Seems like a good day to GO KICK ASS!

24 December 2009

Self Image Industry Ghosts

In many ghost stories you have to stand in front of a mirror and start chanting stuff in order for spooky whomever/whatever to appear. Ever wondered why? It's because seing a freaking ghost is the easy way to imply that coming face to face with how you perceive yourself through a link between the conscious and the unconscious (mirror) may make you become directly aware of certain truths about yourself. The whole idea of looking into the mirror and seeing something spine-chilling is the blunt projection of perceptive versus actual self. The mere realization that what you think of yourself (=what you think you want to be/what others have convinced you you are) is in fact very different from what you really are (=really want to be) adds the creepy factor. When weird shit related to mirrors happens, you don't get to see naked fairies. You get to see ugly, dead motherfuckers. When you start realizing you have been misinterpreting your own motives because of what you constantly are taught to look up to, you get to have the spectacular epiphany that ugly, alive motherfuckers you can't even name run your life.
Unless one lives under a stone, they must have internalized the global codex of what is appealing and what isn't long before reaching adulthood ( which means that the "individual's" perception of past, present and future selves depends on external stimuli). Actually, the whole idea of what the self is/should be depends on external stimuli. In reality the value of any claim is determined by the community in which it is uttered. For those of us who live in the ambitious white world that means we are walking self-conflicts since we lose sleep over bills, yet believe that the meaning of life probably has to do with something deeply philosophical and polysyllabic, have plans, but don't have goals (or vice versa), "know" that "outer beauty is only skin deep, but inner beauty is to the bone", yet count calories.
This is all very nice et cetera, but it sounds like philosophical blah. So I'll be more specific about the multiple personality syndrome we all have to a degree:
  • If there was any chance I would get laid -despite having short hair- sometime in this millenia, I would definitely have a different haircut.
  • If wearing glasses wouldn't immediately cry "fuglineeeess"/ "geeekiness", I wouldn't walk around with silicone-hydrogel stuck on my eyeballs.
  • If I wasn't morally obliged due to my sex and age to fit into tight, suffocating death jeans I would eat SHITLOADS of sweets.
  • If I weren't supposed to smile politely in all sorts of situations basically (you wait in line forever and then an elderly person appears: you smile and offer your place/you smile and don't offer your place; your parents give you a lecture on why you are such a failure in life: you smile and ask what's for dinner; you realise your socks don't match on the most important day of your life (job interview/date etc.) : you smile and pretend it's a fashion statement; you're watching T.V. and the commercials are that many that you have forgotten what you were watching in the first place: you smile cause your brain is fried anyway; you walk alone in the middle of nowhere at 5AM and are attacked by wannabe rapists: you smile and pull out your Beretta 391 semi-automatic shotgun (everyone knows ANYTHING can fit in a girl's bag), I would eat shitloads of sweets AND wouldn't worry about my teeth rotting.
  • If I didn't care about successful socializing I would admit I don't like jazz enough to actually be able to name a Louis Armstrong song.
  • If I wasn't raised to believe money is something like god -except you can buy things with it-, I would pursue a career in something artistic.
  • For the same reason, I wouldn't mind being a starved artist.
  • But since I am taught I have to succeed at all costs, I would actually mind being a starved artist.

The conclusion: whether we like it or not, we are passively shaped on many levels. Our rebellious acts are nothing more than reacting to what we already are in the path of becoming; nothing more than whatever original part there is left in us backfiring and ruining our chances of a carefree "normal" life. If you end up being a perfect, socially accepted "individual" you'll always have some "disturbing" moments you wished you were more like Marilyn Manson/ Lady Gaga. And even if you do end up like them, you'll have to go to the supermarket and pick the kids up from school eventually.

Ghosts have no corporal form. Even as disembodied spirits though they maintain an appearance because they have a certain image of themselves...

What is your image of yourself? and how unrelated to the social norms is it?...

Ghosts may or may not know they are dead.

Can you tell how alive your original, not-bullshit-abiding self is?



