Red Pen by Basic
Red Pen by Basic
I find it unbelievable that I have been sitting here for this long
merely trying to think of an appropriate opening to this book, which will
probably never be read by anybody but myself.
Well, howd I do? If you are reading this, you probably shouldnt
be unless, of course, you are me. So maybe Ill give you a few blank lines
to consider this gross invasion of privacy, and you can put this book back,
and nobody will be the wiser - and I can guarantee that youll rest easier
knowing that you did the right thing.
Still there? Good. I was never one to do the right thing, either. At any
rate, there seems a certain futility to writing this book if Im the only one
to ever read it, so go ahead and engross yourself in my private thoughts, but
be forewarned: this book may contain material that, once read, will want to
be unread and forgotten. Ah, but you can never go back.
Hmm... Today is a Tuesday in July, and my 17th day in Germany. Im not sure
of the exact date, but oh well...
It seems to me a bit futile to simply come right out and state the things that
have been on my mind read: troubling me the most, so maybe Ill start with
some things that I have been thinking about, but are of no particular
I have been thinking a lot about art recently. I think that all art is a
reflection of its creator, and that all things are art - well, sort of.
Right now Im looking at how my sandals are arranged, on my carpet, and
trying to decide if I think it is art or not. I think it is, but I think
its very hard to interpret something like that. Okay, back to the main
thread. I guess there are 2 main parts to this understanding art, and
creating art. Ill cover them in that order. I think when you look at a
piece of art whether it be a painting, a poem, of a chunk of rock lying in a
ditch, the ultimate goal is to learn about its creator. You are trying to
determine if it is good art - created by someone with a fair amount of
genius or bad art, created by someone with less. This can be very difficult
because maybe I decide to paint a picture, and I think, hey, Ill just paint
this canvas entirely black. And maybe someone like Van Gogh or something
paints the same picture, but it means a lot more to him, most likely. I
think this proves it rather difficult for the viewer to determine how good a
piece of art is.
I think there are 2 parts to an artist in terms of creating art - talent, and
genius. Talent is the skill the artist has with manipulating his tools,
whether they be brushes and paints, a piano, or the English language. I
think, in general, talent comes with practice, and it is for precisely that
reason that I am not too concerned with talent. However, I think people with
more talent can do a better job of getting across what is most important -
their genius. This is a little bit harder to describe. That and Im not so
sure what it is. I guess its some sort of measure of how much a person can
comprehend. I think IQ is probably a fairly accurate measure of genius, though
probably not always. At any rate, I dont think its something that can be
learned or taught, but that you are born with it. I think maybe it changes
over time, but I dont have any idea whether or not this can be controlled,
though I imagine massive head injuries cant be good for it.
I have now written for far too long about art was it about art?, and I will
probably be very bored the next time I read that part. Maybe Ill continue
of the topic later.
I believe I have figured out what my thoughts consist of. Ooh, a
cliffhanger. Are you ready? Here it is: conversations and words to songs.
By conversations I mean I imagine myself talking to someone about a
particular subject. Sometimes it doesnt matter to whom I am talking check
out that grammar! Sometimes the other person doesnt even say anything.
Other times it is very definite to whom I am talking, and maybe I imagine
what they say in response, too.
Sometimes they are not conversations in the true sense of the word. I mean,
who am I talking to right now, a book? True, these are not my exact thoughts
much is omitted but everything in this book was at one time or another
thought by me. Mostly the conversations are ones I wish I could have with
people, but probably never will. Usually they are along the lines of This is
what I would say to this person if I had the chance. Of course, I never get
that chance, and if I did, I probably wouldnt say it anyway. Yes, usually
the person I imagine Im talking to is female, and no, the conversations
dont usually have anything to do with sex. The usual gist of the
conversation is Yeah, I want to apologize for blank because you probably
think Im an idiot, and you have every reason to, because what I did was
totally idiotic, and I doubt this apology will make up for it... As you can
see, I like to put myself down a lot in my conversations. I dont know if
Ive ever actually had one of those conversations, which is kind of
unfortunate, because Ive had more than enough reason to, I think. Anyway, I
think its a hard conversation to have so maybe thats why Ive never done
it, or maybe Im just scum that thinks he cant lower himself that far, and
Im just making up excuses. I accept all possibilities. If you are female
and you are reading this and you shouldnt be, and you know who I am, maybe
Ive had one of these conversations with you. Geez, right now it sounds like
Im writing this whole thing for Connie to read, seeing as shes the one I
probably have the most to apologize for right now. I mean, I could have
treated her a lot better when she was in Canada - not that I was cruel to her
or anything, I just ignored her a lot. I suppose you could say I treated her
like one of the family except my brother. Maybe she forgives me because
she knows Im simply not a very outgoing guy, but whatever, in a lot of ways
it doesnt matter anymore. She can treat me the same way I treated her, and
Ill feel like shit, of course. Or she can be great to me, ie. show me a good
time, and then Ill feel just as shitty, because of the guilt.
I wish I was really friends with Connie, because it kind of sucks not having
anyone I can really talk to, rather than just make conversation with. Maybe
thats why I bought this book...
I think Ive been spelling her name wrong, well, Im sure of it, so maybe
Ill fix that in the future... Of course, her real name is Cornelia, but I
guess youd call it wrong if I spell it differently than she.
Once again, the question that runs through my mind whenever I write
anything: should I submit it to mist? Most of me says yes, because I think
it is quite good, but there is a part that says no, because if I decide to
submit it to mist, then I am writing this for mist, not for myself, and it
loses all value. I guess the best thing for me to do is leave the question
unresolved, and I know anyways that I cant avoid tailoring this book or
whatever I should call it to be read by an audience, simply because of the
futility of writing it for any other reason. I believe I already said
something along those lines. Strangely, I think the aforementioned,
seemingly innocuous question is very closely linked to my views on
mortality. I believe death is a final end, so this book, and the entire
universe for that matter, become meaningless once I die. I also believe
there is no purpose in life. In a way I guess they are 2 conflicting views
Theres no reason why Im here, and when Im no longer here I wont know
anything about it, meaning suicide has no consequences however, the thing I
fear the most is death. I forget how that ties in with the mist question,
but no matter.
