The world just seems to go by so fast. Believe me I try to keep up but that's not a preconception that I ( or we) belong to the world, we are simply a part of it. So there is no rat race, you're on your own, run it alone trying to find out what it is that makes you you. For 29 years I have been trying to figure out it is that I am supposed to be doing, but for the life of me I'm not sure that I will ever know. This is in no way referring to my wife who I love unconditionally or the life I have at home, for they are without doubt perfect but the nightmare begins when I have to leave the house and venture out into the world; somewhere long ago I feel like I took a wrong turn somewhere, I was lead down another path when I should of been allowed to make my own decisions without the fear that the conclusion would directly affect anyone else but myself. we have one choice in life and we are all asked so young, ' what do you want to be when you grow up?' - but how can we know for certain. There are those that perhaps were pushed into some activity that the parents deemed important and by some stroke of luck you fell in love with it, that's fine so long as you are left to make the decision to carry it on.
Today I got up, I made myself some tea and made some bread dough, part of an economy drive, it saves money, tastes great and its preservative and additive free. With this minuscule labour out of the way I sit myself down in front of the computer, The global threat that is the Internet has once again managed to sink its claws a little bit deeper into me, latched on it squeezes me, I am a slave to it and so this blog was born. Alas that is now, for this morning my new found love of writing wasn't there, it has been sent on holiday for a while, the social networks however seem to be the real monsters. Having fallen in line with a new site I am now fighting an addiction to it, but to contradict my profile title I can highlight one bonus to these supplements of the human soul, I felt the reasoning that if I had a blog I would at least be writing and venting some creative frustration while in the meantime also satisfying the compulsive verbal confession of our everyday lifes. Having found that I have little to say this morning I soon became a lost soul of the cyber world, when you start to wander aimlessly from site to site hoping that something might of bitten, its like fishing, your words are bait, you hook them on, cast them into the digital river where the current flows so fast and wait to see if you get a nibble.
With that said I also try to leave some kind of informative tit bit in the form of a quotation or passage from a book or poem, I like poetry best in the morning. So my morning exercise so to speak is to rummage the literary world, foraging for edible bites of knowledge. Today by a writer whom I'd never heard of let alone read any of her books, her name is Angela Carter and I quoted her with this.
' I think it's one of the scars in our culture that we have too high an opinion of ourselves. We align ourselves with the angels instead of the higher primates.'
It relates to the fact we are so materialistic in this very shallow world.
This kind of reminds me of an occasion the other day whilst at work. Not so much that it high lights materialism but more so how highly we think of ourselves I was minding my own business as usual, I have very little interest in anybody anyway; so whilst performing the mundane duties of a hotel chef producing a corporate menu everyday, a colleague wandered into my kitchen from her section. She found herself bored and thus found it necessary to poke her nose into my business by opening fridge draws, looking into tubs, cast her eyes of trays of already prepared food, perhaps over seasoning it with a few unwelcome comments,criticisms or questions all with a rather whiny tone. She then happened upon my note book which is primarily for my work lists and orders for the next day, a general memory aid. It does however serve another purpose, like a life line to reality I often seek. The frustration while there takes its toll and I vent with writing, sometimes composing a poem or quote etc. Sometimes I slip in a copy of another authors poetry so that I can read it on such occasions. She found it perfectly reasonable to look inside, starting at the front she studied the mostly obscure scribbles that I had left, she exhausted her curiosity until it occurred to her that there might be something in the back so she wanted to see. I at this point intercepted, removing it from her. She protested, wanting to know what it was. I lied, trying to excuse myself by claiming it all to be personal home business. She hovered around, like a vulture knows when an animal is dying' it waits for the last breath before eventually catching its prey with almost no exertion, she waited in hope that I would forget the book, forget her hunger and simply walk away. This was not setting me in a good mood; for anyone to back me into a corner where I once expressed explicitly my wishes to be left alone is only going to stir the lion in me, I am smarter than any scrounger; and all I could think was, Is your world so shallow that you must paddle in mine?
To finish the story I tore out the pages that I felt incriminated me to a world of literature and using my mind, its terribly sad that such activities are deemed forbidden in a philistines world.
My morning continued with some reading, I have a particular fascination with Graham Greene, he is a very true and passionate writer yet is not altogether happy, he criticises God and religion whenever he can yet in real life he had religion in his life, at one time at least. He suffered from bipolar and I think perhaps you can feel it in his work. Despite this sometimes I have to concentrate to follow so I worry whether I like him just because I want to, this however is futile since I share this passion with no one else.
I suppose he questions himself a lot which is where the religious doubts come from. I like that he doubts who he is as that's a relation I have to him, I actually think that doubting oneself is up to point a very sensible way of living so long as its controlled. The older you get the less you worry what other people think as you have a clearer vision of what you want, know and believe.
I took my wife (Erika) to the cinema this afternoon, the root of this blog is planted there, it sprouted a shoot of inspiration inside me, we went to see 'Black Swan'. It follows a girl who is so completely focused on her pursuit of perfection that her mental state comes into question, whether this is a defect from birth or something that has again 'sprouted' within her with age, its grows out of control as she stresses and worries about everything, everything being her ballet and her quest to have a primary role, her time comes in swan lake.
Although she has successfully earned the lead role, she has yet to perfect it. Rivalry grows in the form of a new ballerina who ( in her mind ) threatens her chances, she begins to associate this girl with an alter ego that sometimes also appears as herself, taunting her with all her insecurities. The mother comes into play as over bearing and controlling but is this true or does she understand the psychological problems of her daughter. The films builds to a point where she has moments of perfection followed closely by absurd doubts threatening to a point that sends her over the edge, will she find the perfection? will I ?
I revel in the fact that reading this I do like similes or metaphors that refer to the natural world, perhaps I have a longing desire to find a link to world that is ever depleted for the sake of a better one?! So much to see, too much we really don't want to.
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