Emotional parasites (2)

Another way that people try to deal with their loneliness and anger is by refusing to be alone. Such people can get so bad that they will put up with anything rather than take a look at themselves in the mirror. This is slightly different than off loading on people. It is inward rather than outward looking.

To borrow a phrase from a Leonard Cohen song, it's like living off the crumbs. This is evident in an abusive relationship when poeple seem to put up with terrible 'put downs' in public etc. There is also a cycle that develops here. Yes, there is a desire for emotional comfort from the victims perspective, but the 'put downs' reduce self-esteem until the person does not feel they have the strength to leave the bully.

The existence of 'feeders'- viz, people who constantly feed their partners until they become massive- relates to this. Such 'feeding' is interpreted as an act of love. But this is also motivated by the fear that a partner may leave. If the partner is so unattractive that no one else would want them, then the feeder can feel more secure in that relationship!

Human beings are certainly complex and feelings can manifest themselves in a manifold manner. The key is to try and discern the underlying motivation. It should be mentioned that such an attempt to discern motivation should be treated with caution. It is always easy to misjudge such motivations, especially in relation to people we are close with.

Emotional parasites

I had to calm down a friend today because someone had a go at her, criticising her accent and where she lived. It's a curious thing- this need to vent one's loneliness or anger.

First thing that I noticed is that this had nothing to do with my friend. The other person did not know her. Yet, there is something familar with this kind of behaviour. How many times do people put others down? In my experience it happens all the time.

The people responsible for such bullying normally lack the resources to make do on their own and need their own sense of worth confirmed in the 'victim's' misery or pain. What a horrible state of affairs.

Sometimes it is difficult to be alone. Sometimes one does doubt one's own sense of worth, when you have no friends to talk to. Sometimes it is easy to get depressed and feel sorry for yourself. Yet, this does not justify such behaviour.

To ask yourself what you have done to make yourself proud, even if such achievements are invisible to the vast majority of people, should be enough to confirm your sense of self. If it is not, here too is an opportunity to impliment changes in your life. To take the other path- and try and destroy someone else's day, is an implicit admission that you really don't have anything good to offer. Only then, is loneliness and lack of worth actually justified.

Words

We take words for granted. Everyday, they become demystified with common use. We also tend to repeat ourselves. I can not think of anything said to me today, that has made me step back and re-think my attitude. Perhaps I have not been listening hard enough.

Words do have a magical quality. I am not just thinking about the witches and wizards of lore and legend, that are able to turn princes into frogs with words uttered in the right sequence. Though such myth is probably a symptom of their power.

The written word does have imense power. This was especially evident in the past when fewer of the population could actually read and write. Being literate, was a gateway to something great. It distinquished one from 'the herd'. In religion as well, Christain's have spoken of "The Word"- when referring to The Bible. This therefore gave 'the clerics' the power of interpretation in respect of the word of God.

Even in a more secular sense, we treat words like sacred entities. When we talk of beauty, we assume that their is some hidden essence behind the word to be discovered or explored. Indeed, Wittgenstein's critique of the history of philosophy came down to the judgment that the problems of philosophy resulted from this very misunderstanding. When the ancients tried to deceipher the meaning of beauty or the good, they were mistakened about how we used language.

Still, trying to imagine human beings without language is impossible. We live in a language community, we understand our environment through language and tackle technical as well as ethical problems through this medium. In this sense it is impossible to move beyond language.

However- we can not treat words with too much respect. We must remember that words are always under-determined. A sentence will always be open to various interpretations. And this is part of the fun. Language is constantly being subverted. The ability to joke and poke fun stems from this subversion.

Five Nights in Port de Pollenca.

Just to the right past Hotel Romantic is where I had my bed.

I was informed that Robert Graves had lived in Mallorca after his involvement in the first world war. As I fantasized about being a writer, I noticed that I stood apart from the crowd. Though this was not due to any pretentions.

The town I was staying was in the north east of the island. I had not imagined anything like this. There was no one my age. There were lots of children and older couples. It was like my generation and been wiped out from the face of the planet. Even with the Spanish barmaids, there was probably an eight to ten year difference.

I spent my days strolling around the town, taking in the sun rays and trying to forget my name. No one knew who I was, what I believed in or where I came from. From my appearance, the most that you could tell was that I was northern European or of European extraction. I felt free. No one expected anything from me and no one was concerned.

When I had enough of walking and needed a rest, I would move into a bar and ordered a cider with a pint glass and ice. The Spanish barmaids with their darker complexions and their friendly glare must have set some hormones rushing for I seemed to get a little high. I laughed to myself about the unconscious aspect of biology. I never had a chance with any of these beautiful maidens but the body refused to listen.

