I've been playing hooky and it feels good, but it is also now a source of tension in my life.
I have been feeling much better. Much better. I have been throwing everything and the kitchen sink at my depression and I am finally beginning to feel human again.
I've mentioned before that the anhedonia is the roughest part. It is. The inability to experience pleasure. I now know that I did not have problems with anhedonia until after Prozac (by far the worst experience of my life...) Forget seratonin. I think that Prozac screwed up my dopamine levels. A short while after my severe Prozac withdrawal I remember doing something I once thought fun (riding a rollercoaster) and I remember not feeling a single thing either way. I was on a scary ride and all I was thinking about was what I had to do when I got home that day. I will never forgive the makers of Prozac for doing that to me. I think my brain may have been permanently damaged - to an extent.
That is why I MUST throw everything and the kitchen sink at my depression. EVERYTHING: nutrition, herbs, supplements, exercise, fresh air.
As far as getting a job... I honestly don't know if I would be able to function in the workplace right now. At this point I think a job could very well be a one-way express ticket back to a the worst psychotic depression. I already think I'm the Son of God. Mix that with a psychotic depression and see what ya' get!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
My "Ignant" Case for (or against) Richard Wagner
Ressentiment and Revenge: I'll sate my lust with the gods! Yes, I will god(no pun intended)dammit!
I was Alberich, a cancerous gnome, a troublesome troll, a poisonous toad! Not receiving love I scorned love - but never renounced love! I will never renounce love!
Buddhism: Only through renunciation may one gain the entire world! Well, then what's the fucking point? Wagner was sailing merrily along until he hit a Schopenhauerian reef!
The Gods! They too are defined and limited by limits. What I am not is what I am and what I am is what I am not. The finite wishes to be infinite, the infinite wishes to be finite. Thank you, Kierkegaard, for ruining my happiness. Anyone who is sexually satisfied would never read you! How could Heidegger get his dick hard for Hannah Arendt? (One of the many skeleton keys to Heidegger is Kierkegaard.) I don't have to worry about you Kierkegaard, you hateful sufferer! You're nothing but a fragmented Hegel, right? Fuck you, Kierkegaard!
See how ignorant I am.
See how ignorant I am.
See how ignorant I am.
And by the way, fuck you, Kant! You Kant!
By the way, could you imagine Bertrand Russell fighting Nietzsche in his prime? That's a polemic cage match I would like to see! Could you imagine how thoroughly Nietzsche would rip him a new asshole? That would be like Woody Allen going against Mike Tyson when Iron Mike was still in his prime. English coward. English pussy.
Wotan: How could any man (or god) choose war and/or power over woman? Endless dominion or endless bedroom horseplay. I would obviously choose the latter. I'm a weak, effeminate rake. I'm Paris of Troy! Let the real MEN fight their silly little wars on MY behalf. I'll take care of the women! Trust in Venus and you'll always be safe, happy, satisfied. It's better to be effeminate. The worst thing any man can be is strong and reliable.
But back to dead philosophers. They're dead heroes. They're all lumped together now as postmodern chatter. "The Colbert Report" and "South Park" both have their finger on the pulse better than I ever will. I've lost the pulse. That's why I can't get published. I need to find the pulse (and my sense of humor) again.
And let's face it: Even though I appreciated this production of "Das Rheingold" on every level artistically and intellectually it IS difficult for any member of my generation to get through Wagner - we've been trained into ADD.
You wanna be a philosopher? Then party! Live it up! Do keg-stands (whatever keg stands are) You have to be a "cool guy" before you can be a philosopher.
I was Alberich, a cancerous gnome, a troublesome troll, a poisonous toad! Not receiving love I scorned love - but never renounced love! I will never renounce love!
Buddhism: Only through renunciation may one gain the entire world! Well, then what's the fucking point? Wagner was sailing merrily along until he hit a Schopenhauerian reef!
The Gods! They too are defined and limited by limits. What I am not is what I am and what I am is what I am not. The finite wishes to be infinite, the infinite wishes to be finite. Thank you, Kierkegaard, for ruining my happiness. Anyone who is sexually satisfied would never read you! How could Heidegger get his dick hard for Hannah Arendt? (One of the many skeleton keys to Heidegger is Kierkegaard.) I don't have to worry about you Kierkegaard, you hateful sufferer! You're nothing but a fragmented Hegel, right? Fuck you, Kierkegaard!
See how ignorant I am.
See how ignorant I am.
See how ignorant I am.
And by the way, fuck you, Kant! You Kant!
By the way, could you imagine Bertrand Russell fighting Nietzsche in his prime? That's a polemic cage match I would like to see! Could you imagine how thoroughly Nietzsche would rip him a new asshole? That would be like Woody Allen going against Mike Tyson when Iron Mike was still in his prime. English coward. English pussy.
