An Inquiry into How to Get Through a Life Not Worth Living
“Writing for money and reservation of copyright are, at bottom, the ruin of literature. No one writes anything that is worth writing, unless he writes entirely for the sake of his subject.” ~ Arthur Schopenhauer
Shall I confess right from the start, dear reader? Be forewarned that you are dealing with a madman, for I have no patience for “putting on a good show.” I don’t have that luxury. My writing is a substitute for suicide as well as a strategy to prevent or at least postpone the act. Somehow, when one discovers the root of anxieties, this has healing power. As soon as you dive down into the depths and grasp what truly ails you, the pain disappears as if by some kind of magic or miracle. Taken to the extreme, when we sit down to write a book, this effort sets vibrating something in the brain to attract ideas, and suddenly we experience joy or delight.
Instead of merging with the unconscious omniscient inner being of Nature, one often subjects oneself to living in the existential prison of the subject, a socially constructed ego, the I, a seemingly puny little unit of consciousness trapped inside-the-skin. It is this subject which feels mocked when my animal body is dragged through the mud; and yet this subject is not inevitable! In moments of clarity, my heart understands that there is a deeper dimension, an inner life where the boundaries between “inside-the-skin” and “outside-the-skin” become blurred.
Speaking poetically, I could say that the Devil chooses his philosophers with great care. I am a natural student of Abraxas, so I will issue a warning from the beginning to potential readers of this tale told by an idiot: I don’t take goblins seriously, and I will use terminology in metaphorical ways. Nonetheless, I have no choice but to accept the fact that when I use terms like “the Devil,” referring to a shadowy aspect of reality, without the usual condemnations, this will invite boos and hisses from the gallery. People who lack depth may condemn me right away as sinister, or at the very least, lacking the appropriate “fear of God.” I suspect that on some level I am begging to be misunderstood, and actually encouraging confusion. “Jehovah” came from Ormuzd, and “Satan” came from Ahriman.
There are times I wish to eliminate using this clumsy medium altogether and develop some form of trance-induced telepathic communion throughout the interconnected web of reality.
Recently someone suggested to me that we are no more the individual personalities we have been in the past than the wind is the sky it has passed through. It is in this spirit that I wish to explore my old writings stored in old notebooks. Cioran suggests that diaries and letters are what is least false in literature, which is the worst reproach to be made against police states in that they oblige the destruction of just that: diaries and letters. Such literature is written spontaneously and often without censure, which is exactly why it is what is the least false, the least pretentious, and the most authentic literature.
With this current project, I intend to enact a response to the inquiry, “How to get through a life not worth living?”
How? – well, with a strong dose of madness, of course!
The very root of all this writing is madness itself. While many progressive thinkers have been in the process of liberating madness by undoing the cultural codes responsible for its repression, our world, our society, seems to be denying and repressing literature. What mechanisms are responsible for repressing madness? Hasn’t the entire history of Western culture been the story of Reason’s repression of that which it calls madness?
There is an essential kinship between literature and madness. Wittgenstein proclaimed that there were certain things we must pass over in silence because we can’t possibly speak of it; but, where philosophy, religion, and science have failed to speak madness, literature has been the sole channel by which madness has been able to speak with relative freedom. What suppresses literature if not the self-censuring mechanisms of the social apparatus? Often the literary madman is the disguised philosopher, serving as a voice to speak madness which is otherwise repressed. In literature, the role of madness is often philosophical. In Nietzsche, the poet, philosopher, and madman coincide in one individual. Haven’t religious, scientific, philosophical, and psychiatric tools done nothing but imprison madmen?
In 1657, France created the General Hospital. It was not a medical hospital, but “the third force of repression,” working alongside the police. This ‘third force’ had the power to try, to convict, and to execute outside of court. It began one morning when six thousand people were taken to be confined. The people subdued and apprehended were considered to be madmen, fools, loiterers, drunks, tramps, paupers, and profaners. I imagine these individuals were not much different from my unconventional brothers and sisters in our society diagnosed with chemical imbalances and other “personality disorders” that prove to be so inconvenient to the conventional who have such people at their mercy. (Felman)
Modern psychiatric ideology is an adaptation of the traditional Christian Theology. Instead of being born into sin, mankind is born into “illness.” Where tyranny was once justified by theology, tyranny is now justified by therapy. As anti-psychiatric psychiatrist Thomas Szasz pointed out in the late 1960’s, the oppressor not only subdues his victim but also robs him of a vocabulary for articulating his victimization – thus making him a captive deprived of all means of escape! Under such conditions, is it a surprise that those with the strongest character and intellectual honesty could easily become criminalized and blacklisted through quasilegal means?
