Perhaps I should give myself permission to slurp a cup of coffee. But
I better stick to
my guns for a while. The temptation to give way will only strengthen
by giving in too
easily. In public gatherings, or when seeing movies, ok. But my
private time should
be untarnished by chemical aids. Some cheating voice keeps pressing
the issue: if
I get a headache? perhaps I've got a little headache now? - Shut up.
Be dull if you
want, dullness is no excuse. No more cycling as far as the weather
prognosis can
see. That's a real drag. Get back to walking, back to misery. I'm a
little worried that I
don't have much sexual appetite these days. Perhaps I've made too many
rules for
myself. My brain feels awfully stale. All the sterile turkeys
flooding the market again.
I haven't done much cleaning of late. There's a lot of resistance.
"Drive the moment
to its crisis.", the old turd used to say. Well, this session here
isn't doing me much
good today. Better try some exercises instead.
On 22-Oct-05, at 8:26 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Why is there so much loathing? Loathing is not the worst part of
life. There's
killing, there's exploitation, there's suppression, enslavement, war,
imprisonment
torture, abuse. Does it all start with loathing? Is loathing the
mother of all violence?
What is loathing? Why do people loathe other people. Is it the
assertion of values?
My values are more valid than your values? That sort of thing? At
the Academy, is
that what energizes the minds of those who seek power and seek the
limelight. The
pedestal? K is always on about not putting anyone on a pedestal. And
yet in life,
everyone is always seeking that little bit of elevation. And the way
to get on the
pedestal is to push others off it. -- Now I really feel like
slurping some coffee. But
it's against the rules. I could of course talk myself into it. But I
promised myself to
be half-way sensible about things in the future, and this brief time
off coffee has
already brought significant benefits. I don't ever want absolute
rules about these
things, but I do want to grow a slightly stiffer backbone. The
biggest change is in
the eyes. Medicine has discovered that the small blood vessels around
the eyes,
especially in the back of the retina, are a good predictor for
strokes. What I actually
feel is a sense of fatigue around the eyeballs. The coffee would fix
that. But at a
price. I need to learn to live with these small discomforts. The
mildly nagging yen
for stimulants. The growing up that I never did. Now is the time.
The art is to listen
to the twitches of discomfort as to the notes of some unknown song.
Like a surf
rider to clamber on top of the waves that would wipe you out. Or like
a kite
manoeuvring sly air currents that would bring it down.
On 21-Oct-05, at 7:46 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
A bright, relatively alert, morning, even though I really didn't get
much sleep.
But it's as if that logjam of dullness had broken. I did skip the
poetry class,
perhaps a correct decision. I also saw the two movies at the Goethe
Institute,
had a coffee along the way. Fantastic films. I'm sure the coffee
also helped.
It's amazing how powerful the impact of a little coffee can be, now
that my
system is being cleansed of the residual grime of that habit. I'd
always known
the power of pot over the working of my mind. I hadn't realized that
coffee may
be even more powerful. There are lessons in this, lessons that I may
need to
dwell on for some time. The simple conclusion: these are drugs not
perhaps
to be completely avoided, but to be applied with the greatest of
care. Greater
than both drugs is for me to follow my instinct. To stay with my
dullness if that
is all I have. To keep extruding whatever observations I can squeeze
from my
aching brain. Also: to drop what feels uncomfortable: i.e. the
thread with mark,
which seemed to have gone way beyond useful, way beyond honest.
There is
never any point in fighting over the scraps. Best to walk away. But
in the film
class I did go on the attack with my memo. And it produced great
results - even
though my cards turned very nasty. To listen to my impulses doesn't
always
mean to follow them. Often it means the contrary. It simply means
to stay with
the issue, even when it all gets dull and insoluble. Another point
is that the
quality of my writing is probably my best gauge of right and wrong,
adding one
other thing: the quality of the writing may not be apparent at the
moment of hot
pain. But in the end, it is the most reliable guide for me. The pack
seems to be
barking up a storm. They must have found something to celebrate.
It's easy to
sense what it may be. There are pictures posted of last Sunday's
country walk.
I seem to be in all of them: the poster child at the Academy? And
yet how much
loathing there is. The world thrives on collective loathing. I'm a
found poem.
