air other views, again to the ultimate benefit of an internet corporation, or we can be one of five million (at time writing) people signing on online UK government petition to revoke article 50, or we can go outdoors and head to London and take part in a one million person march supporting revoking article 50, or support the opposite opinion, or one of many other ways in which we can make ourselves feel slightly better about our condition without actually effecting much of anything. It all feels like screaming into the wind.

Because without several fairly major global changes in attitude it's hard to see how we might move out of this, and this might be the ultimate failure of the internet. It brings people together as it isolates, it offers alternative views while indoctrinating users into a particular ideology, it offers the harmonious global village, but actually just creates aggressive mobs. Before the pervasiveness of the internet, one had to actively seek out extreme views and hostile opinions, they were never 'just there'. The connected networks of the Web also allowed the 24 hours news media to flourish and replace objective journalism with attention grabbing entertainment as ideology programming ("pick the channel/paper/website that best describes you!"). Of course, we move towards groups and opinions we agree with, but outside of the internet we are instead brought face-to-face with otherness, with those that mildly disagree with us, with opinions we can ignore or engage with. Online, the distinct differences drive us apart, not together, and people circulate with their own, out of fear of being publicly shamed, or criticised, or made a fool of, or called out, or doxxed.

And if we do meet with opinions we disagree with, or are directly challenged by another faceless accuser, our response is typically one of childish vitriol rather than a measured respect. As fake as that respect might be, still people in everyday life react to different opinions by at least hearing the other person out in most cases. But why are we like this? Is this just 'how it is'?

The thing I come back to in every case is the influence of global capitalism on all aspects of our lives, that post-crash 2008 we were betrayed by those we voted for to protect us, who chose instead to favour those that pay their wages. We are (some of us) convinced by a competitive individualism that exhorts this sorts behaviour as merely the rules of the game. The only rule that matters being, 'Winner takes all'.

Cosy liberal friends suggest going on marches and being 'politically active' as ways in which we can all help make a difference, but this is the world as they see it, a world where having the most logically pure argument will win out. The delusions of the philosopher, but in the face of a system that doesn't care or a person that hates, their arguments are meaningless.

Perhaps this seems unfair, cruel even, to be thinking this (especially now!) and perhaps it is just harmfully cynical. I should say that I'm very proud of my friends that made it to London on Saturday for the march. I gives me joy that they still hope. I've pinned my hope elsewhere. Not to my child, you understand, but to myself as a father, my family, our future together. Albeit one that looks outwards and is not just an insular motivation.

But what to do about our present circumstances? I have no idea. I keep trying to make sense of it, give it a reason, but failing every time. "Try again, fail again, fail better." - Beckett.

London, March 23rd 2019 'People's Vote March' Image from Sky News Ⓒ

Melancholy Mondays: Now We Are Forty

So, the day came and I turned forty years of age.

The heavens did not proclaim anything, no unanticipated solar eclipses happened, I did not turn to stone, crowds did not gather, indeed, despite being an unexpectedly sunny and clear day the ninth of September 2018 was just another day.

I had some old friends around me, who know me well enough to not make a big deal of it all. There was no heightened expectations like we always used to have for every single Hogmanay party, which never ended in anything other than an abject disappointment.

It would have been better, however, if the woman I love was feeling better, but at that time she was suffering with terrible morning sickness. Something that has slowly faded now she is in the second trimester. Still, there are other things to look foward to, and if anything, this was an excellent lesson in "you aren't the important thing anymore."

The important thing is to come. The important thing is my son. The important thing is the life we make for him together. The important things are what we can teach him.

I don't suppose I'll end my Melancholy Mondays, or my various concerns about things in the world, it's just that I've something else now. He might not have arrived, so to speak, but his presence is already here. It is changing how I see the world, see my place within it and my future role as a parent.

I had always looked to being a parent with both hope and dread, as I suppose many have, but now it is imminent I have no fear. Not to say that I am without concern (that will never happen) but that the overwhelming fear of it all has faded away and a certainty has replaced it, now there is only a longing to begin.

Not that I expect things to be easy. For most of my life I've being waiting for this one thing to be sorted and then everything will be alright. Except, that has never happened and it's taken me a long time (too long really) to realise that this really is what John Lennon meant when he said, "life is what happens when you are busy making other plans." Well, it's high time to focus on the life and leave the plans to others.

My worklife isn't were I want it to be, nor will it ever be unless I can make certain changes or sacrifices, or more likely, to simply accept the way things are going. Libraries might never leave society, but they will certainly change and actually they always have. The basic message that we liberal-minded folk hold, the 'free access to all information for all' might be our current mantra (and one worthy of fighting to hold onto) but it is not the librarian's Hippocratic oath. There is none in the profession, beyond preserving knowledge, and I suppose that's something after all.

Tied to this is the fact that I only every wanted to be an artist, like my own dad did, and like him through cowardice and other handicaps neither of us have achieved this. Although until my own death, I still have this as potential in some form. Do I need to be a writer to consider myself worthy? I once did. I once thought that only in being an academic, would I have achieved something. It's not that I've given up (entirely) on the 'Art Life' it's just that I don't need you to tell me I'm worthy. Not anymore.

We all do what we can with what we have. There is no point delaying being a good person, the time to be good is now. I learned this lesson from Thomas. This isn't to say that I always make the right choice, the kind choice, the noble choice. Often times I act like an immature brat and am capable of being cruel and stupid in equal measure.

I've lost a lot of people in my forty years, some through carelessness, some through misfortune, some due to my own foolishness, some just because it was time. We are all just drifting, hoping to find some pure reason behind it all. Some delude themselves into thinking it is such-and-such a cause or ideology. I'm not going to proclaim that I know the answer, I don't, I just mean to do my best with what I have. To be the best father that I can. What else is there?

