Dancing Toward a Shallow Depth

Is it wrong-- who am I asking-- to not want to be surrounded by negative people? Well, taste this: what if the negativity is me, and, and wrong is right?

All would be simple if..
All would be simple if...

I stare at you books, telling me to reject a causal account of our sickness, but isn't that a diagnosis in itself? Come, let us read back into the original moments to see if there isn't something MORE- slow down life, frame by frame, to see the speed of silence.

Now, apply this to your mind- ready, go! Freud makes us guilty to place our neuroticisms in categories but still, it feels good.

"Psychoanalysis is a Jewish science." -Derrida
Is that why all the Jews I know, myself included, are crazy?

I don't use words-- rather, words use me. It's as if all at once they wash over my body and flow out of my eyes, through my wrists, and onto the screen. You can make the claim that words and images are doomed to be representational, but I see no difference between the images I make and the words I write and ME-- intense, bubbling, subdued, singular Me.

So, sick because I'm unhappy or unhappy because I'm sick? Why must we need a cure, anyway-- how did we get here? We keep spinning webs and spinning webs, and now we have nowhere to go but backwards. We must deconstruct our experience to unravel what we've built up.

Museums are houses of incomplete truths.
Gathered up, packaged, and meant to show us origins.

My mind is too far beyond trust that everything I look at materializes behind suspicious eyes-- I want to be generous, and usually am when people give me the urge to think about things in different ways instead of telling me "this is the WAY" it is- it is FAIR- and it is beneficial to society.

You must learn these rules, they tell you, and become really good at spitting out the rules to control others, so that you finally fall asleep in a pile of restrictions and wake up to do it all over again.

The institution of science-- the application of formulas to give us a figured explanation of the order of the universe. Experiential data. Embellish with wikipedia, or whatever.

Give me power and I will substantiate these words. Just kidding! Do you believe what you're reading? Or do you let the sentences wash over you, piss you off, bore you? And again, the dangerous, unrestricted ramblings arise from a mind that's far from healthy, but I'd have it no other way.

I know who my audience is. I know who my parents are, where I "go" to school, and my ongoing sickness-- And I will say right now that I think Nietzsche was sick, too, and Freud and Foucault and Descartes and Heidegger and on and on. (There's no way in hell I just compared myself to them, but the condition is the same, is it not?). Sickness, here, is just a blurring of the inability to stop thinking and the refusal to accept tradition + institution without contestation. But this is more than a nostalgic hope to break out of the box that we tragic, poor graduates think "Society" places us in. Sitting around the fire, strumming on our American Pie guitars in a pathetic attempt to hold on to childhood may feel good, but the dilemma that comes to my mind operates on a completely different level. "Goes beyond." That phrase is comical. No, but really, I know of the sacrifices people make in encountering the future, so determined to avoid cliche and hold onto some shiny ideal of what a "free" life is.

A free life is now. <-- what? It sounds good.

I admire a lot of the poised, intellectual grad students who can keep their knowledge in perspective and proceed with slow and steady vigor. They're smart, shrewd, and will go on to help other students like me pick out the inconsistencies in discourses and develop a pace of their own.

I, on the other hand, can't do that right now-- I read these texts with unabashed and total submersion, throwing myself completely into the arguments and trying to learn to swim. Faulty method? Probably. I'll come up for air at some point.

If the older posts tell you anything, it's that "Panoosh" used to be this concept we built up to express our ongoing struggle with the inner and outer worlds, and the eventual conclusion that there is no conclusion-- the privileging of the mind AND the body. That's all cool and everything, but what's even cooler is noticing that people lie. How is that cool? Isn't that an overly angst-ridden attempt to rationalize current unhappiness? No, no, no! People lie, and it's beautiful!

Everything collapses perfectly-- people lie, and people die. Bitchez will put their feet out before you, sacrifice their bodies in a blind attempt to Get, Maintain, and Sustain happiness in a formula that's been recycled for centuries, probably since the Middle Ages. Fake, shallow, deep, real. Pretty fucking emo? Put it on a Green Day album then, that's fine with me.

What I'm attempting to do is reach a state of shallow depth. I think it's much safer, really. Good if you're claustrophobic too. This state should be one in which the dumb bitchezz of society are incapable of breaking my spirit, because I can "relate" to them, in some sick sense, by being partially shallow and realizing their primordial needs-- but I'll be so deep underwater that anything they say doesn't really matter, despite its banality. Did any of that make sense? Hopefully not. That's why I'm still attempting to reach this in-between state.

It's all a dance, how things fall together and fall apart, and frankly I don't care if this is vague because you know exactly what I mean if you turn off your computer and take a look into your eyes to hear them speak.