On 20-Oct-05, at 6:12 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
The mood in yesterday's film class much improved. But it exposed
the sorry
state of the herd mind even more. Michael Allen absent. I keep
fantasizing about
getting him to rejoin. But chances are he's reached a terminal
stage where he no
longer has the energy to participate. Why am I so excited about
this matter? On
the other hand why reject those feelings? They're probably a
projection of my
frustration. Even frustration is a form of energy. There must be a
useful resolution.
Today there's the poetry class. Two presentations that are sure to
be a waste of
time. Still I can't make up my mind to skip them. What good would
my attendance
accomplish? There might be some handouts for the following session.
Tonight
two films at the Goethe Institute. I must get some sleep some time
during the day.
Is there nothing this morning that I can get my teeth into? Just
this state of fatigue?
Fatigue can be a good source of discovery. Everything is nearer to
the surface.
But I'm guarded. Of course I'm posting this, making it public, so
some caution is
bound to operate. Finally I manage to turn off the radio. Now I'm
free of that
distraction. But a palpable dullness persists. There is some
resistance in that.
And a lot of fatigue. No coffee. Those are the rules. If this
continues, I may have
to return to the coffee. But I should give it about a week or so.
There is really no
significant downside. And if I just persists with these writing
exercises,
something new may yet emerge. Observing my dullness is just as
significant as
any other form of observation. It's the quality of the observation
that counts, not
the object. Or should I say: the subject? Well enough. My brain
feels as if it
were encased in lard. When Joseph Beuys burnt body was found by
nomads in
the caucasus, they wrapped him in lard. And a leading figure of of
20th century
art arose from the wreckage. So?
On 19-Oct-05, at 6:05 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
The four lines below were written yesterday on my return. I didn't
post them
because there isn't much there that is worth reading. I keep them,
rather than
erasing, because they're part of the record. When I re-read
yesterday's messages
of mine, both complaints about my frustration in not finding the
right language, I'm
surprised how well-written they are. That which has a difficult
birth may yet be
well-born. But am I ready now to return to the title of this
thread? The core pain?
It seems to me now that there are several things. But still they
may ultimately be
one and the same, merely seen from different angles. The absence
of love, my
inability to love, surely that is the condition I share with our
entire species. On the
other hand I become aware of it as a feeling of exclusion from
humanity. I'm the
outsider, I also play the outsider. In my get-up. And it
irritates people. They take
it as a deliberate provocation. And they're not wrong. I play the
discordant note.
I advertise my separateness. They read that gesture as pride. For
me it expresses
how I feel. I feel like a misfit and assert that feeling. It's my
truth. I must live my
truth. But I may be dissipating my energy by this confrontational
style of living.
Perhaps I can reduce the confrontational element. Am I too much my
father's son
in this aspect? The last thing I'd want to be. But I may well be
stepping into dog
turd here. (To be continued - too tired now)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hearing at City Hall went very well. Also a magic bicycle ride
in High Park.
And at City Hall I also drank a cup of coffee. I feel much better
now. My level of
serotonin or endorphin, or whatever, now quite high. The
frustration of the early
morning is now gone.
On 18-Oct-05, at 6:23 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Is it possible for me to actually feel that absence of love? Or
is it just a theory?
My mind may not be supple enough to go into that question. If I
had some coffee
to assist me or some marijuana. Without those aids I just keep
drawing blanks.
Perhaps it's time to take a toke again, but it's been such a long
time since I last
indulged and I don't want to break that streak. More importantly
I want to strengthen
my resilience to handle difficult questions without chemical
assistance. Why am I
unable to see the simple truth of my life? Am I stuck in the
wrong questions? Am
I preoccupied with too much agenda? No, it's more the
interminable chattering in
my brain that blocks me. I even have trouble turning off the
radio or tv when I sit
here at this table. Perhaps this morning this is the best I can
do. Just to sit here in
my state of frustration. I wish I could rouse myself from this
clammy state, but it
doesn't seem possible. I'm still drinking tea. Maybe I need to
give that up too. But
my problem may be in another area. Increasingly it appears to me
that it may
indeed be the tea that is blocking my enquiry. I posted the
parallel text to mark.
maybe that will free me up a little. Now I'm no longer addressing
a particular reader.
But other matters seem to be throwing some kind of shadow over my
questioning.
There is the Academy with its hostilities. There is today the
City Hall meeting to
stop construction across the street in the ravine. I'm not sure
what is blocking me.
On 17-Oct-05, at 7:14 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Stay with that. Stay with the absence of love. Healing is bound
to come
from the distillation of that which causes the problem.
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