Today is Wed, July 24, 1996. I have been thinking a lot about people and
evolution recently. Here are some things I have come up with:
-Humans are not camouflaged to fit into any surrounding
-Our skin is such that it does little to protect us from the cold, and
it gets damaged by the sun.
-Our senses of smell, sight, and hearing are inadequate for survival.
-We are slow runners, cannot hide, slow swimmers, but have no natural
defences claws, fangs, armored skin, poison, etc...
-sunlight is painful for our eyes.
-Human feet are generally unsuited for walking around unprotected.
-In short, humans are physically inferior to probably every other animal
that has ever existed on this planet. The only thing that keeps us
alive is our intelligence.
Now, heres the thing: Why is there this balance between physical and mental
attributes? It seems as though as man evolved and became more intelligent,
he had less need for certain physical abilities, such as natural camouflage,
or claws, or whatever, so those physical characteristics would gradually
disappear. Among different species, at least, it would seem that physical
inferiority is a sign of mental superiority. This leads me to a dilemma
which I hesitate to put to paper, but I will anyways. First, though, I will
state that I am not racist, or sexist. Now, the dilemma: People with darker
skin, which is more tolerant to sunlight, or with narrower eyes, once again
more tolerant to sunlight, could be thought of, as a race at least, to be
physically superior to a caucasian. Does this mean that caucasians are
mentally superior to other races? I cant stress enough how much I hope the
answer to that question is no. Unfortunately, history seems to back up this
hypothesis. European civilization throughout most of history has been far
more technologically advanced than other cultures. Thats not to say there
arent exceptions to this, such as the ancient egyptians, as one example, but
I think if you look at any time period in the last 2000 years I dont know
that much about ancient history youll find that european civilization was
much more advanced than others. Now does this mean that women, who are
physically weaker and slower than men on average, are more intelligent than
men on average? Once again, I hope the answer is no. If we look at
history this time, though, we find that it is men who made the greatest
number of scientific discoveries, men who produced the greatest works of art,
and men who have been the leaders of nations. Yes, I know there are
exceptions. Now, I think it almost goes without saying that a major reason
for men being, historically, greater contributors to society is the
diminished status of women. In other words, they never had the same
opportunities as men to make these discoveries, create these works of art, or
whatever. I think this is still true, albeit to a lesser extent, today. Why
is it that women have, and have always had, this diminished status? I think
it must be because of their physical inferiority to males. Now, for yet
another interesting question: If the human race can use its intelligence to
rise above all other animals on the food chain, and essentially control all
other animals, despite its unquestionable physical inferiority to most other
species, shouldnt women as a whole be able to use their higher intelligence
to gain a higher status than men, despite their own physical inferiority? I
think they should. However, the fact that they cant would seem to indicate
that women are not more intelligent that men on average, though Im happy
to say that it doesnt prove the opposite to be true, either. Now, my final
question about evolution: Are people that are smaller, weaker, and paler more
intelligent and more evolved than others? Once again, I believe the answer
to be no. Im not really sure how evolution works, but probably it has
something to do with natural selection. Probably, the superior sub-group
of a species does a better job of attracting members of the opposite sex, and
so this group propagates more than others. Over time, this causes the
inferior sub-group to become smaller, as the superiors start to take
over. Then, as the superior sub-group grows larger, it divides again, into
more superior and less superior, and the cycle, which probably takes a
very long time to complete, begins again. Thus it would seem that the more
attractive members of a species are the more evolved, and therefore more
intelligent, because it can be assumed that a species grows more intelligent
as it evolves, though I do not know this for certain. Maybe intelligence as
a function of evolvedness? evolution? has a sine wave pattern, as the
more intelligent a species grows, the less it needs to think, and so it
gradually grows less intelligent, until it finds itself again needing to use
its brain at a higher level. I think if this is true, the pattern would still
have a slight upward slope, due to the fact that in humans, at least, the
graph of overall physicality as a function of evolvedness has a definite
downward slope. I wonder if any of this makes any sense at all. I think
its understandable, though I think its pretty unlikely any of this is right,
seeing as I know nothing about evolution.
Well, thats enough about evolution for now.
Im just going to write down the name of a song here so I dont forget it...
Breakfast at Tiffanys. Its awesome. I think Courtenay will know it.
I still have not decided exactly how to refer to what Im writing right now
it seems a bit pompous to call it a book. I suppose I could call it a
diary, but that sounds too much like a girl thing, and furthermore, I have
decided that this is not a book simply to write down embarrassing dirt in and
pretend I dont want anybody to find it. Calling it a journal or a log makes
it sound like a daily report, and I dont expect this to be daily and it
certainly isnt a report. Oh well, its not terribly important.
I forgot to mention something about all that evoulution stuff a bit earlier
I know absolutely nothing about the subject, so probably all of the stuff I
wrote is wrong. Also, I dont believe that sine-wave stuff to be even faintly
plausable. I wonder why I wrote it...
Just for bearings, today is Thursday, July 25, 1996.
Ive been thinking about poetry recently. I think my best poem is About a
Martyr. This is maybe a bit strange because it was one of the earlier ones
I wrote, and most of those bite. However, I think the later ones I wrote, the
ones that usually rhymed, are not so good either, because they didnt make
you think. I have decided that that should be the aim of my poetry to make
you think. I think writing poetry to elicit right word? an emotional
response is all well and good, but Im not very good at that, and Im not
really interested in it, either. Im not sure, though, if Ill be able to
write a poem of any considerable length that makes you think About a Martyr
is only 4 lines long. I guess that will be my challenge.