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Self Image Industry Ghosts by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

18 December 2009

I Love Soy Meat Balls-which-are-not-really-meat-balls-because-they-have-no-meat-but-saying-"soy-balls"-doesn't-somehow-sound-right.

There are some questions that leave a lot to imagination (like where a mermaid's vagina is), some that just don't have an answer (like what to do when seeing an endangered animal eating an endangered plant) and some that just can't be explained (like why is it that people blow and spit on birthday-cakes, yet everyone wants a piece). There are situations though, when you just can't remember a word/phrase or simply don't know it. If that is the case you either choose the full body language pack of retarded gestures hoping your sex appeal won't suffer major blows, or go like "hey-where's-that-long-handled-device-thingy-you-saw-me-holding-yesterday?"
"what, this?" (offers a spatula)
"no, I said the long one."
"aah, this." (offers a rave glow stick)
"no, the plastic one."
"ah, this." (offers a dildo)
"...WTF! No, the one I use to scratch my back with."
"aah, you mean the back-scratcher."
...(so that's what it's called)...

During this period of the year when you're supposed to be buying Christmas presents for your beloved ones and sending cards to members of your b-class social circles, I become somewhat lazy and stupefied by the horror of having to go to malls to battle crazy mothabitches for the last item on sales. So, getting out of the house means I'm either out of food supplies, or want to not contribute in the population growth and therefore do participate in a protected exchange of bodily fluids (SEX). Even though chances were that I would not encounter any english-speaking tourists (whose last hope to find whatever they want is me), while hovering around my house and finding a million ways to do nothing, my living space (old ass apartment) was recently invaded by a couple of friends of friends for a few days. Now, "friends of friends" means this ship is bound for shit in most languages when combined with "living with". But. I'm always nice to my fellow humans if there's even the slightest possibility someone else is going to do the washing/cleaning/cooking happy-servant (adult) chores.

The guys were ace and the semi-decrepit dwelling of mine did not really suffer any drastic uncontrolled demolitions for the better part of our coexistence. Yet, there were technical difficulties. Basically, no one spoke each other's language. One thing we did have in common though, was that english isn't even our second language. I don't speak italian (one of them was italian, the other a half-italian who doesn't live in Italy), they didn't speak greek, shit was lost all the time and then found by accident, many curse words are common in italian and greek and YET we somehow managed to communicate by not swearing at each other (that would have been the only way to be exactly sure of what the other person was saying). Latin, ancient greek, italian-english, lines from porno movies, hell even tolkien words were used to make sure we all knew what we were going to cook and where we were trying to drive to.

I guess the moral of the whole experience is that as long as people need to eat/shit and socialize the means of communication REALLY don't matter. And yes, food will be burned, people might think you're not hitting on them (when in fact you are, but are saying "musical" instead of "good-looking") and work will not by any means get done. Human relationships are not grammar tests though: you might fail horribly in both grammar and syntax and yet pass the test. ;)

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I Love Soy Meat Balls-which-are-not-really-meat-balls-because-they-have-no-meat-but-saying-"soy-balls"-doesn't-somehow-sound-right. by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

