Wow. It's amazing how soon solutions in my life come after problems are posited. After a pointless and enraging e-mail from Patrick, (whose perceptiveness and sensibility I have greatly underestimated [but I cannot say I didn't see it coming; a person who tries to find meaning in art (unless if he is told to), is a damn fool]), I have decided to set things straight, yet again.
At any rate, the reason for today's (or rather, yesterday's) reluctance and insecurities was simple (and again, it's nothing new, I knew it all; I'm just repositioning pieces of the puzzle, getting to know myself - despite many of you who wish to the otherwise, because of my unorthodox methods): I am selective about investment in my relationships.
Spreading yourself thin to be a nice, social, extroverted person is very good; too bad all your fucking parties are hollow and pointless and I can come up in a single night of loneliness with so much more and in so many ways much more than you fuckers can come up with during a few hours of social networking, drinking and bullshitting.
You are probably wondering if I am talking about you, Patrick? Why hide it? If you haven't had the general courtesy to not state the obvious, then neither shall I: Yes, I am. Intellect is important. More important than love. Love fades, but true knowledge of life is forever. Mhumm. Perhaps true love is a maximum mutual true knowledge. But - ooh, look at me, wrangling with those clichés. Ooh, look, I am so immature and juvenile. Shoo, go to your formal philosophy and reserved self-inquiry, g'way.
As of late, I've been feeling that this blog is losing authenticity, so let's turn back to the Manifesto and add to the rules of engagement: I am twenty two. I know nothing about the world. I have not lived. And yet, I am an artist. So: Fuck. You. You are worthless. My insecutity equals creativity. Your insecurity equals self-containment. Deal with it.
I am a bitch. Live with it, you mother fuckers. I am arrogant. I am special and yes, I am better than you. Want it in bigger type? No problem. Here you go:
I am better than you!
I just didn't want to hurt your feelings when you would find out how much better than you I am. When you are better than me (smarter), I make up with insecurity, which I cure by producing art bowing down to no group, publication or standard, and which, in whatever simplicity, juvenility or typical-ness is worth more than all of your achievements taken together.
I have gone through more than many of you have gone through; everyone has a bad childhood. See, perhaps so did Mite and he might (pun intended) disagree with me, but so what: maybe he's had it differently, maybe he believes otherwise, but - and here I am purposefully doing one of the absolutely worst things one can do to a person (comparing him to another person) - he never judges me for it (and I can't, in all honesty, say I earned that by being a good friend to him). So that's a comliment to you, Mite.
At any rate, I had three bad childhoods, each with its own set of subtitles, like a DVD. And yet, do I not rarely bitch about this? Or, rather, do I exploit being a victim? No. We're all victims. Fuck pride. I have no pride. Whatever I do, good or bad, comes to me from above and beyond; it's not me. So fuck childhood, fuck six years of violence and fuck TV. Fuck responsibility. This is me. "Полюбите меня черненьким. Беленьким меня всяк полюбит." ["Love me when I'm black, when I'm white anyone could love me.] Good quote, Dad. Everyone else can fuck off.
Life is binary, a series of "yes" and "no" sign posts rooted into the ground along a set path. Your fate may be to ignore it, to believe in the bullshit of "honour," "free will," or "pride"; or your fate may be to embrace it and be either for or against the miserable fact of an otherwise perfectly good existence. But the choices have already been made; so I do not even have to ask: you are either for me, or against me. In your own twisted way, Trudy, you were always right. Which, come to think of it, really puts the shitty parts of our past relationship into perspective. There is no middle ground, grey area, golden mean or middle way. Compromises are pretense; one cannot change the self because the self is determined ahead of time. There is only luck and fate.
So fuck you all, motherfuckers. Yes. I am typical, young, arrogant, misunderstood and juvenile. And I am happy. About 85%-on-the-bipolometer kind of happy. There's my solution. I don't need your motherfucking validation and I will not beg for your friendship, because if you were meant to be my friend, you already would be. If you were meant to be my ally, you would be. I do not feel obligated to explain or justify myself any longer. Take it or leave it. Enemy or friend. Das Mike has left the building. Fuck night to you all.
"Love me when I'm black..." Your father was a fan of Gogol. Pretty obscure stuff, but well worth the read.
Well, he is very well-read.
On an unrelated note: Holy shit! Heh. I'm a maniac.
who have a hobby same with can email me ,my hobby is make love