Direct Message Manifesto 1

txtmsgmanifesto1

Texted by me.

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Slowly Pass

I wouldn’t call this my first craving, since it’s not a craving. It’s the first crippling anxiety attack that puts me to sleep because I can’t move that I wake up from less than an hour later still having, trying to relax — not wanting nor having to resist any urge, but having a memory, a visualization, a transportation back into a place I was before. I cannot identify what is so terrifying. I can only feel it. And with the collection of these words, I can only now feel it beginning to slowly pass.

Dozen Days Dope-Free

asd1

So I’ve turned on my Facebook again so that I could reach out to people in my life who would care that I’m a dozen days drug-free, or at the very least, provide a post of stability with which I can be socially pressured to take talking openly about my addiction seriously and resist moments of weakness.

I would say so far, that this has provided me — in addition to how fed up with it all I’ve become — with the will to not really have too much difficulty so far. It boils down to, do you really want to not be using, like badly enough to do… or do you just wish that you were strong enough? …And, pride-less enough. Because you sort of have to be open about whether or not you are or not using. At least, I do.

So I’ve been posting small posts there.

I have been turning down social occasions that involve alcohol because I know at this early stage that could be all it takes to change my mind. I’ve been investing a lot of my money into a very expensive hobby that is basically leaving me broke, and forcing me to use my energy to do things… without stimulants… so that at least at this stage, even if I wanted to break my resolve, I don’t have the spare money to do it.

I bought a Ryzen 5 1600 processor and an MSI B350 motherboard. I’m going to be picking up a GPU and case with my next paychecks.

It’s funny because building a PC is a project I started on speed, one which usually doesn’t get finished because its too big for the scope of the mind of a tweaker.

The first thing I had to do was DRAG myself out of bed, after a week of sleeping, and be like, “Okay, I’m not going to get high, what am I going to do?” and this expensive computer part shows up at my door.

And I’m like… well… I guess I’m going to build a computer. So I’ve been forcing myself to learn how to do it and its been occupying my mind and I think….

The problem a tweaker has is the inability to get anything done without artificial stimulation. Its the problem I have anyway. And so, I’e just been doing it without, solely based on the fact that I manicly invested a lot of money into a computer part while high.

So ironically, the project I am continuing sober is helping to adjust my mind to being productive on my own… doing a thing that I never would have done if I hadn’t been using.

My, this fits into a lot of my categories. Learning to write and continue these things I started while using is going to take some time. But I’m doing it.

Making Sense of My Own Ridiculousness

I write this the morning after publishing Making Sense of Skinhead Reggae, part 1; technically, according to the time stamp, 7 hours ago on the listed blog post that I would love to open  up in the editor to fix it — or at the very least, rename it, “Making Sense of My Own Ridiculousness.” But I can’t do that without being a hypocrite, can I?

I suppose it’s possible that there may be a difference in things you edit for different reasons, and that I could potentially maintain my rawness and still fix things that… that there was somehow a good reason to decide to hold back and fix. But, because I cannot distinguish often at times if not always when it is a good and bad time, and as a result have often felt in the end like many things I’ve written were a waste of time… to at least, be taken so seriously by me as a writer. I believe that… this is possibly why I stopped a decade of habitual writing all the time and slowly sank into feeling like it was not worth doing, until the habit was finally gone.

I’ve mentioned this before and how I’m not sure how much this has liberated me or set limits on me. The truth is, it has done both.

The things I have written since I gave up serious writing have been Dadaism in themselves, the sort of thing that I never hesitated to simply shovel on to a Facebook post after that where it can be scrolled over by the attention deficient people of this era who likely didn’t even notice it in the phantasmagoria of scrolling things.

It isn’t so much that it wouldn’t be read that is the issue. It’s the platforms that became suitable for me to write in. I didn’t keep a private journal that I hoped would prepare me for my “works,” which I imagined I was supposed to create to validate my self worth.

What was I if not a writer; the thing I had always been praised for, the thing I had spent so much of my life doing as if it was an important thing I needed to do.

The Dada philosophy I mentioned in Ideas Intersect has certainly taught me how to love myself and be a happy person, coming from the person I used to be who anything but that, and I’m grateful for those lessons. I use them now to be unashamed, bare, and and open about my failures without fixating so much on the importance of what it means to fail or succeed; which in Neon Dada, there is no such thing. I say again, this is a valuable “truth.”