Salvador Dali, 'Geopoliticus child watching the birth of the new man' (1943)

Melancholy Mondays: Diminishing Returns

Can't help but feel that physically I've passed the point of no return. That I'm never going to suddenly develop into a startling muscular figure, or become the long-distance runner that I never properly trained for. I can still maintain a certain standard of physical fitness and try to keep the beer belly bulge at bay, but it's only going to get harder and take more work. Exercise that will take longer to recover from, with a body that is less flexible and resistant than it was before.

Mentally, they say that your intellectual peak can come much later, post-forty certainly, but it's also true that certain things have got harder. That my memory, previously almost faultless, is now rather defective and the possibility that I might completely forget something is more of a regular occurrence than I'd ever considered. It's frightening and more than a little embarrassing to find yourself with no memory. "I have no recollection," after all, is the statement of liar. Certainly as used by politicians, celebrities, and other criminals.

All life works towards a downward spiral. Eventually, the effort put in is not met by the active response. More has to be expended to reach what was easier to accomplish before. All things weaken, age, diminish, and finally perish. There is no eternal reoccurrence, no perpetual motion. Some things just take longer to die.

We might consider large-scale collaborative endeavours, such as Science, as somehow excluded from this basic law of entropy, but consider Civilisations. Why do they 'fail', perhaps entropy is absolute. The scientific method itself seems to accept a potential replacement with a 'better' system.

The epigenetic clock is ticking...

'The Seer' Giorgio de Chirico

Melancholy Mondays: Amor Fati

This is the year I become forty. Woe is me.

They always tell you that one day you'll look at contemporary youth culture in the same dismissive disparaging way that your parents did and you say, "there's no chance that will ever happen to me, because I'll always remain in touch and up to date with society."

And yet, here we are, it wasn't music that did it (after all pop music has always been mediocre), it wasn't even contemporary entertainment (all those superhero films and endless 'binge-watch' TV series).

No, for you in came in the form of comedy. Something you'd always prided yourself for understanding in a nuanced way. Maybe it's that they remind you of bullies, something that has always been a trigger for you.

Whatever the root cause, this is it, the shitposting edgelords of twitter, reddit and imageboard sites are the thing that makes you go, "what the F💥CK is wrong with young people today!?"

Well done old man.

“A Golden Thread” by John Melhuish Strudwick (1885).

Melancholy Mondays: Please don't

The red tie is the new arditi fez

Don't.

Please don't.

I know it might look like a way to overthrow corporate neo-liberalism, but this isn't the way.

The only real way to accomplish that would take hard work and co-operation.

Please America, don't.

Some people have talked about a Trump presidency making the world an "interesting place."

I suppose self-immolation is 'interesting' in a manner of speaking.

So, don't do it.

Just don't.

Please.

I fear it's too late already, however, whether he wins or not.

Brexit has helped give a public voice to the darker thoughts of a part of British society that I once considered a minority, but those thoughts were always there waiting.

It's always easier to stoke resentment than a mutual accord.

People are not good.

People are not evil.

People are good AND evil. Their battle is internal. Individual. Constant. Their failures are externalised and multiplied by denial.

We think of ourselves, when we should think of others.

We blame others, when we should blame ourselves.

Please don't be selfish.

Please don't be cruel.

Please don't be dumb.

Please.

Don't.

Melancholy Mondays: Hatred of life is the love of death

I used to believe that the elderly had some greater knowledge of death, or else, a certain wisdom that allowed them to face their own deaths with an inner strength. As this, the fear of death, is something I continue to struggle with, I found this thought comforting. That is, at some point in my future I will also find this wisdom and learn to face my own death without fear. However, as I stumble into middle age, I begin to learn that this earlier idea might not be correct. I start to consider that it is not an acceptance or wisdom of death, but a disconnection or disregard for life instead. When all your dreams have failed, all your loved ones died before you, the world has collapsed into chaos, all that might have been good has finally been destroyed or corrupted, then we can say "bring on death, there is nothing more for me here."

'Riding with Death' by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1982

Melancholy Mornings: this crappy time of year

So, it's not a Monday and I'm beginning this year in blogging with a complaint. Hardly a sign of any great emotional growth. Still, you should know your limits I suppose.

There has been a reason for my dropping off the blogging habit recently and it's the same reason as before, "the same procedure as every year."

Many people have good reasons for disliking winter and the 'holiday season' in particular, for myself, that whole period and especially January are times that seemingly take so much effort to live through that I find very little time for anything other than basic work functions and generally surviving.  Basically put, I'm not great company at this time of year.

Still, it's well into February now and I'm feeling much better about myself, so I don't feel the need to go on about these problems of mine, which is partially the reason they never get solved. Firstly, because I'm not sure there is such a thing as a solution, but mainly it's because when I'm suffering under them I don't want to talk about it and once I'm feeling better I feel like such a different person there seems no need to revisit it.

I suppose that emotionally hibernating or shutting down over this darker colder time of year might be explained quite simply by the physical causes, but it's also a time of year tied to stressful family meetings, remembrances, and other things that bring on bad thoughts.

I'd like to say, the sun is in the blue sky and all this right with the world, but it isn't. It is, however, now something I can actively deal with again and have enough energy left over to waste on little projects like this one.

So, hello again, happy new year, happy year of the snake, happy 2013.

Not a stellar year for fiction, it really doesn't have the ring of a 2012 or 2020. Indeed, I can only think of one film set in this year and it ain't good...

Let's hope it's better than this.

Melancholy Mondays: Van Gogh

Sorrowing Old Man ('At Eternity's Gate') 1890 by Van Gogh

Melancholy Mondays: Moby

Update!

Btw, the female refrain sung throughout is 'these open doors'