What do I expect from life? What does life have to offer? Want, need, tragedy, misery, enchantment, awe, wonder, injury, delirium, death …
For whatever reason, writing is an obsession with me … not phony “this is my persona/image” writing, but “this is how I really feel” writing. It can’t hurt to document the inner life of one has figured out certain riddles, side-stepped certain traps, and stubbornly outsmarted certain evolutionary and social mechanisms.
What’s the story? The story is not what we do with our lives, but what life does with us. I wake up knowing I have to find an affordable apartment soon or else I lose government assistance. There are those who might like to see everyone with rental assistance corralled into work-farms. It was not my goal to end up depending on government assistance, but it is what it is … sooner or later, it just becomes your life. Ride it until the wheels fall off. Welcome to the Twenty First Century, the age of the high-tech low life, more literate than kings and high priests of past eras, but feeling like a deadbeat on account of the metrics that have us rate our value and worth by our income or our position in the “work-force.”
Many people define themselves by their income or by what they “do for a living” – in fact, that is often the first thing people want to know about you: “where do you work?”
You married? Got kids? Where’s your car? Why don’t you own a car?
I define myself as a deep thinker regardless of how I pay the rent, regardless of my personal reaction to being born into mass-industrial society … the machine age run amuck.
Stress. Tension. Anxiety.
I don’t require much to be content, but these days, even that is becoming scarce: a place with my own kitchen, my own bathroom, somewhere to store some books and chestfuls of notebooks … The Records of a Steppenwolf. I’ll take what I can get, even some dive on the Jersey Shore, even if all my futile scribblings end up in the Atlantic Ocean as the oceans rise.
The long and short of it is that I have an anti-corporate (BAD) attitude. I’m an extremist nonconformist and a radical philosopher … I lean strongly in the direction of madness. I have basically figured out that all of us, not just myself, would have been better off not being born. Does this imply we all would be better off dead? Possibly but not necessarily.
How can I think this way?
Well, as soon as I overcame the fear of public opinion, I broke through to the Dark Side, so to speak. I mean, there never was any real need to decide upon a career, secure a position (JOB), get married and reproduce. All this is obvious to me now, but it wasn’t like this all my life. There were times I had been a nervous wreck. I was concerned about things like, what others think.
A hostile attitude keeps me from conforming to idiotic norms. It’s good to be able to be carefree, to be a free spirit. It’s a catastrophe to have been born, but now that I am alive, I strongly resist becoming even more ensnared in misery, so I do just enough to get by … to stay alive, to stay dry, and do a lot of contemplating on the futility of the cosmos. No matter who anyone is, they are free to question why the world even exists rather than not. The great thing about thinking is that it does not require anyone else to engage in it with you.
There is this inner dimension to our existence that can’t be measured in terms of monetary value. Since I am drawn to obscure literature, when I write, I expect to have a small audience. In fact, I am surprised when anyone at all is drawn to what I write. I write as an outsider. Some people might say I am a social parasite with a negative attitude.
I’m disgusted with the corporate overtones of the social networking software that seems to suggest we define ourselves as if the entire world were potential employers and co-workers. Link me up to a barf bag for that pig shit corporate mind fuck. Who the Hell isn’t a “technical writer”? Jeezuz.
Who can I talk to about how I REALLY feel? Now the value of a diary can be appreciated! This is not about entertaining the masses. These diaries are written in cursive … This is the real stuff … another anti-novel by another authentic being who actually exists.
Writing is a great source of revenge!
I want to be a philosopher who can be read like a poet … a rebel monk without a religion, without a god.
“… the only thing I could read was Schopenhauer. Everything else I tried confirmed the feeling of sickness … I always knew he was one of the ones that mattered most to me, and it is a pleasure more real than any pleasure for a long time to begin to understand now why it is so. And it is a pleasure also to find a philosopher that can be read like a poet.” ~ Beckett
I am not enthusiastic about anything. I have to admit that I am nervous about the lack of affordable housing. I purchased twelve special notebooks … that’s about all I can become enthusiastic about … making some kind of breakthrough, not in how I live day to day, but in the style of my writing, in my attitude. I want to be able to write in a more hostile tone. I want to become more negative. No more romantic delusions. No more infatuations. At this point in my life, I want to be able to unload the honest truth, even if it is a bitter truth that stings.
Radicalized Gorticide at Not Everyone Works For A Company Gortards
I am just enduring existence, spending most the hours of my days and nights contemplating the absurdity of surviving just for the sake of survival. I find our species to be ridiculously vain, and the whole corporate mind fuck rather insulting to my intelligence.
My Bucket List: To Erase Myself From LinkedIn.
Gorticide has great disdain toward those who uphold the status quo.