Ive been thinking about Audreys poetry, too, and I now have a slightly
lower opinion of it.
Hmm... Im not sure exactly how to put this... Maybe thisll work. I think
the poetry of Audreys that I know maybe shes written more since I last
talked to her is such that pretty much anybody is capable of writing it.
True, she has a huge vocabulary, and uses it well, but if you use a thesaurus
you could pretty much do the same. Im having trouble deciding whether or not
her poetry affects people. It doesnt really affect me, but Im not sure if
thats because I dont understand it, or because its basically empty. I
think the former is definitely true, but I still think the latter is possible.
Also, just because I dont understand it doesnt mean it is good. I mean, I
could easily write a poem that is completely indecipherable, but not
meaningless. Is it good? Im not really sure about that. Anyway, this is
all irrelevant. Im not trying to Audrey-bash, and I think shes a great
poet. I think though, that her poems lack something which no amount of tricky
vocabulary and perfect rhythm can make up for the quintessential kernel of
genius that Audrey possesses, so that when the poem is read, the reader
realizes that he could never have imagined that approach to the theme of the
poem, or whatever. That is what makes the reader think, and maybe gawk in
awe. I think About a Martyr possesses just a tiny bit of that essence, and
that is why I think it is my best poem. But I know Audrey has a lot more
potential than I, and is without question a better poet.
Ive been thinking a bit about potential, too. Does it really matter if you
fulfill it? If you have it, and you know you have it, why bother wasting
your time fulfilling it? I guess this subject is of particular importance to
me, because I have a lot of potential in a lot of things, but rarely do I
achieve anything. Hmm, out of simple arrogance Golding, Im going to think
of all the things I might do really well in, if I tried.
-sports this is a very large one
Hmm, less that I thought I could come up with, but I guess thats a good
thing. I think I would be a very good athlete, if it wasnt for my almost
complete apathy. I also know I could be a very good musician if I practiced,
but thats just the thing: I practice, and I become a great musician. Not the
best, of course, because Im no prodigy, and now look at all the time Ive
wasted practicing. I guess if you have the potential to be the best at
something, its worth fulfilling. Im not sure why, but theres something
about being the best that makes it worthwhile. Maybe its the superhuman
connotations connected with being the fastest man alive, or the best chess
player, or whatever, that command awe and respect. Anyway, it seems to be my
goal in life right now, at least to discover all the areas I have potential
in, and leave it at that. Is this a good goal I chose for myself? Im not
really sure. I guess it makes sense, though, while Im still young, to probe
different areas of interest, and then decide what I want to do when the time
Its now the 1st of August, at some ridiculously early hour 2:30, And I have
not yet fallen asleep. Ive been thinking of words I could form by
rearranging the letters in Cornelia, and I came up with so many so quickly
that I decided to write them down:
-Air clone
-Care lion
-Oil crane
-Once liar
-Rail cone
-Clear ion
-Nail core
-Nice oral
Hmm... I actually just thought of that last one while I was writing the
list, but I think its my favorite...
-Orc Alien one more
-Cain lore yet another
more here:
-real coin
-Nile Orca
-Rice loan
I think this is probably the best name Ive seen for anagrams is that what
theyre called?
Now, my masterpiece in aesthetic words:
No explanation is necessary. I thought of it this last evening.
430 I have decided to start using this book as some sort of budget for my
trip, seeing as I still have a month left, but only 430 DM, in the hopes that
it will help me not run out of money. In the margins, I will write down the
approx. number of DM I have remaining. Perhaps this will help me curb
410 It is now 23:20 of August 1st, and I have a headache, so I will not
write very much. I am done.
No, Im not. I do not like that last entry. It sounds too much like an
entry in a journal or log. I wrote it so I would have a reference of the
time I wrote 410 down, but I realize now that it was a stupid idea to write
in this book without having something useful to say. I hope Im not doing the
same thing right now. I havent decided whether writing about the future or
layout of this book is useful, or worthwhile, or whatever. I think I have
figured out what to call it, though a book always in quotation marks.
Well, its time to stop writing about my book because it really isnt very
400 Jetzt, Ich bin sat. Mein Augen sind ein bichen rt. So, ich werde
auf deutsche schrieben.
Heute ist mein ersten Tag in der Schweiz. Ich bliebe mit eine Mdchen heit
Tanya Vielleicht geschriebt ein anderen weg Heute ist august 4, und es ist
viertel vor drei vor mittag. Ich have viel geglaubt heute und gestern,
und ich habe zwei Gedichte geschriebt. Endlich. Der stadt wo ich bleibe
heit Biel. Morgen ich werde nach Bern fahren. Wenn ich schriebe, mein
Deutsche ist nicht so schlecht, aber wenn ich spreche, mein Deutsche ist sehr
schlecht. Ich wille gut Deutsche lernen.
Jetzt, meine Gedichte.
What I Think of Her
She doesnt know
She doesnt care
and that is how it is
My Half of a Conversation I will never have
Cold and Depressed
Do you really want to know?
Because I think too much.
About the way things are.
Things are all my fault
Ta da. And, believe it or not, these were composed before I got stoned, I
just didnt write them down until now. I dont think Ill try to explain
the poems, because that would be a stupid thing to do. I think the poems are
OK, not my best, but better than most. Anyway, enough about poems.
I am, unfortunately, very tired. I say unfortunately because this is the
first time Ive been stoned in over a month, and Ill probably sleep through
most of it. I think, tonight, I wont do push-ups before I go to bed.
330 Now it is august 5, shortly before midnight. I have composed another
poem. I dont like the sound of that last sentence. It seems to imply that
I sat down and thought: Okay, time to write a poem. True, I have done this
before, but this poem and the previous 2 were composed in my head, and not
really on purpose. It sounds stupid to say they just came to me, and Im not
sure if thats how it happened anyway, so Ill just leave it at that and write
the poem down. It is nameless.