Taking my drink outside, I would bask in the glory of the cloudless sky. This was so different from home, not a chance of rain and no one to bother my solitude. I didn't want to leave this place and I discovered something about myself. I am not always driven by ego. I don't want to be 'the best'. I do not want to come first or be the bravest. Such concerns actually empty the magic out of existence and don't really mean anything. To be alive and to be able enjoy the beauty of life is enough.

This was also a break from my obsessions at home: my eternal search for an easier job, a partner and the desire to buy my own house. All of this became unimportant.

By about half way through the night, the bars would be half full and I would have enough to drink. I would eventually make my way back to my room. I would politely file past reception, saying hello to the person in charge. Parents would be struggling to get their children to sleep. You could tell that they wanted just a couple of hours to enjoy a drink and have some peace and quiet. As I lay face down into my pillow, the sweat trickling from my pores, I tried to block out the distant echo of happy children and shouting parents.

It's hard to tolerate laughter when you're out of your head.

Charles Bukowski: Inner Strength.

I have started reading a biography of Charles Bukowski by Barry Miles. In the great tradition of reviews, I have decided to start writing about this book before I have even finished. I am eighty eight pages in and I am really impressed! In one respect, it charts a very unremarkable life. Though there are general themes that are of interest- physical abuse, father-son relationships, how migrant communities adapt and live in a new country, the second world war and American culture.

But there is something astonishing with this work. What is described is a man that emerges out of difficult circumstances and begins to learn to write with beautiful simplicity about his ordinary life. Moreover, it shows how such writing becomes the redemptive aspect of such an existence.

I must admit- I am hugely attracted to the idea of the underdog. I really love stories about people of determination who pull through and survive by focusing on a particular love in their life. Even when Bukowski was not writing- his life would all eventually feed into his passion.

I will probably write more about this man at a later stage when I have finished the biography and read some of the original works. But for now...I am really excited!

Art and artifical highs.

There has been a long association with great art and illicit drug taking. One can think about the work of Nostadamus. While Nostradamus was having his 'visions,' he was also experimenting with mind altering drugs. More recently, Aldous Huxley famously experimented with mescaline while writing 'The Doors of Perception.'(A title taken from William Blake.) This work influenced a whole generation of musicians- most notably The Doors. Within sixties American counter culture, Timothy Leary's phrase, "Tune in, turn on and drop out!" epitmoised an attitude to the world that indivualized life experience. The pain and the horror of the larger world became cut off in a desire to fulil a semi-articulated dream. At bottom, what this amounted to was the insistance that one lives and takes ownership of one's own life.

Apart from the moral or legal implications of such activity, there is a correspondence to drug taking and the creation of art. This is not to say that great art can only be made under such influence. Some of the greatest novels have no doubt be written with a sober mind. Rather, there is a movement within the individual towards perfection in both cases, a craving to catch sight of beauty for even just a moment. There may also be associations here within a religious context. Lot's wife was warned not to turn back while fleeing from the city of Sodom.

The downside to this is that drug taking creates artifically what great art achieves through effort, dedication and craft. I am reminded of the U2 song, "I Still Haven't Found What I Am Looking For." The following line sums up nicely the dangers of the artifical high. "I held the hand of the Devil. It was warm in the night. I was cold as stone."

To perfect also means to disregard. It means to forget. Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of salt remembering whence she came.

The creative urge and the desire to learn.

I started writing poetry when I was sixteen after watching the U2 film 'Rattle and Hum'. There is a point in the film when it changes from black and white into colour. The stage backdrop turns a blood red and Bono starts giving it loads! I remember rushing up to my bedroom afterwards, finding a scrap of paper and starting to compose.

The funny thing was that I didn't identify with myself in the poem. It was a deeply personal verse but I didn't sense I was feeling the way the poem described. It is true that I was not use to 'expressing my feelings.' That had only become cool a few moments before. But more important than the poem was the window this opened up for me.

Until I was sixteen, I didn't read anything unless I had to. I took no interest in things that were not of my immediate concern. My school grades probably reflected this. I lacked curiousity. That year, however, I started visiting a secondhand book shop in my home town. I would at random pick up things that I knew very little about- whether that be Italian poets or a biography of a London school in the early eighties.

This all delighted me and was worth a hundred years of compulsory schooling.

I was smitten. I had caught the bug. This desire to learn is worth more than intelligence or riches. It is the factor that makes sure that things get done. It also teaches moderation for one begins to learn that the world is a wonderful and strange place. Before I had lived within myself, cut off from so many possibilities. This had changed all of a sudden. I began to look outwards.

