As a preface, this is going to be a long blog post.
In examining the way I write, or, more typically, fail to write, over a course of time, I am struck first by they typical confusing multiverse behind my eyes, the typical Darren-negativity. (I attach “Darren” to it not because I find it descriptive of myself, I am usually able to overcome it, but rather because I have always felt that inside, this negativity has always existed, and influenced my actions, thoughts, beliefs, and even the way my brain is literally and actually composed. I’m not trying to say that I possess a special neural cluster which radiates negative thoughts, but I am saying that the negativity has always permeated within, flexing its braun and its insidious wit) After a firm hand combs the negativity into a slow, sitting, background observer, I am free to try and remember things that I do, things that I think. After I find something that seems relevant, I can then personally reflect on how pertinent to myself the object is, and whether or not it is more relevant to society, and less relevant to myself. Upon deeper devotion to finding the answers; which I constantly am concerned may not exist, or might just not exist for me, or exist for some people, but not others, or that if I’m positive enough-Can exist, or if the answers I find are complete bullshit only I believe....A unifying theme to my personal cognition is convolution. I feel like the things I think often are simply passing patterns and currents in a larger river of thought that as humans, we ultimately have no way of really remembering. I feel like the way our world has become, many people have no time to think, no time to reflect, and this is the ultimate reason why progress is so slow. In civil liberties, in artistic and cultural evolution, in the death of religion, in the passing of racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism, ageism, and other slowly-wilting, slowly less-favorable discriminations. In general, the world is majorly poor / middle class, struggling in futility in a classic class warfare situation, always seeming to get slightly more, (An inherent result of factory production, industrialization, science, etc) while always getting less in reality. (Here I reference the absurd disparity of wealth, both here in the USA and the entire Earth at large) As people gifted with the ability to write, and read, and critically think, and critically examine things, why is it so hard to feel motivated to try? On earth, many religious factions (Palestine (Jews vs. Muslims), Balkans (Orthodox Serbs vs. Catholic Croats; Orthodox Serbs vs. Bosnian and Albanian Muslims), Northern Ireland (Protestants vs. Catholics), Kashmir (Muslims vs. Hindus), Sudan (Muslims vs. Christians and animists), Nigeria (Christians vs. Muslims), Ethiopia & Eritrea (Christians vs. Muslims), Sri Lanka (Buddhists vs. Hindus), Pakistan (Muslims vs. Hindus), Indonesia (Muslims vs. Christians), Caucasus (Orthodox Russians vs. Chechen Muslims; Muslim Azerbaijanis vs. Catholic and Orthodox Armenians), and Egypt (Coptic Christians vs. Muslims) battle and wage war, trying to disseminate their, Truer answers.
Emancipated of the gag, and the blindfold, and the financial starvation, and the educational destitution, how is it that some Atheists, as I, still dwell on Nihilism? So many other things to think about, so many things to evaluate, to criticize, to do, and yet so many are stuck on nothing-worship. Every thought, every action, every life, every death; a cosmic insignificance. This tone is prevalent in my beliefs, thoughts, opinions, manner of speaking and responding, my sarcasm, my joyless humor.
Overcoming this Negativity that shares tea with Nihilism is a chore, but I do believe it can be done; That I can overcome it. First by embracing that it is a part of myself, that I will never see sight in rainbows, puppy dogs, or in a rose-tint. Certain endeavors, like lifting weights, can be neutral behaviors, by both embracing the drug-seeking Hedonism-side of my negativity, and also in improving me health, appearance, and ego; all of which our society generally views as positives. By finding these middle grounds, I can be free of lifting the burden that is overcoming my own Negativity. I am now 9 weeks sober, alone. Disgusted by the prattling, God-Centric, mind-numbingly self-defeating Alcoholics Anonymous, maybe utilizing my own Negativity is a legitimate means of powerful, Maslowvian actualization. Still untangling currently-perceived, yet actually old weaves of memory and thought, I do see that I sporadically attempt to revolt and be negative. I think these revolts are a symptom of previous attempts to defeat, to vanquish, to cure my Negativity. Accepting I’m a Dick might be the only real way in rebuilding my ego up and reestablishing confidence. Writing, as something I do for recreation, or maybe even as a financial pursuit, should be an activity of personal development, reflection, and especially reification of abstract thoughts, beliefs and also of cognitive behaviors, and preoccupations. Crafting characters and environments that tangibly reflect our own personal thought patterns is something that often is relaxing, and deeply satisfying. Perhaps playing god, in imagination, in a form that is artistic, is one of the aspects of fiction writing that is most enjoyable.
I lament that my peers fail to see the depressive elements of my work. The lack of color, or the inclusion of color only as a foil to future lackings of color, was my main attempt. Colorlessness is one of the things that I find is so characteristic of depression. Sadness without cause. Sadness for no reason. As soon as depression was named, it seems the word was instantly colloquially perverted. Almost everyone I’ve ever met (Except for 1 mental health professional) have failed to grasp the discerning difference between depression and generic sadness, and perhaps for good reason. They’re so similar. They can bleed into each other. They can cause one another. They can stack on each other and become difficult to untangle. Untangling them often doesn’t banish them. Solving one often leaves the other undealt with. In contrast, perceptions seems almost colored when happy, or using nicotine, cannabis, or caffeine. Things that are obtrusively negative are easy to let go of, and flaming desolate piles of previous thoughts, are able to finally be extinguished and left behind so that I may continue on the journey of life. Antidepressants make me skirt responsibilities, such as attending classes, doing assigned readings, or in general, attempting the less exciting activities of life. This class, however, is so far my most successful attempt at writing yet.
In the past, I have tried to blog about Metal, my most favorite of arts. And Metal IS an art form, one that is profound, vast, undulating, exploding in new and provocative forms. When it was explicitly stated that writing about music was explicitly forbidden, I was a little broken-hearted, yet relieved. My past writing endeavor was to start a Metal blog where I would review albums, evaluate the Metal world, and generally write about things I probably couldn’t craft powerful enough words for. For how does one craft words to adequately explain the sound of a minor chord? Or a major? These are the most basic and definitely the most-explored musical concepts of the Western, and, by imperial consequence, of humanity. Even these basic concepts are only given reference words so that we can talk about them. The only way to understand a Major chord is to hear it. This naturally would give me an advantage. Avoiding technical and academic music theory knowledge, listening to Metal is something that the public honestly probably does better than the academia, as Metal fans listen to countless albums, countless times, and have erected contrasting, conflicting sub-cultures that no longer get along.
The blog died after three days of one post per day. This sad failure was probably a result of my depression, yet this excuse does nothing to alleviate the fact that I did fail at a basic writing task which involved music that I listen to literally every day. Someday, I will readdress the failure, and move to correct my old blunder. With the weathering nature of time on memory, maybe I will paint it in a positive light, that it was a failure all itself a result of my depression, something outside of my control, and thus, free myself from the suffocating chains of personal guilt, shame, blame, and fear. I somehow doubt that I'll let myself forget that personal failure.