Experience: Getting through a life not worth living. My responsibilities? Are you kidding? I just type some ideas up when I feel like it.
Rutgers University-New Brunswick: Computer Science 3.68 of 4.00 with Honors
Brookdale Community College Monmouth County NJ
Associate of Science (A.S.), Dean’s List
I basically just helped fellow students in the Math Lab and got straight A’s … then I became infatuated with a young woman from Costa Rica which motivated me to ask my Nordic concubine to vacate from the historic house we were residing in. Wait … that was in 1995 or so. When I returned in 1998-1999 I just continued to Ace academics but refrained from helping others in the Math Lab!
Interests: I like to write in my diary and I try to sleep as much as possible.
Advice for Contacting Mike H: Leave a comment at xhentric.wordpress.com
That seems to be my final frontier.
Please note that I refuse to validate the corporate gort culture.
To be blunt, I need a place to live. A studio apartment would suffice.
I am a comic philosopher with no credentials … and a Gortbuster Warrior in Limbo.
I don’t do facebook, twitter, or job interviews.
So long, gorts!
The optimist’s impatience with or condemnation of pessimism often has a smug macho tone to it (although males have no monopoly of it). There is a scorn for the perceived weakness of the pessimist who should instead ‘grin and bear it’. This view is defective for the same reason that macho views about other kinds of suffering are defective. It is an indifference to or inappropriate denial of suffering, whether one’s own or that of others. The injunction to ‘look on the bright side’ should be greeted with a large dose of both skepticism and cynicism. Cheery optimists have a much less realistic view of themselves than do those who are depressed.
~ David Benatar (Better Never To Have Been)
Can one ever know reality? What if one can’t handle the truth? What if, in order to protect one’s psyche from fully perceiving a world of DNA run amock, surviving for the sake of surviving, with no purpose whatsoever, blocks out that reality? What if illusion is actually manufactured for the masses intentionally so that they remain distracted chasing things they think they want (like continued existence, a career, an automobile, a mate, offspring, etc)?
As difficult as it may be for some people to admit, most people are not nearly as content as they themselves think they are. In fact, having access to more resources does not necessarily diminish dissatisfaction. It often aggravates dissatisfaction, where one needs more and more distractions in order to maintain illusions of ontological security and personal fulfillment.
Paradoxically, so-called depressed or negative people might be more content and more grounded in reality than those who profess to be happy or positive people. It is quite possible for one to be unrealistically positive.
An attribute of many psychologically disturbed people is an inability to monitor reality effectively, and the so-called healthy individual may be portrayed as one who maintains very close contact with reality. Recall Erich Fromm’s work The Sane Society. How ironic that mass hypnosis could bring about a situation where those who see things as they really are most clearly may be viewed as “mentally ill” because they are depressed or don’t want to work or reproduce, while those who are unrealistically optimistic with a positive attitude may less contact with actual reality.
Very vivid dreams. I visualize a memory of the experience, but I am unable to articulate it into alphabetical symbols. It was like a futuristic Steppenwolf (see Hermann Hesse) … strange flutes … an open-air prison environment … railroad train going through forest of huge trees with tall heavy fences higher than the trees … the people all imprisoned even though outdoors.
I awaken with an urge to remove myself from LinkedIn, not even remembering how I became registered with them. Instead of deleting the account, I decided just to fill in some of the corporate-minded fields with the satirical truth. I felt dizzy so I ate three fried eggs and scrapple. I snapped a photo with the webcam and inserted it in a post, Scorning The Corporate Mind Fuck. Then I closed my account with LinkedIn. I don’t want to be linked into that world.
I have to admit that I feel much better not inebriated. Maybe there are only certain situations where alcoholic inebriation would be enjoyable for me … I can’t deny the relief I experience coming to my senses when my head clears up. Just being able to calmly read literature or write a little is a delicate exercise that I tend to under-appreciate. I don’t fathom the complex nerve-endings involved in these processes until I become incapacitated. It’s a strong mental quality to be able to laugh at the Abyss, to face it squarely. All the industries from entertainment to spectator sports to sitting in a bar to dancing in a club – what is it all about if not merely to distract the masses from the fact that there is no purpose to being alive, that there really is nothing to do, and that those who reproduce are following mechanically a blind irrational will or traditions accepted without questioning the purpose of it all.
There is nothing to do once you’ve figured it out, and now you are better able to face the Abyss.
I enjoy writing when I am mildly depressed. Actually, being mildly depressed feels very sane.
I refuse to feel any shame for not following the gortards’ idiotic norms … the mass hypnosis. It is better for me to write in a “diary” than to sit in a theater watching some stupid Hollywood blockbuster.