Elliott Smith: The Basement on the Hill

This album I bought last Sunday and have been playing constantly every spare moment! It reminds me of two great albums. It is like The Beatles 'White Album' in that it mixes electric based songs with acoustic numbers. At any moment, 'Rocky Racoon' would fit in really nicely. It also reminds me of "One Last Laugh in a Place of Dying" by The God Machine. It has all the 'accidental' noises creating a beautiful atmosphere. The album sounds lived and real as a result and not too over produced.

The two stand out tracks for me are "Don't Go Down" and "A Fond Farewell." The first song starts with a brilliant two lines, "I met a girl..., snowball in hell. She was hard and as cracked as the liberty bell." What a great way to discribe someone without there being any trace of dishonesty! "A Fond Farewell" is an acoustic based song but really plays to Elliot Smith's major strength- his vocal melodies. They are somewhat surprising but always beautiful!

If you haven't already done so, check this album out!

Art and the unrequited.

There is perhaps nothing as damaging than unrequited feelings for another person. Feelings are not like thoughts and it is difficult to rationalize with them. You cannot decide to like someone just as one cannot decide not to like a person. Feelings are pre-rational.

You can control your behaviour and act honourably or dishonourably. It is always possible to say nothing when one wants to speak or to lie to save someone else's feelings. Yet, you cannot 'convince' someone to like you. Nor should you be too disturbed when someone you do not really care much about, expresses unwanted feelings. All you can do in such circumstances, is to act with respect and give a polite but firm 'no.'

When you feel strongly for someone and they do not return these feelings, it can be very hard to deal with. The first response is to feel that one's pride has been undermined. This can then develop into feelings of injustice. It takes a lot to leave oneself vulnerable and risk rejection. This is why repect is of the ultmost importance.

One cannot make oneself unfeel the other person by making a decision. When someone says, "It is time to move on..." it is never that simple. While such advice is often given with concern from a friend, one cannot simply wish the other person and their memory away. All one can do is live with the pain until the feelings die a natural death.

To try and force this issue can lead to damage. One can drink oneself into an unfeeling state. Or one can learn to hate themselves and then the beloved can become a victim of nasty remarks or worse. Socially, the best one can normally do is to remain silent.

But this is when the therapeutic value of art becomes apparent. To write a novel, love poem or song- to paint or make a film is an activity closely connected with bereavement. One both learns to remember and forget slowly in an act demonstrative of love.

What am I going to do today to make things better?

Every morning when I wake I look into the mirror and ask myself a question. "Is this the life you dreamt about when you were younger?"

It's a devasting question but one that can also be motivating. Life is never perfect. There are some things I am proud off and other things that I wish I could change. The frustrating thing about this question is that when you answer it honestly, you may not be able to change everything around in one day. Sometimes, in order to change your life small steps are required. Drastic action is not always the answer. Great things can sometimes take time.

The important thing is to remain focused and this question helps me do that. Everyday when I answer 'no'- I am then obligated to ask myself another question: "What am I going to do today to make things better?"

Risk taking and intimacy.

Good Will Hunting is an amazing film. It deals with some very heavy issues with a lightness of touch and humour. On main theme is about risk taking and intimacy. The main character has an issue with this after being through a number of foster homes and suffering physical abuse. What makes this character also capitivating is that he happens to be a maths 'genius.' His obsession with maths and other academic subjects is telling. Such an obsession is always focused within an objective sphere that requires no intimacy at all. Yet- this may be the root of his talent. There is a dilemmi here. Should he pursue his 'talent' or should he focus on trying to overcome his fear of intimacy in order to live a more fulfilling and meaningful life.

Below is a scene that discusses the issue of intimacy and risk.

People Are Strange

It was Jim Morrison who wrote and sung, "People are strange, when you're a stranger. Faces look ugly when your alone. Women seem wicked when you're unwanted. Streets are uneven when you're down."

It is a fantastic song and one of The Doors best loved. Again, it is an example of how language can marshall behaviours and dampen creativity. These lyrics also seem to be a response to something that is probably instilled within all cultures.

I once got a school report in which my English teacher commented, "Glenn is a unique and interesting individual." Which is a kind of nice way of saying that I was weird!

It doesn't have the same effect though. I was proud of this comment and it helped build my confidence in myself. I have certain ways of dealing with people and seeing the world and that is okay!

Of course, there are huge presures to fit in. Sometimes people need say nothing. Someone just has to give a look and you know that they disapprove. It can therefore take a lot of guts and determination to remain creative. Creative people by defination don't always fit in. They more than likely stand out for they don't think and behave in ways that are expected. In such circumstances, you can also be ignored because people don't know how to deal with you.