Wotan: How could any man (or god) choose war and/or power over woman? Endless dominion or endless bedroom horseplay. I would obviously choose the latter. I'm a weak, effeminate rake. I'm Paris of Troy! Let the real MEN fight their silly little wars on MY behalf. I'll take care of the women! Trust in Venus and you'll always be safe, happy, satisfied. It's better to be effeminate. The worst thing any man can be is strong and reliable.
But back to dead philosophers. They're dead heroes. They're all lumped together now as postmodern chatter. "The Colbert Report" and "South Park" both have their finger on the pulse better than I ever will. I've lost the pulse. That's why I can't get published. I need to find the pulse (and my sense of humor) again.
And let's face it: Even though I appreciated this production of "Das Rheingold" on every level artistically and intellectually it IS difficult for any member of my generation to get through Wagner - we've been trained into ADD.
You wanna be a philosopher? Then party! Live it up! Do keg-stands (whatever keg stands are) You have to be a "cool guy" before you can be a philosopher.
Should I quit drinking? Are Seagrams and Anheuser-Busch Illuminati companies? Is alcohol a drug to subdue the masses and dampen the fiery Heraclitan spirits of artists?
I am an artist. What I have been lacking is personal power. What has been stopping me? I have been stopping me. Not them. THEY are small, scared, stupid, weak. Their mediocrity and ability to conform has given them advantages they are not imaginative enough to exploit. It is indeed a case of giving bread to a man with no teeth!
I have been lacking personal power because I have been lacking direction and/or purpose. There must once again be a goal, a goal so shiny and bright that I can suffer through the worst and cherish the best. A Holy Grail!
I'm thinking of quitting drinking because yesterday - for the first time in at least five months - I actually felt happy and - almost more importantly - IN THE MOMENT. Happiness. Happiness. Wow. Happiness now feels strange - like a totally foreign and alien emotion - and even disconcerting.
Am I a barometer of forces? My forces have, so far, been restrained by one thousand and one things. I'm a builder. I took a nap today and I could feel the "elan vital" coursing in, out, through me, under, over, around me and in all directions. Would alcohol dampen that force? Should I take joy in sex and creativity alone.
Should I put away the last childish thing (alcohol) and reinvent myself as some kind of Goethe?
Just as long as I do not become as strong and reliable as Goethe. The worst thing a man can be nowadays is strong and reliable.
I am an artist. What I have been lacking is personal power. What has been stopping me? I have been stopping me. Not them. THEY are small, scared, stupid, weak. Their mediocrity and ability to conform has given them advantages they are not imaginative enough to exploit. It is indeed a case of giving bread to a man with no teeth!
I have been lacking personal power because I have been lacking direction and/or purpose. There must once again be a goal, a goal so shiny and bright that I can suffer through the worst and cherish the best. A Holy Grail!
I'm thinking of quitting drinking because yesterday - for the first time in at least five months - I actually felt happy and - almost more importantly - IN THE MOMENT. Happiness. Happiness. Wow. Happiness now feels strange - like a totally foreign and alien emotion - and even disconcerting.
Am I a barometer of forces? My forces have, so far, been restrained by one thousand and one things. I'm a builder. I took a nap today and I could feel the "elan vital" coursing in, out, through me, under, over, around me and in all directions. Would alcohol dampen that force? Should I take joy in sex and creativity alone.
Should I put away the last childish thing (alcohol) and reinvent myself as some kind of Goethe?
Just as long as I do not become as strong and reliable as Goethe. The worst thing a man can be nowadays is strong and reliable.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Lord Byron Jr.
When it comes to practical matters I have always been a screw-up and a failure. And so what? If I was a strong, reliable man would I be a writer? I can't even comprehend being a strong, reliable man. I'm too imaginative. I'm either playacting, maliciously complying, or creatively improvising the task out of bounds. In other words I am, at heart, a romantic. But this is okay because romantic can also mean rake.
Even in Kindergarten I never played with the other kids. I sat in the Northeastern corner of the room - the sun was beaming through - and played by myself (but not yet with myself.)
Yes, I always thought the people around me were morons. Why should I change my way of thinking now - after 22 more years of research?
There was an angel back then, a pretty little Spanish girl (do you see the roots of my current romantic and erotic obsessions?) who was beautiful and better than them.
She chose to separate from them (the Herd) and spend all her time playing with me. And I could think of no better playmate - no way - than her. Love, an angel, had chosen to spend her coveted time with me.
I never saw her after that year. She must have moved. But I'll always remember her. I could use her now, as a matter of fact.
She could remind me that we're all in this together. She could make me feel better when I realize that "we're not in Kansas anymore."
Even in Kindergarten I never played with the other kids. I sat in the Northeastern corner of the room - the sun was beaming through - and played by myself (but not yet with myself.)
Yes, I always thought the people around me were morons. Why should I change my way of thinking now - after 22 more years of research?
There was an angel back then, a pretty little Spanish girl (do you see the roots of my current romantic and erotic obsessions?) who was beautiful and better than them.
She chose to separate from them (the Herd) and spend all her time playing with me. And I could think of no better playmate - no way - than her. Love, an angel, had chosen to spend her coveted time with me.