But…I also enjoy writing, and I haven’t done it as often. I don’t think I consciously stopped with these thoughts in mind. In fact I know that I didn’t. But it makes sense to me a lot, especially as I try to write something half serious and discover again the flaws that make me inefficient at times — completely dysfunctional at others.

And there is an example right here in my last post. It doesn’t feel good to attempt to write something you know how to write but have your mental state come out more apparently than what you want to intend. It is very frustrating. It possibly makes me not want to continue things that I start, making it easy to unconsciously forget them maybe the way I do. I know that I am far less excited about what I wanted to write, overthought, and did not write.

The truth is, I feel  thatI could have easily downsized what I wanted to do into something sensible if I hadn’t been imagining less what I wanted to talk about, and more how it needed to be so convincingly thorough that my argument would be complete. It’s as if in contradiction to my own values [the dual aspected deity], because there is no absolute correctness my argument could possibly achieve… Similarly to how there is no state of perfection that the pursuit of perfection will ever attain.

I don’t think the pursuit of improvements in how well you understand a thing and the work you do as a result of that understanding is necessarily a negative thing to think about. But it clearly can interfere with productivity and result in something out of control, or irrational. It can result in… the sense of failure that I’m sure many artists, thinkers, engineers, builders of things, scientists, etc; have often felt no matter what they did or how much they are thought to have achieved by others, or not.

It seems impossible for me to write anything without a personal story, psyche column involved in it, because it’s just too obvious what a nutter I am. I do want to be writing this personal confession diary shit. But the truth is that I have to suck it up and do it, because the only other option is to delete my post, pretend it did not happen, or maybe go back to fixing it and do the same thing all over again.

It’s quite embarrassing, really, that I couldn’t see at the time. This is supposed to be a zine where I can write about something easy and fun to write about, like music, if not among other things.

But especially after I’ve gone through all of these thoughts in the last two postswritten — and even some of the ones from before — I feel like I am no longer comfortable with the idea of not writing because of how I feel about what it reveals about what i can and cannot do.

In the spirit of Dada also, I feel like if I can’t make the thing I intended to make often times, then I have to continue to make the things that I did not intend to make.

…because, no… It’s not important that I write anything, and nothing that I write needs to feel intentionally important in some manner. But what is important is that I feel content with who I am and what I do, and have no need to hide as if there is ugliness or beauty at all anywhere.

I have taken many great steps to be happy and would say that in spite of these feelings I am still happy, but I think the next step is facing the few things left that I am still self conscious about. w

And maybe one day I will be half as precise as I wish I was, but maybe I will not wish that I was something I am not, too. And I think both options are okay.

This Post Does Not Contain Thing Ignorant People Fear

We’re going to be talking about the genres of my writing. If you are new to my writing, you may not have seen the things I am talking about yet. I plan to to change that if you continue visiting my zine written.

The first thing I probably need to address is the GOS conundrum (a graphomanic obsession session), which this does not count as though it be strikingly similar in some ways. In order to identify what makes a writing labeled as such, we must say what writings cannot be labeled so; otherwise, all writings would appear to be graphomanic.

Without further adieu, here is the writing, originally printed in July 2016.

labelsonfood

This is a “wall-of-manifesto” piece I wrote and originally posted to DadaNoise or an Instagram as a caption to a photograph. I edited it slightly and saved it to a graphic, because why not. Writings like this also have characteristics I categorize as, “ran on ranting clauses” and “non-poem prosaics.” These are all often types of my “graphomanic obsession sessions,” which it is important to note that this does not qualify as. While it could have been one such, it lacks the qualifying factor that is,

–GOS (graphomanic obsession session) documents are always characterized by–

…a repetition of the same words, phrases, thoughts, and ideas; occurring more than twice, and interrupting the movement from one thought into the next without insistence to further elaborate the same thing.

It need not be ongoing completely without transition to anything else, but in the text, an eventual return to the point already made must characterize the development of points from sense into seeming nonsense; or, seemingly unrelated points that meld together and…

the document may be a wall of text or a line break prosaic poem or almost anything at all, but it must perpetuate itself into an unending loop of characteristic mania…

Lastly, the characteristics described need not characterize the beginning of a document; it is only that they eventually can be identified in the text that is important to categorizing the work.

