For those without the joy of regular contact, you may have interpreted my lack of reflection about life on this blog to be characteristic of my intermitent interest in publically musing on my life’s goings on.
Unfortunately, for the past several months, I haven’t been able to find the words for what three men stole from me in the dark. The inventory of what was stolen was quite small, a wallet and a phone. Your standard late night mugging really.
However, the effect this had on me at a time when I was already highly stressed about finishing Honours was enormous. While, it’s true I needed to become some what of a hermit in order to focus on my work — this event forced me into the isolation of a dark abyss.
I am now 17 days away from thesis deadline. I now know that soon I will have time to build a life again. Oh, for the freedom to take a few “Life Days” to sort myself out! I’m excited to think that my life will never look the same.
At least throughout this extremely traumatic time — I’ve managed to produce some great paintings (even if they are all in fetal position!).
i know i’m only going to Melbourne for the weekend.
Comparatively it’s a short journey a jaunt really. 963 kilometers the internet tells me. Pales in comparison to some of my other journeys NYC: 15977.21 Kms, Utrecht: 16630.98.
But i guess the thing is that those journeys were about proving something, this journey is the proof.
See since my spontaneous decision to leave StinkTown and go to Melbourne for the weekend yesterday, i can’t help thinking what a change in myself this is representative of. The last two years rheiner and i have just been treading water. And while we’ve had some spectacular escapes like to Cambodge, i was always very frugal in terms of going any where else. (And it must be stated, i even complained about the extravagance of our overseas trip endlessly). See last year i was just so focused on ”setting myself” up for this year — i was too scared to live. (Of course anybody who knows me, can read between the lines, and knows what that means is that i would continually try to deny myself of fun, until I would explode in fantastic bursts of drunken debauchery.) But this year, i’m just doing it. This is why i can decide to bugger off to Melbourne on a whim despite what can only be described as a bleak financial situation. This is life. This is what i was saving myself for. And it is just the fucking same.
Which isn’t as dissapointing as it sounds. This realisation is part of the reason why i’m not as “stressed” as i imagined i would be about the final result. i’ve realised that while i’m certainly still trying for a 1st — i am doing my life. And not getting a first isn’t going to stop me living my life. Sure it may define how i go about the external details of my life a bit. But books will always be there. i will always be able to make things. i will always be able to force myself to write. (And this year has taught me that i do actually need to force myself to write — it doesn’t come naturally to me.)
It should not be any suprise to anyone, after those rambly paragraphs then that i have been so obsessed with the künstlerroman. i’ve always been partial to a good coming-of-age-tale. If i just think of the movies or novels that i’ve connected with most, there’ve always revolved around this narrative structure.
And for anybody who hasn’t connected it already, the foetus paintings were/are definately part of this obsession.
Filed under: everyday living
So, since this blog is primarily for me, i feel justified in posting things of interest solely to me. For those stumbling upon this blog who don’t want to read purple explorations of my inner thoughts, scroll now.
i’ve been wondering all year what significance this is year will have for me. the pressure on myself to do well is almost crippling, can we all say self-sabotage? However, there have been some healthier attempts to try and make this year “work” for me. Regardless of the roller-coaster like world that is ThesisLand, i have attempted to stay in touch with where i am on the ride.
One thing i’ve picked up over the last few years is that i go out-of-control most when i’m not keeping a check on myself. All of my most regretable experiences have occured while drinking at times where i was too busy, too involved to spend time with myself. Knowing that i couldn’t afford to be off the rails for any extended period this year, i would jokingly tell everybody that i was running away to become a hermit. And i thought that is what would be required.
However, i’ve noticed that wasn’t what was required. Isolation isn’t what i needed, focus was.
This anagnorisis was spurred on by a re-occuring card that kept popping up in my tarot readings.
From Learn Tarot:
On the Eight of Pentacles we see a young man who is hammering away at a coin. He has finished six and has another coin to go. It is clear that he is in the middle of a project that absorbs all his attention. He’s isolated himself from others (the town in the background) in order to concentrate. In this scene we see the essential elements of the Eight of Pentacles: hard work and attention to detail.
This card often implies a time of great diligence and focus. It advises you to hammer away at the business of the moment, whether a work project, family difficulty, personal goal or unpleasant duty. Sometimes blessings fall into our laps to be enjoyed. Other times we must put out great effort to obtain them. The Eight of Pentacles represents moments when you must give 110%. Just buckle down and do it. Fortunately, this kind of work is invigorating and leads to superb results. The labor of the Eight of Pentacles is deeply satisfying and productive.
The Eight of Pentacles can also symbolize the impulse to learn – to broaden horizons (to use an old-fashioned term). Sometimes we need to develop new skills. We do research, dig out facts or search for expertise. The Hermit is looking for inner knowledge. The man on the Eight of Pentacles seeks external knowledge – the how and why of the material world.
This card can also show the need for meticulous attention. People who are painstaking are often dismissed as nit-pickers, but their extra effort ensures everything is as it should be. It’s a matter of caring – taking the time to check the little details. Now is not the time to be slipshod or casual. Look for errors, and tie up loose ends. The key to success is an extraordinary effort. Whatever your task, the Eight of Pentacles tells you to give it your all in every way.
i couldn’t say it better myself.
i’ve been skipping roll call of late.
i was never one for marking my attandance — leave that for the archivist, i say.