The more I hate you
The more I hate myself
The more I love you
The more I hate myself.
Well, thats it. I suppose it is kind of ambiguous as are the other 2 when
read, but the meaning is clear in my mind. Hmm, more on this topic later, I
just remembered something...
I was watching a chess match today, and I noticed something I thought was
interesting. It was one of those really big chess boards, like they have in
Park Royal, and it was on a main pedestrian street here in Bern Yes, Im in
Bern so there were a fair amount of people watching. Now, the interesting
part. The chess match was between 2 men, and looking around, I counted 34
observers, all but one of whom were also men, and the one woman was very
obviously the girlfriend of one of the male observers, so I dont really
think that counts. And then I got to thinking...
Why is it that both players and all the observers were men? Why is it that
every single world champion has been male? And then, a more personal view:
why do I only know one female chess player Coco Love Alcorn. Now, Im not
trying to say that men are smarter than women because they are better at
chess. Nor, for that matter, am I trying to say that the opposite is true
because women have no interest in an obviously trivial game. Yes, I realize
I am stereotyping here, but I think it can safely be said that there are few
enough exceptions to what I am saying that these stereotypes are basically
true. Anyway, why is it that women have no interest in chess? It is a
genetic difference, or is it caused purely by upbringing? I cant really
support this, but it is my opinion that it is genetic. It just seems to me
that a difference in upbringing cannot explain the almost complete lack of
female interest in the game. Anyway, this doesnt really lead any further, I
just thought it was interesting, so, enough of that...
Now it is time for more important things related to the original topic
before the chess stuff. I have been having some pretty serious
conversations in my head lately, and I thought maybe it would be good to
write them down. Im having trouble deciding exactly what to write down
because the conversations always change slightly, and I think the most I
could hope for is some sort of overview. The next question is how detailed
of an overview I should give I dont really need any kind of overview at
all, but I am constantly thinking that I should submit this to mist, in which
case I should try and make it somewhat comprehensible. I think I have decided
to make it slightly understandable, though why I dont know. I think point
form is good, too.
-I am here in Europe for 2 months, staying with Conny and family,
-I am depressed all the time.
-Conny does not know me very well, but she dislikes me, which is my
-I think, if she got to know me, we could maybe become friends.
-I also think, though, that she is not interested in getting to know me.
-I do not want to be a burden to her.
That was the history here is the dilemma.
-It is stupid for me to come to Europe for 2 months, where I am
depressed all the time, and she doesnt even like me.
-Therefore, I should try to get to know her, as this is my only hope for
becoming friends with her.
-However, as I do not want to be a burden to her, it would make more
sense to leave her alone, and just be depressed.
-I cannot compete with the friends she already has, and she has a lot of
The glimmer of hope:
-If I dont talk to her, bother her, whatever, maybe she will think it
is because I am not interested in her. Thus, her opinion of me would
worsen, even though I am trying to do it for her.
-I have difficulty believing in nobility, ie. keeping your pain to
yourself. At any rate, I think my depression is obvious anyway.
-I have no nobility anyways, as this entire situation is my fault.
Now, here is what I intend to do:
I will ask her if she cares what I think about her. Is she says no, it means
she is not interested in becoming friends with me you care about what your
friends think about you, right? So I will leave her alone, stick to shallow,
meaningless conversation, go home september first, and probably never see or
hear from her again. This is my fault like Ive said before and I will
accept it. It she says yes, and I rather doubt she will, or if she answers
indefinitely, then I believe there is hope. Perhaps then I will get to know
her, and maybe become friends with her.
Well, that is my plan. There are some problems with its execution, though.
Well, there is one problem I could never work up the courage to ask her. I
would wallow in indecisiveness my whole life before I asked her that question.
However, there is also a solution. Its called alcohol.
This is a terrible thing to admit, but I know I have no hope of asking the
question until I get drunk.
That reminds me... I should have mentioned that I finally sort of had one of
the conversations that are always running through my head. I was drunk at the
time, of course. Anyway, I apologized to Conny for being an asshole to her
when she was in Canada, I did again on the the train the next day, too when I
was sober. Of course, an apology can hardly make up for 3.5 months of
treating her like shit, but I think it probably helps a little, because now
she knows that I really am sorry.
Well, its August 7th now, Im on a night train to San Sebastian, and I
suppose I have much to say. Firstly and most importantly, I sort of had that
conversation with Conny. The conversation was actually fairly different that
I imagined it would be, but I think it was also much better.
I will begin by saying that it happened this morning, and I actually was not
drunk at the time. Needless to say, this made it much, much harder, but I
think also much more meaningful to her, presuming it meant anything to her at
all, and it is possible that it didnt. Anyway, I found Iwas speaking very,
very slowly, both for lack of words and loss of voice. Hmm... Im going to
pause here to rant about something else...
I think this book is becoming far different than what it began as.
Unfortunately, I think its quality is deteriorating. I think this is partly
due to the fact that I am right now very sure that this will be submitted to
mist, in its entirety, and partly due to unknown reasons. I think this book
is becoming more involved in the mundane, material world, and less involved
with what is happening in my own mind, which is what I feel it should be
about. Take the entry Im writing right now, for example. It is all about
what I did today. Sure, I did some very important stuff today important to
me, that is, but I already know what happened, so the only reason Im
writing it down is for mist members to read, and that is crap. I think in
future I will try to stick to concepts I am trying to understand,
philosophical questions, whatever.
Now I am deciding whether or not to finish summing up our conversation... I
think not, the mist members will have to come up with their own conclusion.
I think I will note that there was a pause of about 5 minutes before I began
writing the present sentence, as I was trying to tink of what has been on my
mind lately. So maybe this will seem slightly ironic...
I have been thinking about the effects of alcohol and drugs on your mind. I
dont mean the effects while youre using them those are clear enough or
how it affects you the next day, I mean the gradual effects over a long
period of time. I suppose there have been studies done on this sort of thing,
but I dont currently have access to anything of that sort, and anyways it
would be interesting to see if Im right at all.