Though the style is similar to many writings I will call graphomanic, …thing that sounds bad to the all knowing consumer!, is lacking in the way of being an obsessive compulsive inability to break out of the the mental state that makes for such writing.

What makes it a “ran on rant” might seem obvious until you have observed more pure and clear examples of this genre. There are not nearly enough semicolons, parentheses, and em-dashes to truly show off what I mean when I call it the “ran on ranting clauses.” But, it still is.

The “non-poem prosaic” is essentially a thing that is not designed to be interpreted as a poem, or a lyric, which expresses itself in a style of diction that is less straight forward than prose typically is and found more often in poetry. Often times it will be a wall of text, as if to intentionally forego line breaks or a sense of metre, because it isn’t a poem. Other times it will have arbitrary line breaks thrown in haphazardly in the same intent, as if to mock its non-poem status as a thing altogether too prosaic.

It is not a “manifesto”; rather, it is a “diatribe.” In the genres of my writing, a manifesto describes a complete depiction of how and why. A diatribe expresses emotion and does not bother; though, logic characterizes neither necessarily and may or may not be present.

I will present more examples of what I am talking about in other posts.

Ideas Intersect

(in three historic manifestos)

So, if you were not aware, I am given to producing at times what I cannot refer to as art or poetry or music, but rather, Dada — beat generation-like nonsense, collages of found objects, and straight up compulsively obsessive noise put forth for the sake of its self as a means to its own.

It’s possibly easier to give you the crash course in Dada thought with the 1918 manifesto written by Tristan Tzara, a Frenchman living in neutral Zurich during WWI.

Dada Manifesto
by Tristan Tzara
23rd March 1918

After reading this in 2013 for the first time, many aspects of my “meta-modernist[1]” nihilism and new philosophical outlook began to take form — [1]that is, post post-modernism (to be modernist again after modernism and its hope was lost to postmodern despair, but practically in the light of both notions [said to be in oscillation]) — and is somehow very similar [that is, my personal philosophy as it has developed] to what western people think of as a Buddhist idea of duality and acceptance without all the practices of the “Great” way.

So, let me just go ahead and plug a few other manifestos relevant to the paragraph above which is possibly not making sense to you if you have not been already familiar,

The Metamodernist Manifesto
by Luke Turner (2011)

Though my ideas are not specifically influenced by this millennial notion of meta-modernism, it is true that my ideas are at the very least occurring as a result of modernist and postmodernist ideas and happening in the same era, same as my own ideas. So, it’s relevant, and I consider it a contribution to the modern day Dadaism I have found peace in, I also brought it up and hopefully it sheds light on what I said above. Otherwise…

Let me simply plug another one; but first let me say, I am not a Buddhist. Like most organized notions of spiritual existence and the order of those who understand it, Buddhism has some neat ideas mixed in with a whole lot of ancient bullshit. How seriously you take it is obviously up to you, but let me affirm again: I am not a Buddhist. Don’t fall into any of the con artistry of these spiritual websites and their holy texts and inspiring quotes. I can’t be responsible for what this leads you to.

Besides, I can’t verily give a fair summation of Buddhism, as I am fairly without knowledge of its many variations and intricacies. And though I find that it’s “ironic” how much I have in common with this poem, I take no interest in otherwise identifying myself with what is already my primary criticism of the work: there is nothing terribly great about this way of thinking. It simply is a way of thinking. Nothing more. But eerily often, it is quite like my own way.

The Third Patriarch of Zen
Hsin Hsin Ming by Seng-T’san

I find it hard to make time to write the things I often wish to write. These days I’m always getting ready for work, you know, which I have to be doing soon and so I can’t continue to where I would go along this train of thought at the moment. So I’ll leave you simply with these notions and how they have intersected within me to form some personal philosophy, which I have only begun to speak of officially here.

The context of my Neon Dadaism will be relevant when I begin to edit and publish the collected bits of graphomanic verse that I write — which, that’s a thing to talk about another day.

But if you must get a hint at what I mean, here is one such verse (or a portion of it) put to the Dadaist noise I spoke of in the first paragraph.

This was released under the pseudonym, fromthefirmament, which is my identity on Soundcloud.

Yeah, I’m going to get to talking about the production of noise soon enough and put some amount of sense to it. I plan to organize and edit and collect written works I have often left unedited — like, the words spoken in the 2billionyears verse. For now, simply behold the madness.