I never saw her after that year. She must have moved. But I'll always remember her. I could use her now, as a matter of fact.
She could remind me that we're all in this together. She could make me feel better when I realize that "we're not in Kansas anymore."
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
My Anti-Depression Regimen
Ingmar Bergman was right. Depression is a cancer of the soul and the tumors require radiation.
The infection smothers the soul, weighs down the will, paralyzes the body, saturates and sickens the cells, muddles the mind, bores the brain, tires the sun and trees, and generally sickens - to the point of an inner and numinous outer gangrene - the being and all of Being. This is a very trite, very cliche, very hackneyed description of depression, but this is exactly what it is - a murky, mucky, cancerous blackness of mind, body, and soul.
The worst part of the depression is the anhedonia: the inability to feel pleasure. I can deal with the pain, the moldiness in my stomach, the hunger from not eating, the heaviness in my chest, the lump of uncried tears in my throat, the numbness and soreness in my face. What I cannot deal with is the loss of happiness and pleasure. I even refuse to accept a negative "happiness", a relief (at least!) of pain, but no pleasure. That's a Buddhist's happiness and I have no desire to lose desire. I'm "detached" enough as it is.
I have been happy before, have I not? I have also known pleasure.
So I put myself on regimens designed to purge me of the poisonous sickness.
Here is a general outline of my regimen:
1. 24 ounces of acai berry juice. Acai berry has been known to relieve symptoms of depression. Acai berries are also natural laxatives. My diarrhea will be as black as coal. The black is the sickness leaving. I drink the acai juice first because fruit can only be digested on an empty stomach.
2. Two teabags of detox tea. I live in an older house. Lead dust, rat poison, and other toxic chemicals are in my environment, contributing to the physiological aspect of my depression. The detox tea is a diuretic, so I will spend the next several hours urinating poison.
3. I will pop three vegan gelcaps (to avoid any risk of Mad Cow disease) of St. John's Wort a day. St. John's Wort is incredibly effective, but it causes gastrointestinal pain. Good. Anything that makes me have to go even more is good. Defecation is a good way of dealing with boredom, ennui, and malaise. Sometimes - especially on a boring Sunday - I will make my stomach as upset as possible so that I will have something to do that day.
4. Intense exercise. The beads of sweat are hatred leaving my body.
5. Healthy food, B Vitamins, etc... No meat. Not much dairy (dairy causes too much mucous.) I try to avoid artificial colors, flavors, and preservatives. I have been struggling with a debilitating swallowing phobia (phagophobia), so most of my nutrients are taken in liquid form.
Well, that's it. I cannot wait for the day when my feces are translucent white!
The infection smothers the soul, weighs down the will, paralyzes the body, saturates and sickens the cells, muddles the mind, bores the brain, tires the sun and trees, and generally sickens - to the point of an inner and numinous outer gangrene - the being and all of Being. This is a very trite, very cliche, very hackneyed description of depression, but this is exactly what it is - a murky, mucky, cancerous blackness of mind, body, and soul.
The worst part of the depression is the anhedonia: the inability to feel pleasure. I can deal with the pain, the moldiness in my stomach, the hunger from not eating, the heaviness in my chest, the lump of uncried tears in my throat, the numbness and soreness in my face. What I cannot deal with is the loss of happiness and pleasure. I even refuse to accept a negative "happiness", a relief (at least!) of pain, but no pleasure. That's a Buddhist's happiness and I have no desire to lose desire. I'm "detached" enough as it is.
I have been happy before, have I not? I have also known pleasure.
So I put myself on regimens designed to purge me of the poisonous sickness.
Here is a general outline of my regimen:
1. 24 ounces of acai berry juice. Acai berry has been known to relieve symptoms of depression. Acai berries are also natural laxatives. My diarrhea will be as black as coal. The black is the sickness leaving. I drink the acai juice first because fruit can only be digested on an empty stomach.
2. Two teabags of detox tea. I live in an older house. Lead dust, rat poison, and other toxic chemicals are in my environment, contributing to the physiological aspect of my depression. The detox tea is a diuretic, so I will spend the next several hours urinating poison.
3. I will pop three vegan gelcaps (to avoid any risk of Mad Cow disease) of St. John's Wort a day. St. John's Wort is incredibly effective, but it causes gastrointestinal pain. Good. Anything that makes me have to go even more is good. Defecation is a good way of dealing with boredom, ennui, and malaise. Sometimes - especially on a boring Sunday - I will make my stomach as upset as possible so that I will have something to do that day.
4. Intense exercise. The beads of sweat are hatred leaving my body.
5. Healthy food, B Vitamins, etc... No meat. Not much dairy (dairy causes too much mucous.) I try to avoid artificial colors, flavors, and preservatives. I have been struggling with a debilitating swallowing phobia (phagophobia), so most of my nutrients are taken in liquid form.
Well, that's it. I cannot wait for the day when my feces are translucent white!
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