Maybe “little” things one may stumble upon while exploring this world, whether through experience, conversation, or scholarly research, end up not being little at all. It is not too difficult to imagine one becoming a thorn in the side of the “managers and engineers,” especially in these times where anyone with access to a computer hooked to the Internet is capable of reaching more people than the prophets of the ancient world. Some issues are giant pink elephants that “polite society” just doesn’t discuss. One of those issues is Melanin Theory and the work done by Dr. Frances Cress Welsing. I am sure to lose potential audiences if I were to reveal an Afrocentric perspective.
In our society, one would question a paleass Nordic in the Americas entertaining an Afrocentric cosmogony; and yet, since all hominids come out of the womb of a common “Africoidal” ancestor, the “Grandparents of our [hue-man] universe” are all of ours. Why would anyone question me were I to be Afrocentric? Of course, genetically, being of a “Germanic” or “Nordic” strain, the creature that my body is may be thousands of generations removed from the African maternal link; but that does nothing to change origins.
I know that some of the ideas I consider get me ostracized from mainstream “polite” society. I am not sure how often Afrocentricism will slip into my narrative, so I am bringing it out in the open in the Introduction. Perhaps there is a chance for me to heal ancient psychic wounds. These kinds of things one works out in the privacy of their own heart and mind. I do not expect to convince anyone of any specific theories. If we change our perspective to viewing modern sociological problems in the context of genetic deficiencies, compensations, and socioeconomic systems based on subconscious feelings of inadequacy left by the scars of albinos being forced out of Africa by whatever dynamic, the “White Amerika” problem is not a problem with Eurocentric roots, but a dilemma with Afrocentric roots in our shared genetic/psychic history. In the realm of psyche, racism is not a problem of “the White Race”, as there really is no so-called “white race,” but a problem of the one race, the Black race of which we are all mutations. In other words, I am not trying to cause riots, but simply attempting to heal.
With this more archeologically honest Afrocentric grounding in reality, we may be able to liberate our minds from the influence of that part of us afraid of change and attached to the idea of privilege, dependent upon the status quo view of race. White supremacist fantasies compensate for the insecurities and anxieties experienced by the mostly disenfranched masses of “working poor” whites who may be afraid of being genetically wiped out by the colorful people of the world. Were masses of such people to get it through their heads that we are one species, that fear is eliminated. We are one species.
When we begin to fully grasp the fact that “white folks” did not fall from the stars from a distant planet, but that “people with white skin” came right out of the womb of a dark-hued African Mother, we can at least be aware of these deep and hidden complexes so as not to be controlled by the repressed shame (sense of rejection due to mutation). When we pray to the Grandfathers of the Universe, we pray to all our Grandfathers. If fair skin, light colored hair, and blue eye color are genetic mutations coming from dark-skinned parents, then all shades of brown, bronze, and pink are mutated versions of black. I won’t go on and on with this topic.
Thousands upon thousands of years separated from the African maternal-link leaves one feeling like something is missing. Bringing into consciousness this deeply repressed sense of inadequacy would shed much needed light on the hidden sexual jealousy behind much systemic violence against entire populations of “people viewed as dangerous” to Public Health and Safety.
Personal liberation requires honesty and the dignity to stand in truth. Isn’t it better to embrace the living truth than to live a lie, no matter how flattering the lie? In exploring these ideas, I have had no grand delusions about “changing the world,” but if such meditations help me change my inner “life-world,” which is the only environment I have left to defend, then these ideas do change the world, the one between my ears and in my heart.
You’d think the Creation is some accidental experiment by a random collection of euphoric Mad Scientist Creators, and when the whole thing went haywire, they all went back to sleep. How attached we are to blood! Don’t let any get away. Biological necessity itself binds us in need, want, and desire. These theories do not solve ultimate problems, but they do provide avenues for challenging our own individual rats’ nests of psychoses threatening to incinerate the planet.
We really can go where not many sentient beings dare to go … into the collective unconscious deep sea diving, confronting the Monsters in our psychic waters before they destroy us. Once detected, the complex loses its power – and you have metaphorically slayed the Dragon. Much social change can be accomplished through solitary contemplation.