At the end of the day

At the end of the day, when the sun falls willing prisoner of the night...and humans, males and females alike, become submitted to the mistress of the dark, my mind begins to wander and wonder. Looking upwards at a blank slate of concrete, the psyque expresses freely what my subconscious is afraid to give free rein. And there and then, between the play of reality and dreamland, I find my place. I find myself.

The infinite search...an immortality quest.

To me, there is a revocable fact of us as beings …we are creatures of a never ending want. Such raw need (not temporal urge, but a constant need) that can never be completely sated. Not even close. We just move from one satisfying object next to the other…always with an empty space waiting to be filled. But something has gone awfully wrong lately. That’s not to say that the ones before us had at hand the magical key of life…no. Far be it from me to say such thing. But something had definitely moved and not necessarily in a good direction. There’s just to open a newspaper for things to start downing on you. Killings sprees, suicides, fights, degeneration of the self, loneliness, rampant self-absorption (not pointing fingers but the jersey shore might ring a bell), the lack of respect for human rights…and the list could go on…I know the latest Coca-Cola add could differ from me, but the truth is there for you to see it…or ignore it. You can do the latter while drinking Coca-Cola, I guess.  

We are no longer thought how to deal with the frustration of the wait…the frustration of not getting instant satisfaction. There is no longer a quest for people to seek out themselves. This even though the right to search one’s happiness continues to be part of the USA Constitution (God Bless America).

My best guess is that we are very much infatuated with the feedbacks. It’s easier (and faster) to get people’s opinion about us and start constituting who we are from there than taking the time to get to know our likes and dislikes. It is easier because while we get the feedback we also are granted the illusion of creating an imprint on somebody else. And here comes what I call the ephemeral immortality effect.

Maybe this has something to do with Edward Cullen and all the mythological immortal hotties out there. We are afraid of aging and dying, or what’s worse, dying and nobody noticing. But because there is no fountain of youth, we conform to the best next thing.  We seek to make an impact…we want to transcend to posterity. Beat death. Because if our memories live on, in a sense, so “do we”. Our truth, our essence doesn’t die with us. Like Celine Dion…it goes on.

 The effect can be easily noticeable on actors. An actor is an actor while the applauses last. A writer becomes a writer whilst his/her written word (dead word) is read by a third party. We seek the ephemeral illusion of immortality even if it is through one person alone.  We are no longer a person just because we exist…we are someone while recognized in the eyes of another. Our identity doesn’t belong to ourselves…not really. In more than one way, it now depends on the one producing the feedback.

To conclude this morose post I would like to end it with some infamous words…FUCK THAT SHIT. You read right. Yes you did. Stop deliberately seeking other’s opinions to conform yourself. Take a day a week to check what’s new with you. Do what you feel passionate about…and if it involves another please check the other is older than 18 and consents to whatever it is you two are doing. My point is…if you like to sing, then sing. Not because you do it well but because you can. Because it feels gutsy right. Every now and then do it under a storm…just to shake things up a bit. And if none of this works then play the song: Fuc@#ng perfect! by Pink.  If that still doesn’t work, well, my friend, seek professional help. Have a nice night and all that! J

Let’s make it work!

I start this post with a renowned phrase out Tim Gunn's book. "Let's make it work". It's what he would say to the designers of Project Runway every time the pieces shown to him weren't adding up. But...Is this phrase applicable in life as well? Do we have to make it work? Have to? When life is being her usual bitch, do we have to smile 24/7 until the fucked up inside matches to perfection the smiley outside? Just because people around us can't handle to see us "sad". Because weaknesses are not acceptable in a society that measures your capacity based on productivity…and when we are sad we produce less, is that it?
Yes, as a matter of fact I am familiar with the theory behind it…the dissonance theory and all that. But I ask this, is that all there is to it? Make it work? For whose benefit? Why are we so afraid of feeling, particularly those feelings that are not automatically related to pleasure? It may sound cliché, trust me I know, but pain and heartbreak can be good for you. How are you to know when you have a good thing if there's nothing to compare it to? Sometimes the best part is the fall. The adrenaline of not knowing. What is so petrifying about silences and…leisure time? If you don't get what I mean, just look around you…how people tap their foot anxiously, do three things at once or how when you ask a friend the inconsequential: "how're you doing?" you just keep walking because you aren't actually waiting for an answer. In point of fact answering is considered downright rude. The new thing is texting…because we don't even have time to speak. We are busy at keeping busy. We are too busy to feel, to think, to live…so we have to make it work. And that ought to be enough.

But I ask myself…is it surviving enough? It's just enough what I seek?

I think not...thank you very much!

Looking over the shoulder

Sad but true...so many people I called friends are now just people I used to know. Friendly strangers but nothing more. A cold smile like the one frozen for a picture. A forgotten promise of never forgetting. Can't you hear the quiet murmurs of the muses carrying those messages that were never sent...those words of apology or those I love you's that were never bespoken? Because I can. And they cut deep.

Attempts to sooth the soul

Many a person over the years has tried- both successfully and unsuccessfully, to get rid of their inner demons. Those who are successful are deemed artists, those who are not are call dreamers at best and lunatics at worse. But where exactly resides that line on which two worlds collide? Does somebody know? Is somebody fit to tell? Who's to say that those deemed lunatics are not just successes on the making? Who says that those who claim to be just a tad bit crazy are not just as crazy as those that had completely lost it? Maybe, and bear with me here…everyone is as crazy as the one before them and the next one could ever possibly be. Maybe at the end it's just that some have mastered creating a façade of calmness and collection while others don't bother going through all that trouble. Perhaps we all have demons…it's just that some people have demons more toxic and difficult to ignore than others.