Vivat Libertas

I apologise if this seems a touch too inspirational for anyone; you are welcome to criticise and attack it all you like, though it was written due to personal circumstances. Look in the mirror! Hold your sobbing head high, though you think your face looks a mess. I'll slip my arms around your shoulders and back to support you, and I'll wipe away the tears that roll down your face. Look in the mirror! Force yourself to look, don't turn away. It's no shame to cry, to be sad, to have red and puffy eyes. Shame upon those who think it is shameful. Look in the mirror! Dry your eyes and breathe as I hold you close. Look in the mirror! That puffy-eyed reflection with its bowed head and its broken, empty heart is you, I'll admit that - oh, what is there to admit? It's the truth. You're bruised and hurt; that much is obvious to any person who cares to notice. But you're more than that. Look in the mirror! There is more to you than your tears and sorrow

As you can see, there is - gasp!  - an inspirational quote attributed to Thomas Edison beside this text. Now, considering I wrote an entire blog post about how I think inspirational quotes are a load of bullshit a while back, you might be wondering why it's there. Have I had so many thrown at me that they've rotted my brain? Hopefully not. In actual fact, I've just put this quote up because it pisses me off. It, and so many other quotes like it, seem to misunderstand the nature of failure as opposed to the nature of fucking up. And how would I, a whiny, self-important adolescent, know the difference - if indeed there is one? Surely my words cannot compare to the wisdom of thousands of inspirational quotes? Well, I don't claim to know much, but a lifetime of fucking up and of failing at various things has taught me the difference between the one and the other - a difference that doesn't seem to register with the League of Inspirational Bullshitters, but it w

This post won't win me many friends, but fuck it, I'm a misanthrope anyway. As for accusations, throw them at me all you like. I doubt any are true. If they are, I doubt I have the energy or motivation to care. Let it just be said now that I don't like lesser evilism. I don't like the idea of inflicting suffering on some to stop many others from suffering - because that is how it works. And in principle, I would like the idea of boycotting a system that runs on lesser evilism. In practice, boycotting it just leads to the greater evil getting more votes - because the people who could have stopped them were too disgusted to do so, and with good reason. That just left the people who tried to stop them by voting and a large number of people willing to vote for the greater evil. Boycotting the system would assume that there are enough people to make this boycott successful instead of running the risk of making things worse - which doesn't seem to be true. I'd l

So yes, I'm going to do more random whining about my life. You can skip over this if you want. It has become increasingly clear to me that, well...that I'm not really myself. I miss that more than anyone else ever could, because I know myself better than anyone else ever has or ever will. I've grown up and watched myself change. I've fucked up and I've berated myself. I've smiled when I've done something decent with my life. And right now - and I don't ask anyone's pardon for saying this - I don't think I'm quite right. Should that offend your sensibilities, kindly fuck off and do some reading. I'm lazy. I freely admit that I'm lazy. Left to my own devices I sleep for about 11 hours. I'm also abrasive, introverted, and have some pretty dark thoughts. All in all, a bit of a twat. But here's the thing. Normally, I'm a functioning  twat. Normally, I don't drag myself around with limbs that feel like they'r

"Get on the path to where we want you to go. Do not stray from the path." That is pretty much the gist of what authority figures and self-appointed moral guardians say to me: get on the path to having a bloody tree  up your arse, never mind a stick, and do not stray, for we consider that righteous. And who doesn't want to be righteous? Well, I suppose I want to be righteous, in terms of doing good, but I'll pass on having the tree up my arse, thanks. I'll also pass on the guilt, repression, loathing and shame that comes with strictly following the path, and I'll definitely pass on the ignorance and unquestioning obedience that is the path's end. I know what I'm talking about here because I've tried to follow that path - and thankfully, after nearly destroying myself, I have failed. I have failed, I've quit trying to stick to that path, and I consider that a good thing because I no longer want to deny myself pleasure on account of its bein