Returning to The Doors song one notices that there is a double bind with feeling out of place. The world can become strange too. One can have a sense of anomie and the desire can then become an overpowering one of wanting to belong. That this song actually exists gives one another answer. The song still manages to communicate without there being such a desire to fit in. It has a 'take me or leave me' attitude. More in fact- there is an empathy with this way of communicating. It is a song that is concerned with other human beings. It is saying- don't judge me because I am different or not like you. I can understand your desire to judge but there is no need! I am different but the same.

On Graham Greene: 'The End of The Affair'.

Consider the following two passages. They are written by the same author, in the same book and as the same narrator:

"When young one builds up habits of work that one believes will last a lifetime and withstand any catastrophe. Over twenty years I have probably averaged five hundred words a day for five days a week. I can produce a novel in a year, and that allows time for revision and the correction of the typescript. I have always been very methodical and when my quota of work is done, I break off even in the middle of a scene. Every now and then during the morning's work I count what I have done and mark off the hundreds on my typescript. No printer need make careful cast-off of my work, for there on the front page of my typescript is marked the figure- 83,764. When I was young not even a love affair would alter my schedule. A love affair had to begin after lunch, and however late I might be getting to bed- I would read the morning's work over and over and sleep on it...It needed Sarah to upset my self-imposed discipline... When she left the house I couldn't settle or work...But if love had to die, I wanted it to die quickly."

(Graham Greene, The End of The Affair, pp.24-25)

Then contrast this passage:

"The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem to be aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and no one other. But happiness annilates us: we lose our identity...The act of love itself has been discribed as the little death and lovers sometimes experience too little the peace. It is odd to find myself writing these phrases as though I love in fact what I hate."

(Graham Greene, The end of The Affair, p.36)

What an apparent contradiction! The first passage indicates that the writer is able to write in most circumstances and that this only became disturbed when he began to hate his lover Sarah. Only when he wanted the relationship to end, did his work pattern become disrupted. The second passage says something different. The argument here indicates that it is only through pain and hatred that one can press one's identity, that in love one becomes lost at sea, dissolved in an almost religious moment of loss.

Yet as one who has been trained in scholastic method, I am not willing to leave it there. Can one, reach a 'higher' understanding that does not make these two positions contrary to each other?

Certainly, the first passage speaks more about 'work' and 'habit.' It focuses on the formal aspect of writing, of the excerise of a technical ability. The second passage deals more with the content of the art. What is written about can become clearer when one hates or wants to assert one's identity. It might be a stretch to far to suggest that this is an outcome of the authors reported bi-polarity. Rather, what it demonstrates is that for great work to exist, there needs to be several sittings on the one peice, so that these two aspects can become entwined. When one swings to the technical extreme, the raw material of words is produced. Then at the other end, something more beautiful is produced when the content of the work can become visible. Surely this an indication that great writing- and indeed great art, cannot be the outcome of one brilliant moment of divine intervention. Instead, different treatments need to be considered and worked upon. Only then, can the masterpeice become possible!

Sophistry and the Language of Persuasion: An Argument by Martyrdom.

When someone fails to be convinced by our arguments one is faced with a small dilemma. There is something irksome about such a response. Does that person mean that we have not excercised enough reason or feeling in pursing the point? Have we failed to live up to the other person's standards? And why should we feel the need to live up to such standards?

The language of persuasion is a difficult one to master. One cannot help but be moved by the religious or political martyrs of the past. It is difficult to doubt their convictions but that did not make them right.

Likewise, to have millions of people be persuaded by an argument does not make it right either. As the friends of Socrates (the philosophical martyr) were aware, democracy is not co-existent with 'Truth.'

What is irksome, is that in our everyday lives, we have to convince and persuade people. In job interviews, meetings with manangers, when pursing love interests..., we need to know how to persuade. The Ancient Greeks called this art of persuasion sophistry. How to speak in public, how to compose a convincing letter, how to get things done all rely upon this art.

However, there is something demeaning with this pursuit. It is a mark of slavery. To live a life were one does not need to persuade... now that is a life worth living!

Winning the Devil's Confidence.

The devil or Satan remains within the popular imagination a strange figure. Even physically, we think of a red being with horns, a tail, a chiselled chin and a mischievous smile. This figure also acts in the same way the Greek gods must have for the ancient Greeks. The Devil, as a quasi-mythological entity, tells us much about ourselves. As any psychologist will tell you, human beings often project aspects of themselves onto others. When someone says, "You are like this...," they are often discribng an aspect of themselves that they think they may share with you.