09 December 2009

Self Ambivalence 1.1

Self ambivalence. A fancy word no doubt. It means cultivating extremely conflicting feelings towards oneself. Basically, it means being so self-centered that you're your main reference to both cool and [insert stereotype] the opposite of cool.
I'm a cutter, a kicker and a smoker and hell, I don't even smoke anymore. that much.
There are many ways to play the game -what you personally consider important enough to be worth the trouble of trying to excel at- and of course there are even more ways to miss the point and start going downhill. In regards to my pretty knife, I don't see why anyone would relate to doodling with sharp objects and using a palette of various shades of red and themselves as a drawing surface. I do believe though, that people can relate to reaching a point where shit hits the fan with such incredible might that no matter what they do the situation is what it is and it can't be changed, which makes it THE WORST THING EVER (till the next shitstorm hits). After passing the initial stages of shock, denial, anger and depression, there comes the time you simply have to accept whatever unbelievable bullshit happened. That's the most problematic stage for me. Anger? I can excel at that. Depression? I am totally fantastic in it. But accepting the fact that I have absolutely no power over something that IS a part of MY life after all, just doesn't take place in the right hemisphere of my brain which ,in most cases, specializes in receiving and analysing information from the outside world. Once you decide that what goes on everyday is an euphemism for life, that people look like bad actors and that if Santa was real he would probably carry around a big bag of dicks to give to everyone, self-mutilation seems equally as colourless (and therefore "normal") as everything else does.
Both the slashing-yourself-to-ribbons and the thinking-of-ridiculous-ways-to-cover-the-wounds parts, are not a very productive way to spend the time truth be told, and do not offer much else than a gothic, bloody scenery. The supposed endorphins-releasing to your brain (a pharmacological activity analogous to the activity of opiates= they relieve your pain) appears to be plain bullshit as well. The whole process is painful while you're at it, afterwards, and while disinfecting the wounds (cause you have to take care of yourself of course). So... why do it?
Like any other self-destrucive behaviour, from banging one's head, pinching oneself and self-burning to eating disorders, alcohol abuse and drug addictions, self-mutilation is a sign that you are fucked up in the head because you never taught yourself how to properly identify and express your real emotions to others perhaps, and MAINLY to yourself. I would call it emotional dyslexia. Instead of staying up all night wondering if there is a "bog", you stay up a) cause you're too much of a pussy to figure out yourself, after a crisis makes doing so urgent, and b) ...cause the damn cuts hurt. It's a coward's way from beginning to end: instead of giving a battle (even -and especially if- you know you're going to lose it), you push the self-destruction button. That's one way of looking at it. An other way is that you spare everyone the drama and self destruct earlier than scheduled by the big cosmic penis.
So kids, today's lesson is that apart from developing an alcohol/drug addiction, self-mutilation is another great means of failing to deal with yourself. Another option is managing to somehow find the balls of metallic substance to fuck up an already fucked up situation, but at least be active and throw back some of the shit that was so generously offered to you.

P.S. My kicking habit is way too kickass -literally- for this emo post. So, I'll analyse it later (never).

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Self Ambivalence 1.1 by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

07 December 2009

It's A Pile Of Shit. Or not.

There are basically two rules that apply to everyone's idea of Music:
a) Every music genre has great music pieces and pieces that you can't really defend unless you're either a groupie, or deaf. Choosing the music that expresses you the most is a matter of personal taste and therefore something that should be respected by all.
b) Deep down we all think that OUR favourite kind of music KICKS ASS and that everyone else's SUCKS DICK*.
Of course, this whole it's-in-the-eye-of-the-beholder concept, applies to Art altogether. In 1989, less than 5% of the artists in the Met's modern art sections were women, but 85% of the nudes were female. Discrimination issues aside, it appears that female nudes are considered art in a museum and porn on the cover of a man's magazine.
That's why I personally do not believe in art. I believe in people who know how to make a living by making a name for falling under the category "artist", but most importantly, in people who have the talent to view anything from an artistic perspective. Art can't be defined. Classic artists were primarily concerned with the ideas of beauty and harmony for example, whereas today artistic styles that may have nothing to do with beauty (like art for political change or social inquiry), have emerged. There are no rules and the "artist" might not had intended to create an emotional response in the first place. Whether or not something is emotionally evoking depends on the person who receives the signal. So, the real artist to me is the one who becomes emotionally affected by anything and takes some time to come up with an explanation/theory and be inspired.
Everyone can create something and claim that it's anything. But not everyone can see something, some potential in anything.
Many people see more to their favourite music band's work, than there really is. Or more to a person than there really is. Unfortunately that's not called artistic. That's called a-bit-of-a-bullshit idea you get because you need some stability-pattern in your life so desperately, that you are making yourself blind to reality.
So kids, remember: lyrics and material junk may only mean that their creator was doing all sorts of drugs at the time. But as long as you are open minded and do not kill every last bit of imagination you have left as a boring adult, there still is magic in this world.