I suppose I am not a model subject, as I am by no means an alcoholic or a
junkie however, not being able to conduct a survey, I am the only test
subject. Hmm, perhaps I should make it clear that Im not interested in how
they affect the brain in terms of addiction, only how they affect memory,
intelligence, and whatnot.
One thing that I think may be the effect of drug abuse incl. alcohol is a
worsening of long-term memory. It seems to me that I have more trouble now
recalling rarely thought of names, words, facts, or whatever. I think I
should add that Im not positive my LTM is getting worse, and if it is, it is
not necessarily due to drug abuse. However, I believe it is a possibility.
Here is the more important question: Do drugs affect intelligence? All I can
say for sure is that drugs do kill brain cells. I do not know specifically
which brain cells have anything to do with intelligence, nor do I know which
brain cells are killed when certain drugs are taken. Perhaps nobody knows
these things. Anyway, it is my belief that alcohol and pot do not lower
intelligence. I do not know about harder drugs, but I suppose they probably
do. I think that acid almost definitely does. Hmm... A note. I believe
pot would lower your intelligence if you smoked it all the time, meaning
probably every day, over a long period of time months, years. As for
alcohol, its a tough question. You see bums walking around the street all
the time downtown that have obviously drank a lot of alcohol in their life,
and are probably not very intelligent. However, whos to say that their
situation was caused by alcohol? Im not trying to say alcohol is okay I
think its a terrible drug, due to its addictivity, liver damaging capacity,
and its ability to make me throw up and feel like shit the next morning.
Sorry, that was stupid humour. Anyway, it is my guess and only a guess
that most of the bums you see on the street were not in a particularly good
situation to begin with maybe theyve been on the street their whole lives,
and maybe theyve done things much more unhealthy than drinking alcohol ie.
heroin. I also remember reading somewhere I think it was the Sun that a
large percentage of famous artists Im not sure if it was writers, painters,
sculptors, or maybe a mix of everything suffered from alcoholism. I wish I
could remember the exact percentage, and who it was for, but I think my LTM
is slipping...
Today is the 10th of August. I am writing with a borrowed pen, which pisses
me off theres nothing like big red and it also happens to be my fathers
birthday. I will also note, for posterity, that I am slightly drunk while
writing this, so maybe the reader, like the person I was talking to tonight,
will not take me completely seriously.
Nothing to say, but what a day hows your boy been? I meant that to be my
opening sentence, but I forgot. Anyway, your boy has not been well. Conny
has said that we will not become friends, in what can only be all honesty.
Yes, this does come as a serious blow, but I, Mr. Positive, only think well,
at least shes being honest. It has an almost calming effect: Now, I know
the truth. True, the truth is something I have difficulty accepting, but I
like to think of myself as someone who accepts things as they are, even if
they are not what Id like them to be.
Now, the question running through my mind is what to do now? I still have
over 3 weeks before I return to Canada in my mind, they are now marked as 3
wasted weeks. I am not sure if those 3 weeks are more or less of a waste of
time that the 5 Ive already spent. I have to wonder if she is interested in
what I have to say. Usually, I talk to her about things that are stupid, but
she never talks to me, so maybe I am just filling the silence. I think that
is a stupid thing to do. I have believed for a while now that silence is
better than brainless small talk, and yet still I persist, even though I am
not particularly good at brainless small talk. I honestly have to wonder
though. She did say that she didnt think we would become friends, but she
did go to the bar with me, and she has told me some things which I think
maybe she wouldnt have told me before, so maybe her opinion of me has
improved slightly. Maybe that happens when you see someone cry.
Hello again. Today it is really the 10th of August I received some false
information yesterday and it also happens to be my fathers birthday.
Although I am no longer using a borrowed pen I am writing without an adequate
source of light and without an adequate writing surface, so I will not write
for long. Perhaps I will continue tomorrow morning. I will leave the reader
with a taste of what is to come, and a reminder to myself of what to write
about. I have been thinking about truth.
I write on the morning of the 12th of August. Yesterday, I have composed a
poem. I have not forgotten about truth, but first, the poem. It too is
I would have liked it
if we could have become
I will never see
or hear from you
I am sorry.
I intend to write this poem in her yearbook shortly before I leave.
Now, for a bit about truth. I think the truth is something very, very
powerful. The majority of people realize this, either consciously or
subconsciously, and so they protect themselves from it. Now, its hard for me
to establish what I am talking about here. If you are talking to someone, and
you tell them what kind of music you like, or your favorite actor, that is
truth. However, that is truth about mundane, superficial things. They do
not matter. I believe that the only things that do matter in this world are
people and life. It is the truth about these things that is very powerful.
I am having trouble getting my ideas across, so I will use some examples.
Why do people believe in God? Because they do not want to accept the truth,
that life is meaningless. Another example is the poem I just wrote. I
hesitate to use it as an example because that would involve explaining it. I
will just say that it is a good example of what Im trying to say.
Some people must be protected from the truth. I do not tell my parents that
I have done drugs because they would freak out. Instead, I lie to them well,
not really, theyve actually never asked... This is just one example out of
millions where people lie to each other because they know the person they lie
to does not want to know the truth.
I believe there are some people that can handle the truth, whatever it may be.
With these people, one must always be honest. To lie to them is an insult. I
believe that I am one of those people.
Only half an hour later, but I have composed another poem, similar to the
last. Perhaps it will find its way into someones yearbook next June...
This may be
the last time
that I say anything to you
or see your face
I will tell you
the truth.
Fuck you
for treating me like shit
for all these years
When the only thing I did to you
was loved you.
And I still do.
Of course, whos to say that this will be how I feel in almost a years time?
I think, though, that it will.