Human beings are not straight forward. No matter how open and honest you may try to be, there is always confusion, jealousy, love and hatred to stumble across and mess things up. We are not perfect. And when we identify such imperfections within ourselves this can spawn great loneliness. Feelings of unworthliness can isolate and then there is a real danger of decent.

If the devil existed he would not be a straight talker. He would says things like, "Look at so and so, she is standing happily by her husband's side while all this time she is banging his best friend." What a disastrous and devasting thing to say!

First, it makes complicated things simple. When things seem simple, action is more likely. There is no longer room for understanding or even empathy.

Second, it creates doubt. Can I really trust myself and my own judgement when someone can be so completely fooled?

Third, when we start listening to this satanic figure, what develops is dependency. A conspiracy can therefore be cultivated, fuelled by the passions of hatred so that the hypocracy of supposed 'moral' persons is pointed out and dissected.

Finally, a permissive attitude can become the norm. "These people may say that it is wrong for me to behave in such a way but they don't behave that way themselves..."

In English, the word 'confidence' tends to have two separate meanings. The first is associated with high esteem. The second, is about a trusting attitude towards a close friend or associate. In the case of the devil as I've outlined- both go hand in hand. The only way to overcome such decent (as far as I can tell) is to have confidence in oneself and to be one's own council.

without perspective

It's been a long week, so much change and I feel emotionally drained. They say that to be a writer one must continue to write no matter what the quality of the output. It is later you can edit, re-arrange or rethink what has been written. I see the point but I really don't feel the energy to focus at the moment. I lack perspective.

Every morning and evening I spend my time reading on the train when travelling to and from work. My reading material at the moment is "The End Of The Affair" by Graham Greene. It is one of those novels I have just picked up and decided to give a go. I have heard of this writer but I am not familiar at all with his work or biography.

I also lack perspective trying to review what I have read as I haven't finished yet. One important point that was made in the book was that people tend to build up habits of a lifetime (such as writing) and only sadness actually can interupt this. You can have a passionate love affair and get back to work as if nothing happened. Sadness can effect everything and even though you can force the piece of writing it somehow comes out contrived- no matter how well you have mastered your technique.

So I have a train to catch in ten minutes and I sit in a computer cafe, writing off the cuff. I will probably edit what I have written on Sunday when I have a chance to read it. Until then, it is Graham Greene, a train journey and a few drinks with friends in my home town!

An early memory.

One of my earliest and happiest memories was of my great grandfather's funeral. I remember my older relatives talking about me as if I wasn't there: "He is not old enough to understand." The irony is that the same relatives would make daft statements like, "He looks as if he is at peace now."

My greatgrandfather had a big family. He had twelve children and I was three generations removed, so you can imagine! I used to visit him once a week. While I can no longer remember what he looks like, I do remember some small details. He used to have these big bottles of lucozade that were made of glass. They came wrapped in crinkly paper from the chemist. He would pour me a small glass and I felt that a special honour was being bestowed upon me.

That day is significant because of the happiness that I felt. I remember running about with other older children that I will never meet again. My maternal grandfather, who was related to my greatgrandfather by marriage, kept sending us off to the shops with money when something significant was happening. I was never so spoilt in my life.

People, of course, find death very difficult to deal with. What makes matters worse is that people are expected to behave and feel in a certain way. There is also the awkwardness of how to explain to young children what has happened. This was my first funeral and the one that has made the biggest impression. While I probably was too young to feel great sorrow, I was still able to feel delighted that I was related to and loved my such a significant man. There is a lesson here: sorrow is secondary. Happiness is our most natural inclination.

Laughing Into the Darkness.

There is no sound in outer space. Earth is but a minuscule bubble of air floating without coordinates, without direction or purpose.

But we do not live this way. We do live with purpose, we attach meaning and value to things that will eventually leave no trace at all.

The centre of each universe can be found within each of us. What we think is important will always find its way back to ourselves. This is true even when we consider supposed selflessness.

We may believe in a diety. We may not think about such religious questions at all. No matter. Normally our feet are firmly on the ground, we are obsessed with our work, our family and friends.

Every so often though..., I like to try to imagine that I have one hour to live. This is not as morose as it might sound. Rather, as those things that I have been obesessing about empty of their importance, I achieve clarity for a moment. What also becomes apparent is the arbitrariness of the institutions we take as natural. States, churches, schools, universities and hospitals all play a massive part within human society. They help to give people a place and a context to their lives but when viewed from nowhere..., they fail.

I wonder if Jonathan Swift had the same insight before writing Gulliver's Travels? Does it really matter how one should prepare and eat one's eggs?