*(in such cases, nods of affirmation are recommendable, since starting a criminally traumatizing conversation that will most probably end up in everyone becoming more patriotic about THEIR favourite music is not that fun post puberty).

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It's A Pile Of Shit. Or not. by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

05 December 2009

4 Fucking Things That Need To Be Changed

It pisses me off...

  • that in real life you don't get to choose between getting fucked up by others and fucking up others. You choose between getting fucked up by others and fucking up yourself.
  • that ,in transactions that really matter, very few things are actually bought with money. For what you sell, you get paid in emotional abuse and pivotal moments that start off with bad omens. And what you sell, you cannot get back no matter how much and in what you pay.
  • that people give off such self-contradictory messages because they cannot fully understand and accept the nature of their own genuine feelings and ideas.
  • that others only understand (and therefore like /dislike me for) one aspect of my personality, which basically means that I haven't met one person with whom I can be 100% me and not a fragment of myself. Always being a fraction of my potential whole, means that I neither feel or am ,ultimately, a whole.
[this has also been posted on the babalon thread "Things That Piss You Off" by myself.]

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4 Fucking Things That Need To Be Changed by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

Public Transport Happy Hour

I suffer from a condition which I would not exactly call enochlophobia (=fear of crowds). I don't mind being around a lot of people, as long as it is not the same people. Airports for example are not a potentially troublesome area. Using public transport on the other hand provides a way more predictable scenery...
I was standing at the metro station the other day, waiting with the typical paedo-looking guy, kids upon whom the paedo-looking guy was preying, old farts who always get the seats and the chicks/bros who either want to talk to you, or you want to talk to them, so you all bravely deal with the situation by developing a verbal vomit reflex, saying the inevitable-bullshit-that's-completely-out-of-ANY-subject-and-supposedly-makes-you-look-smart, to the lucky friend who happens to be with you, while glance-flirting to make sure that your efforts don't go unnoticed.
In such delighful assemblies there's always some bored/perverted person who stares at you, someone who looks at you as if you have toilet paper hanging out of your pants (at some point you realise that you had been introduced once upon a time and that he/she is taking notes of how much you've changed) and some yappie with a blackberry extension of their left/right/left and right hand.
Also, it is common courtesy that when using any means of public transport everyone has to look ABSOLUTELY MISERABLE (unless you're in the glance-flirting mode). It is also a matter of fact that even if you strip naked/fart/get raped/severely mutilated/ and/or assassinated nobody's gonna give a flying fuck (well, maybe if you strip naked someone will).
People whom I never have the pleasure to encounter:

  • Someone who looks like they could win a Nobel prize.

  • Someone who is not thinking the same as anybody else is, in the nearby area.

  • Someone who is not thinking about the way they look to other people.

  • Someone who is not thinking about something that could be subtitled in $$$.

  • Someone who is just thinking "wow, I'm having fun"... and is not high.

If you're just good at spotting the problem, you're a common mortal. If you causing it, you're a rockstar. If you're actually suggesting a solution, you're most probably full of shit, but achieve transcendence anyway.

So, as far as the moronic public transportation situation is concerned, I propose inventing shoes with incorporated T.V. screens into the toe caps, that will enable us to avoid having to look at the shit faces of our co-travellers which remind us of our own. That, or we actually learn to create a less egoistic, more humane aura that turns stalking into actual socializing, and understand that being entitled to your own personal misery doesn't mean you have to show it.

People are not sheep because they look the same. People stop being individuals the moment they start creating an atmosphere where it is o.k. to think in the same way. So, yeah it bothers me to be around people who only happen to have different hairstyles and accessories, because this whole situation, either progressively makes you a zombie in terms of originality and imagination, or creates the false impression to others that they "know" you.

If you want to get to know me, come and talk to me. And for fuck's sake, let's walk.

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Public Transport Happy Hour by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.