Audrey once asked me if I would trade sanity for genius. I thought about it a
bit, and answered that I probably would. I think I know now what she must
have known then you have no choice. Im not saying that Im some kind of
prodigy or anything, its just that Ive learned a great deal about people
and life this summer, and with this knowledge I am not entirely as sane as I
was before.
Of course, what is sanity? Im not completely sure. Is it the ability to
act like the people around you? Is it the ability to act in a rational manner?
Maybe both? Neither? I think maybe the rational manner definition is a good
one. But then, what is acting in a rational manner? Im beginning to think
that I act in a more rational manner now than before. Perhaps sanity is
acting how people expect you to act by people I mean society. I think if
this is the case then sanity is a very irrational thing.
I think that life is a paradox it has no meaning, no purpose and yet, it
is not possible to waste even a single second of it. There is another
paradox every persons life is worth the same, but your own life is worth
more than all those other lives combined. This last one is maybe more
interesting Im going crazy with the semis today, eh? If I were going to
die, but to prevent my death I could choose to have the rest of the worlds
population die instead, I would. Seems terribly selfish, doesnt it? I have
decided that it is not selfish, but I wont bother to explain why. Hopefully,
the reader will understand.
I mentioned before that I am no prodigy. I believe myself to be quite
intelligent, but I know there are many, many people far more intelligent than
myself. Hmm... actually, I dont know that, but I assume it to be true. In
reality, I only know a handful of people I consider smarter than myself.
Anyway, enough of my arrogance Why is it that writing things I believe to
be true is arrogance? I think arrogance is believing you are better than you
are of course, I recognize the possibility that I fall into the latter
category, in which case go ahead and call me an arrogant bastard Where was I?
Oh yeah, my only regret is that I am not more intelligent, that I am not a
prodigy. I think this is something I regret very, very much.
I mentioned before that the probability of submitting this to mist has become
very, very high. I hesitate to write what I am about to write, but it has
been bugging me for a while, so I might as well put it down. Maybe Ill
regret this later... This is a disclaimer to all people who may read this
book. The material in this book is my opinion at the time I wrote it, and
nothing more. I do not feel that I need to defend these opinions, so if the
reader disagrees with anything here, and probably he will, I dont really give
a damn. Thank you. My disclaimer is now finished.
I have said before that my thoughts consist of conversations and words to
songs. I suppose, then, that it is occasionally appropriate to write down
the words to the songs that are running through my head, seeing as I write
down the conversations sort of.
WTS: Do you want to showtell? me
Just how much you love me
Or, are you saying
You would rather be alone tonight?
Keep in mind that the words to a song as they run through my head are not
necessarily the same as the words the composer wrote.
I am currently on a night train to probably the greatest city in the world:
Paris. It is interesting because I realize now how little this matters. I
have been thinking a lot about how much things matter, and I have come up
with an order of priority.
1. Nothing. This is perhaps the most important thing a person can know.
Nothing matters. Nothing in the entire universe. The rest of the list does
not matter. However, I think maybe the duration of your life is a bit more
worthwhile if you consider the rest of the list, so here it is.
2. Yourself. You matter more than anybody, any thing. Remember this, and
try to keep alive as long as possible.
3. Other people. Other people matter a lot. They come second only to
4. Nature. From here it becomes a little more difficult to decide which
goes where, but I think this is where nature belongs. By nature I mean all
living organisms not already mentioned, and all things in this universe not
created by man, or other similar beings, I suppose.
5. Knowledge. This means knowledge that the human race possesses as a whole
ie. science. Your own knowledge is, of course, much more important it goes
under 2.
6. Achievements. Whether they are your own achievements or those of the
human race is not important. Either way, achievements do not matter much.
7. Personal wealth and possessions. These matter the least of all. Funny
then that people value them so much.
I was thinking about where to put survival of the human race. I think it
sort of goes between 3 4. I think the human race is not as important as the
individual people you know, but it is more important than nature.
Hmm... Maybe 4 and 5 should be switched. Probably.
I think ones own physical appearance is an interesting case. As a mundane
aspect of life, it should be grouped with 7. However, I think how someone
looks is usually a very good reflection of how he is, which would mean it
goes under 2. I think I would place it somewhere after 3, because I believe
other people to be more important than phys. appearance, but not nature.
I think I have a revised list.
1. Nothing
2. Yourself
3. Other People
4. The Human Race in general
5. Knowledge in general
6. Physical Appearances
7. Nature
8. Achievements
9. Individual Wealth and Possessions.
Hmm... I realize I left art off this list. Thats okay, though, because I
have no idea where to put is. Maybe it changes depending on the art.
I have been thinking about enjoyment of life. I suppose it is very important,
and yet, I often try not to enjoy it. I do not know what the reason for this
is. I suspect, though, that I do not enjoy a lot of things that most people
find enjoyable. Hmm... a thought. I enjoy thinking, but thinking leads me
to depression. Therefore, I enjoy depression. This seems unlikely, as
depression is a bit of a downer yes, I know, stupid joke but maybe its
true. Of course, I also enjoy other things, such as contests of wit,
intellect, and/or will. Hmm... another thought. Most of the tests of will I
have undertaken have been rather painful, and yet I did them anyways. My most
recent one I quite definitely enjoyed. Maybe I enjoy pain, as well. I think I
have figured out the definition for what I enjoy. I enjoy proving my humanity.
By humanity I do not only mean mercy, human decency, and other concepts
conjured by the phrase Oh! Have some humanity! Maybe you can picture the
pale-faced maiden, pleading to two enraged men wielding bar-stools, begging
them to stop the violence, too. Anyway, by humanity I mean everything that
is exclusively human. Yes, mercy falls under this category, but so do things
such as revenge, torture, mass destruction, etc... Of course, I am not
particularly interested in those last 3 examples maybe revenge, on occasion,
but I think Ive said enough. Certainly depression and tests of will would
fall under humanity. So would art another thing I enjoy.