So there is no evidence of my existence. This universe refuses to mark my place. The only trace i leave is held in the minds of those i entertain. As such, there are currently traces on almost every continent as we speak, but not a single ex marks the spot.
——————
To come at things from another direction, ThesisLand has been hell, mostly. It’s like a rollercoaster, as you approach the end the ups and downs are simulatneously streching and contracting. So, when things are good there’s weight behind that feeling, there’s concrete ideas and partially emerged products of real benefit. As well when things don’t look so shiny there’s the full weight of the ocean pressing against your frail body and you’ve been swimming for so long there’s no red and gold flag to guide your return.
Perhaps the abscence of my guides contributes to this sinking feeling. Never have i approached such a formidable goal post, one that doesn’t have a victory march already mapped. My mind is unable to comprehend anything beyond October 29.
i would like the terrain of this sprint surveyed, prior to the starting gun being shot, but past survivors tell me that no two races are the same and i will just have to watch my steps.
i’ll attempt to dispatch the odd missive, but please go gentle if they’re delayed in the post.
Filed under: everyday living
After monitoring every word during the day, striping language to its most bare, most functional, it is a relief to add to odd additional adjectival clause.
I start wishing I was Levinas constructing elaboarte structures for my arguments or Orton piecing together the next mishap for my characters. In fact by 5:00pm I wish I was anyone but me. Sebastian, Cleopatre, Lear, for Christ’s sake. mmm… Sake, yes please.
Suddenly, the form of my life is important.
The way I organise my day is paramount. I imagine waking early to watch the crowds rush to work. I imagine wandering down to the cafe to watch me rush my morning coffee. I imagine the witching hour as my day begins to take shape. I construct my daily schedule in the hope that one day it will be mine to live.
I have never felt trapped in this way before. I felt like my life was going nowhere fast. Now I feel like I am stuck on repeat. But now i know that there is no way to get ahead so I should just stop struggling to improve my lot. We say that the Hindu are harsh allocating everyone their place. But the West holds out the promise of moving up while holding the ladder close.
Filed under: everyday living
my little rented box is not a haven. there are no springs at its heart.
Our little rented box is being rennovated. We have NO shower. Sure, we are not paying rent. But i still cannot shower. my little rented box is playing host to visitors. They also cannot shower. They say that house guests begin to smell after three days, house guests who can’t shower begin to smell a lot sooner.
I hate my house at the moment and i had to escape. Maybe i will not return this week. I just can’t cope.
Tonight there are a number of things that press heavily on my head. There are many things that i have not been able to complete during my waking hours, each day i add to the list, each day i am paralysed by the guilt of another thing not completed. I must make some time to cross things off.
I need time to pick up each of my possessions and examine its value in my life and decide whether it is worth keeping or tossing to wind.
Sometimes help is on it’s way. Sometimes it is just delayed.
un:
i have been fortunate this week to find the time to finish reading The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas.
i have been hit by a semi-trailer. My life is now a blur.
Gertrude has snatched my brain and is frockling with it. This wasn’t without her initially planting some well placed punches.
We went from one room to another and quite frankly we had no idea which
of the pictures the Saturday evening crowd would have thought art and
which were just the attempts of what in France are known as the
Sunday painters, workingmen, hairdressers and veterinaries and visionaries
who only paint once a week when they do not have to work.
Work presses hard on my life. i must confess that i have indeed become one of these Sunday painters. There are no revolutions orbiting around my axis. This is not my life. I don’t remember agreeing to this.
deux:
And i actually really enjoy my job. No day is ever the same. i am building skills that will get me where i want. Imagine if i didn’t.
i signed on to this because i needed to finish my degree. i won’t allow it to prolong any longer. i now wonder whether it would’ve been better staying where i was answering phone calls.
“hello, uniadvice, how can i help you?”
But that was boring and uninspiring. I need to learn to do as much as i can at work and then switch off. they are not paying for this time. This is rent free space – FUCK OFF.
actually the concept of work is not so bad if you realise it is only temporary.
i realise how valuable my life in holland was. i now need to find a way of making that sustainable. i will not be a ricky swallow.
trois:
It’s hard when those around you are in different chapters.
i am reading chapters of budapest of san fran and having london texted in. But it is with these coordinates that allow me to chart my course.
i bought my first sarah tansey on the weekend. i can’t wait to get it.
music < >
I’ve finally started. Predictably, not while I’m swanning around europa or while I sit in a darkened room tending a broken heart. This is not the eve of some great triumph. There is no news. There has been no death or out – of -body experience.
I’m at home. Returning home always generates content for me. I slept in my bed last week for the first time since July 2003. Today, I felt the pain of returning home, it was as if I was just stepping off the plane into the glaring Australian sun. Everybody always says the light is different here. You don’t notice till you return and you feel the light in your eyes. But, everybody says that. Nobody could’ve prepared me for the tears that spontaneously erupted as I carried my first weeks shopping home from Woollies that first Wednesday. Or the sickening revolt that I feel now at how familiar everything is.
How I’ve let myself forget so much in six short weeks. But this is what I know:
Today it was not familiar. Today it bled with the energy of a new cut, attempting to flush clinging bacteria from its site. This is an attempt to not let myself forget. This is the first aid.