I really hate shopping. And not just the got-to-go-grocery-shopping or got-to-get-things-to-fix-up-the-house shopping, but the kind of shopping that girls and women are being socialised to like from younger and younger (and more disturbing) ages - what you might call recreational shopping, if you will. Buying things for the sake of buying things. Consumerism. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth for all sorts of reasons. Even the one kind of recreational shopping I engage in most - buying books - makes me feel a bit guilty and this is one of the reasons I try to avoid bookshops; the other is that I'll just end up rushing in there and buying as many books as my budget allows, or rush in there and think "My, what a crappy selection of books they have!". (I am very much a book snob.) I'll probably be getting weird looks and offhand comments from a lot of people. Not just because - gasp! - I go book shopping more than I shop for clothes, shoes or bags (I think you can

Call me a dirty hippie (actually, on second thoughts, don't - I wash and your insult just makes you look like an idiot), but I love nature, and it is there I feel happiest and most at peace. I remember when I was young my parents and I would frequently go to parks, or, if I'm honest, they would drag me there. There's a park within walking distance of my house, too, where I sometimes go just to take a walk or to lose myself in a book, and where my dad and I used to fly kites when I was a child. Besides, I've never liked pootling around settlements or sunning myself on the beach with other people as much as I've liked pottering around in the middle of nowhere, without a person to be seen. I suppose it was only after trying to kill myself for the second time that I really began to appreciate nature; I would have a stroll in the park and just admire the sun shining through the leaves of a tree or striking the surface of a pond. To me, nature is so much more beauti

If you somehow managed to miss the big trigger warning in the title, this post mentions and discusses suicide and life after a suicide attempt. Do not read if this material triggers, upsets, or offends you. If you keep going, I gave you fair warning. This is hopefully the last time I will post about anything related to my personal suicidality; I may write more about suicide in general in the future if I feel like it. Otherwise, you guys are probably safe from my egotistical blabbering about how I botched my death and managed to somehow hang on for another year. I was probably supposed to be doing something today - more singing, actually. I feel guilty that I'm not doing it, but having just come back from a school choir trip, I don't really feel up to singing out. This in no way helps to alleviate the feeling that I'm a terrifically lazy good-for-nothing twat. And n o, I'm not just saying this for attention - I'm saying this because it's honestly how I feel a

Have I mentioned how much I absolutely detest "inspirational" bullshit? Maybe so, but I'll do it again and this time in a more coherent fashion! Anyway, as anyone who has even the faintest acquaintance with me knows, I hate bullshit. I also veer wildly between happiness and despair, idealism and cynicism, and do it all with a huge dollop of snark stuck on top. And I am utterly, utterly sincere. Unlike quite a few people, I don't do insincerity. I won't say one thing and mean another. I won't fake emotions - firstly, it costs me precious energy, and secondly, it's dishonest and I do have hang-ups about lying. Maybe my smile, my laugh, my tears all look idiotic and pathetic (I don't have high self-esteem) but they're all genuine. This brings me to my first problem with inspirational bullshit: it doesn't seem sincere or authentic. It seems to be very much something that is banged out at a keyboard by someone who has nothing better to say

(Yes, this was the only picture I could find. Yes, I am perfectly aware that it's shit. Yes, I am perfectly aware I haven't posted in weeks, and I apologise. I've not really had much that I want to talk about.) Don't forget to love. That was something I noticed a wise person said not too long ago - but if it's as wise a piece of advice as I think it is (and I might be wrong) other people have already come up with it. I'll say it now - and frankly I'm really not in the mood to ponder just how terrible of a person this makes me; in fact I have trouble finding the motivation and energy to give a fuck - it's not easy advice to follow. Or maybe that's just me. The fact that I felt like my heart was breaking when I first read this advice probably did not help. The fact that remembering to love involves working through all the bitterness, all the pain, all the prejudice, and being strong enough to love all  on top of that probably does not help either