never lose your magic

It’s quite telling that the place where my mind wanders for escape is an Old Victorian dimly lit by Christmas lights and Thom Yorke’s angelic pleading where I sit on (what could be) a ballroom floor trussed with elegantly sprawled sheets of Egyptian cotton, the spicy aroma of cigarette smoke and Issey Miyake’s signature scent hiding in every crevice. I imagine it to be the equivalent of a children’s ball pit, down in place of plastic; I’m sprawled across a cloud.  I inhale and a sense of calm unachievable by any other means takes over every sense in my body, exhale and a rush of knowing that I will soon singlehandedly conquer whatever lies before me forces its way to my head.

But a cigarette's greatest power: a  key that unlocks the safe of precious words that are otherwise trapped between my ears suffocating every ounce of productivity I could possibly muster. The free flow of words trickle from the depths of a soul I long exists to my head, through my veins, materializing through my fingers into complete phrases, paragraphs, pages.  As I grapple at the last seconds of the dissipating high, that mystical world retreats as if on cue, just as the Cave of Wonders knows its time is up.

introverts anonymous

What turned me on was having no one to detract from this moment that reacquainted me with true bliss. No one. Absolutely no one and nothing except for a nudge from my roommate that came in the form of a "quiet the fuck down" cough. That, which bore no significance to me because she's a c-u-n-t, aside, the fact that I was able to enjoy my post-binge drinking bout was enough to make me feel whole again. I felt empowered, immortal. With nobody to elicit any moral considerations, I could do anything, drive to Mexico wholly inebriated and incoherent, whatever the fuck I wanted. As pleasant as it would be to have someone who cares enough to tell me otherwise, it was liberating to know that I could make my own decisions, however assinine. It's a different, basic kind of satisfaction not having to answer to anyone. I could run off, break hearts, or eat like there would be no food for the rest of the month with zero inhibition. I deeply appreciated the agency to make decisions I'd regret in the morning; I'd never before felt so free. Yes, it's the same freedom that I fear, that I reject and label Loneliness, but I began to realize its significance. I never knew how much I craved this sentiment. I could fuck up and disturb no one, hurt no one.

"I am a golden god[dess]!"

Fact: Loneliness can be manipulated into Utility.

greatest hits

There are times in a your life when you're simply unsure of everything: everything you've done, are doing, or will ever do. Whether it's an existential crisis, a cry for attention, or simply a curse of being too well read is ambiguous and ultimately unimportant. It's a feeling you can't blow off and can only be pushed to the back of your mind with the help of a few drinks, but which will return with a vengeance when you're laying in bed hungover and alone the next morning. It's something indescribable that has no name and really can't be understood or "thought through." Only with time will it wither away: a slow, and oftentimes painful process. I exist here. Everything's moving quickly, at my own will, busying myself with an endless agenda to hopefully arrive at a higher ground, whatever that looks like. I'm lost in my own head with thoughts about the direction in which I want to steer my life. I've plotted myself at a metaphorical crossroads where I must choose how I want to spend my early 20's; uncertainty is the bane of my existence. I'm unsure of even the most basic things, about what I'm looking for in life. Nothing seems to satiate the stubborn, unyielding sensation of attaining something, anything to be happy. Essentially, I'm driving myself insane with the urgency to make decisions that I believe will make it or break it, change my life for better or for worse.

Paradoxically, I know exactly what I'm doing.  I'm in a good place, and I have the utility to do whatever I want. I'm intelligent, reasonably attractive, funny when I want to be, sassy as hell, comfortable with who I am. And I'm young. Maybe I'd rather be lost. Maybe I enjoy not knowing. We all do. I tell myself I do. But do I? 

Problem is this independence is crippling. For the first time I'm actually on my own, and alone is unsettling. I want to be reckless, but I want to be safe at the same time. I suppose this is all part of "growing up", but fuck is it hard. A crutch is a short term solution, one that sounds insanely attractive, but a man shouldn't and can't solve my problems.............right?

The other day I was trying to think of when I'm happiest. The best I could come up with is when I'm surrounded by people whose company I truly enjoy, when I can be myself and speak my mind and not feel insecure or stupid for thinking the things that I do. Those are the brief moments when I feel complete and uninhibited euphoria, but how to contain them and stretch them out is life's greatest, and most beleaguering task. I don't need to be happy right now (I suppose it's good for artistic expression?), but what else is there to life besides achieving your nirvana? Will someone just tell me if this pit in my stomach is what they call "drive"...or if it's depression? Reveal the punchline to me already. I don't want to figure it out for myself. What's the reward for toiling until the end? What's the payoff? I don't want everything to just be a means to the end, but tell me if it is.