Hmm... Today I am in Paris. I have written a poem about this city.
Paris Is
Paris is
Dog shit,
Lousy weather,
The smell of urine
And that is what makes it
a beautiful city.
There have been 2 concepts Ive been contemplating selfishness and ambition.
I believe everything a person does is selfish. Hmm... well, Im not
completely sure. Actually, I guess there are lots of things people do that
is unselfish. I believe that most things a person does is selfish. There,
much better. I think, though, that I have not thought about selfishness
enough to write about it right now. I have very little to say about ambition.
Only that I think it is a terrible thing not to be ambitious, to want to become
greater than you are. I pity those without ambition.
I was thinking a bit about what I wrote earlier that I would cause the
extinction of the human race merely to postpone my own death. At first I
thought it was a good thing that my views are probably not shared by very
many, as dying for the benefit of others is often a very good thing in terms
of advancing the human race. However, something else occurred to me today. If
no one was willing to risk their own life, doesnt that mean that there would
be no wars? I think it is a possibility that if my view were held by all
people, it would do more to further the human race that the views commonly
held today. I will restate that I believe this only to be a possibility, it is
not something I believe to be true.
Should I give this book a title? I think if I give it a title, it will
change the nature of the book, though Im not sure in what way. I suppose
if I think of a really perfect title I will use it, but I will not settle for
anything less. I dont have anything against leaving it nameless.
Today I sent E-mail to Cthulu. Yes, I am aware that I am entering the mundane
world here, but I think I will include this anyway. I find this interesting
because it is the first contact, albeit one-way, that I have had with the
modemming world in probably over 2 months. I find it interesting that I had
completely lost interest in mist, and the modeming scene entirely, for a
while, but now I cant wait to submit my work. It is probably because I
believe the material contained within this book to be the best I have ever
I just thought of an interesting paradox I know now that I should never have
came to Europe, but gaining this knowledge makes it worthwhile. Restated: It
is good that I came here because I learnt that it is bad that I came here.
If I type this book on to computer, will it lose some of its meaning? I
believe this to be an interesting quiestion The words and ideas will be
exactly the same, but the asthetic qualities, such as the colour of my pen,
the shape of the pages, the appearance of my handwriting, and all the words
and letters I have crossed out, will be lost. The question is whether or not
the aesthetic qualities of literature matter. If you look at other forms of
art, like painting, acting, dancing, you notice a difference in the latter
3 forms, the meaning is conveyed through how it appeals to the senses. The
asthetic qualities of literature are different. They are things like the
rhythm, the emphasis, alliteration, etc. Basically, how the text flows. I
think, though, that the physical appearance of literature is also important.
I suppose it is the same as looking at a photograph of a painting, a
videotape of a play or ballet, or listening to a tape of music it has less
meaning than the original.
Hmm... that last sentence has a lot of gravity: to me, at least. Of course
it would be considered selling out if I were to allow this book to be
edited in such a way that is appropriate for mass market consumption. In my
mind, it is selling out to edit this book in any way. To take things one
step further, it is selling out to show this book in anything but its
original form. I now have an interesting dilemma I would like to submit
this book to mist, I even considered trying to get it published, presuming it
became long enough, but quickly dismissed the idea. but I also want this to
be the best piece of work I can make it. By submitting it, it becomes worse.
What to do? I could mention the existence of this book, and then bring it to
meets, to be looked at in person, but then it would hardly have the same
audience, not like mist packs have a big audience, but this would be just
pathetic... and a lot of my handwriting would be incomprehensible to the
reader, and they probably wouldnt have time to read the whole thing. I
wonder if there were great artists in all mediums who have known that work
must never be known, and so they have died, unknown to the world, their only
consolation being that their work was better because of it. I am now much less
sure about submitting this book to mist than I was even a half hour ago.
I have come to a frightening realization this book cannot be submitted to
mist. I understand more about art now when you look at a painting, you can
never understand it, the same is true of art in any medium. The only person
who understands it is its creator. Art is not meant to be shown to an
audience. With this realization, I think perhaps I should quit mist, as
anything submitted to it immediately fails to be art. Much has become clear
now. There is still one question, though. What should I do with this book
once it is finished? I could destroy it, but I think that that is a stupid
thing to do. I am not sure why, but I do not want to destroy it. I could
entrust it to the executor of my will to be revealed upon my death, but that
would be the same as revealing it while I am still living, because throughout
my life I would have the knowledge that it would be seen, and so it would fail
to be art. I think what I should do is preserve it somehow, and put it
somewhere where it will never be found. This way it still exists, it is
still art, and it will always be this way. This is a scary realization Did
great artists such as Van Gogh, Shakespeare, etc, not realize this? That
their art has no meaning? It cannot even be called art. Is it possible that
these people were rich on talent, but had less genius than I have?
Another question: Does the material in this book concerning its perusal by
an audience, such as the disclaimer a few pages back, cause it not to be art?
I think not. They are part of this book, and like the rest of this book
they will never be read, and so it remains to be art. Second Question:
Conny, as well as some strangers on the train, for instance have seen me
write in this book, and are aware of its existence. They dont know what it
is, but they have seen it. Does this mean that it is no longer art? I am
less sure about the answer to this one. I hope that because they do not
realize that it is art, it is still art. Another interesting paradox: if they
realized it was art, then it would not be art. I think this was a good answer
to question number two. From now on I will be more careful where and when I
write in here. There is one other question: What if someone were to find this
book, read it, and realize it is art, but they did this without my finding
out? Would it still be art? Yes, because I am the only person who understands
this book, and so if I still believe it to be art, then it still is.