I want to feel exhilarated, to turn all of this into motivation, but hey, easier said than done. 

fitter, happier, more productive

I've gotten a lot of grief recently about not being clear in defining what I consider avant-garde or culturally significant art, so I thought I'd give you a better sense of what I mean through an an exemplar piece of work from an artist that has boggled my mind and society's mind since the early '90's.

Hailed by the notoriously elitist Pitchfork as the best album of the 1990s, Radiohead’s OK Computer not only delivers an impeccable sound but also captures the essence of the Digital Age. Though not explicitly recognized as a concept album or ordered as a narrative, its lyrics and album artwork resonate a common theme: dystopia. OK Computer expresses how the Digital Age has transformed the roles of the working class, the corporations, and the government, and the fears of what our affection for technology may lead to.  It reflects on the aftermath of an order, the world before industrial technology and global politics, disrupted by the pollution of dangerously powerful technology, values dictated by hyper-consumerism and capitalistic interest, and political apathy. Yet, the album does not leave us without hope, for it forces us to reckon with the true culprit of the matter and guard ourselves with the necessary set of ethics to keep from falling victim. Because OK Computer’s widespread reach and influence has blossomed the album to an extremely significant and particularly meaningful emblem of our generation, the message and ‘call to action’ behind the art plays a central role in popular culture. 

OK Computer gives life to a polluted order. Packaged in modern ethics, or lack thereof, the pollution is the notion of solving all of our most intricate problems using technology, the idea of material possession as the chief unit of measure, and the concept of the democratic government gradually losing its power. “Fitter Happier,” with a prophetic voice, is the most emblematic song of the technologic takeover, of machines dictating our very being. The lyrics, essentially a laundry list of actions to take in order to regulate and automate human behavior, describe a machine that is running a program to ensure a “fitter, happier, more productive” public. The agenda “more productive” should be given special attention because it is key to understanding the climate of the polluted order where personal worth is judged on productivity. 

In response to pollution, society has attempted to stretch the old order to encompass the new perspective. Because the shift was incrementally achieved, an illusion exists that old ethics have been preserved.  Yet, the dissonance between the old and the new is far too great for the standards to coexist. “Karma Police” perfectly embodies this struggle for power. From the experience of the narrator, a citizen living in the polluted order, we are able to get a sense of what it is like to live under such circumstances. He goes back and forth between what he has to do and who he is, which makes clear that his morals are not compatible with his duties in society. The narrator painfully repeats, “For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself/Phew, for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself,” but it is not obvious which part of himself he has lost. From the lyrics, we understand that he suddenly gained an awareness of right from wrong and a sense of duty to report the crimes committed by his peers; the karma police is in fact his conscience. Then he remembers “I’ve given all I can/But we’re still on the payroll,” and he sinks back into the order of bureaucratic society. No matter how many times the circumstances play out, the only solution he sees to disband this cognitive dissonance is to choose to remain a member of society and thus forgo his values. Keeping up with the polluted order means losing the good – there is no place for selflessness, freethinking, or patriotism. And the result: a desensitized, disconnected, and disenchanted heap of people. 

“No Surprises” most perfectly encapsulates what pollution has made of our lives. “A heart that's full up like a landfill/A job that slowly kills you/Bruises that won't heal/You look so tired-unhappy.” Our protagonist has conformed to a lifestyle dictated by bureaucratic culture, which has suffocated his being. He sings, “Bring down the government,” but his lackluster tone of voice shows he does not even believe in what he is saying.  He may only be revisiting his ambitions as a young man, now clichéd and ludicrous as an adult. In fact, this is his “final fit,” “final bellyache” and there will be nothing but “silent silence” from him here on out. He has accepted what his life has become and will die in complacency. He muses, “Such a pretty house and such a pretty garden” to justify the passion for life he has compromised.

OK Computer is a tale of modern alienation. In the words of British rock critic, Nick Kent, “It cast a complicated spell over millions, who found something deeply illuminating in the record's insinuated struggle to find a humane set of values amid the numbing paraphernalia of the lap-top mind-set." The album is a reminder to think for yourself instead of allowing computers and corporations to think for you. It is encouragement to take control of your life by relying on nothing but your own mind. And, it is a warning of what the future could look like if you neglect the individual. OK Computer is truly an avant-garde piece of work, not just of the musical distinction, but of genius in all realms, against all criteria. With a simultaneously modern and futuristic vision, this album makes a very important social observation that will be relevant for decades to come, so long as the influence of technology and corporations continues to reign over society.