However, what if this person were to then tell me that they found it, and that
it is a piece of art? I think then, it would not be art. I thought maybe I
could kill that person, but it wouldnt matter. I would live with the
knowledge that this book had been discovered and realized, and that it is
therefore no longer art. I suppose now would be an appropriate time for
another note to the reader: If you are reading this, and you are not me,
Dont Tell Me That You Read It! I hesitate now, because now it occurs to me
that if I have the knowledge that if this book were read that I would not
know about it, then maybe it fails to be art. This next answer I am very
unsure about. I think what I said was correct however, I am confident
enough that it wont be found and read that I will leave the above note to the
reader as is, confident that there will be no reader as I already said.
I think I have figured out what to do with this book once it is finished. I
will place it in a watertight container or multiple containers, inside of
each other, encase the container in concrete, and throw the whole thing into
the ocean, as far from land as I can get it. I think then it would be
preserved for a very long time, probably hundreds of years, if not more,
intact. The only thing better than that that comes to mind would be shooting
it into space, in some sort of appropriate container, but that would probably
be significantly harder to accomplish. Now I am curious, though. A few
minutes ago I liked the idea of there being a very, very slight chance that
it be found, sometime in the distant future. Now I must wonder if I live
with the knowledge that there is a chance of it being found, is it no longer
art? This would seem to be the case. Of course, the only way to be 100
positive of it not being found is to destroy it. I have learned something
else, now. Because I must destroy this book for it to be art, it is a
waste to create it. No, wait, it is not a waste, because it is art. It is
worth creating art only to destroy it, without a single other person ever
finding out about it. Why? I dont know. Maybe I am the only real artist to
ever live, though probably others have come to the same conclusions as I have
in the last 3 pages. Of course, I could never and will never know about them,
but I respect them for that . I think then, that I will burn this book when
it is completed.
Hmm... this changes the way I look at paintings, read poetry, etc... Wait,
maybe it doesnt. Can something that is not art still have meaning? For
instance, do Shakespeares plays mean anything? Sure, they are not art, but
maybe they still have meaning. I think probably they do not have meaning,
only asthetic beauty. So I suppose this does change the way I look at art
I will refer to what is believed to be art, but of course is not, as art
always in quotes. Before I had looked for the meaning in art the artists
genius. Asthetic qualities were second in importance. However, because it has
no meaning, asthetic beauty is the only thing that matters, which is funny
because I dont really think asthetic bearty matters at all - Ive stated
before my opinions on talent. Yes, it really is a superficial world we live
in. Its funny, because I always thought it dumb of Conny to judge a painting
only by how it looks - I always tried to look for the motivation behind a
painting, but rarely found one - of course, that is not surprising. but now
I realize that really all you can do is look at how appealing it is. And I
suppose when I read literature now I will look for how skillfully the author
manipulates the English language.
There is something very important to say here. Although I have learned a
great deal tonight, in some ways I have learned nothing. In English class
next year, when we are reading a novel, or poetry, I must still look for the
meaning behind it. It is almost unfortunate to know this much about art -
Maybe this book, which I did not think could get published, would now win a
Nobel Prize for literature. However, it is so important that nobody has even
the slightest clue of this knowlege I possess that probably I can never use
this knowledge. Maybe I could show these last few pages to my English teacher,
and before I know it this book is my doctorate thesis. This is the price I
must pay for being a true artist. I believe the knowledge of what I am to be
reward enough. If I could gain anything on a mundane level from this
knowledge, then it would not be art. Perhaps thats the best way of summing
up what art is something from which you seem to gain nothing, but you really
gain the only thing that matters. This is interesting. I concede that this
book, which is real art, still means nothing because I am mortal. No. 1 on
the list I made a while ago. However, looking at the rest of the list, I
find that real art has taught me a great deal about 2 3, which are above
the mundane level, but nothing about the rest of the list, which is mundane.
I think I can divide the list into 3 levels, which I will now explain.
Ultimate Level - No explanation necesssary
Existential Level - Things that matter as long as you are existing
Mundane Level - Things that do not matter.
Ultimate Level 1. Nothing
Existential Level 2. Yourself
3. Other People
Mundane Level 4. Human Race
5. Knowledge Science
6. Physical Appearance
7. Nature
8. Achievements
9. Wealth Possession
The last 6 pages have been the most important discovery of my life.
I have to go away
I have to go away
I have to go away
I have discovered true Genius. It is a scary realization. An artist, he
mysteriously disappears while on a canoeing trip. He is never seen again.
Perhaps, there was an accident, and he died. But he was an expert canoeist
canoeer?, and now I know the truth. His name was Tom Thomson. He has
fulfilled what I wrote about in the Blank Page.
It feels good to be able to write about the Blank Page, now that I know it
will never be read. Really, it was stupid to include the blank page. I should
have left no sign at all that I intend to fake my death. One thing that I
realized yesterday was the name I must assume: Tom Thomson. I can picture
him, sitting alone around a small campfire somewhere is the middle of
Canadas vast wilderness, hundreds of miles from civilization. He paints
there, and probably writes too it is real art. Of course, he is certainly
dead by now.
I am having difficulty thinking clearly. I cannot believe these things I
write, and yet, I know they must be true. I thought of something earlier
today Society saves the common man, and destroys the uncommon man.
I do not know if what I am writing here is correct, or if it is crap. If it
is crap, then I have invented the perfect excuse to not show it to anybody
It is genius and must be unread to remain that way. I think I do not believe
what I have written. It is scary, but I want to be insane. I want to have
perfect rationalization, without any doubt, and I want to be able to do what
I find rational. That is insanity, and genius. Now, I am confused, unsure,
hesitant, and I believe I am above myself. Why is there a voice inside my
head telling me that I must be frugal, that I must dwell on my own thoughts,
that I must isolate myself? I think maybe the voice is right, but I have not
yet reached the point of insanity where I can see the rationalization behind
it. I have to wonder if I am still catering my writing to an audience. I
have to wonder if I do not mean what I say, and I am writing shit. I think
my confusion is made worse by my present situation I have no purpose here, I
can do whatever I want, go anywhere and yet, there is nothing I want to do,
nowhere I want to go. That is not entirely true I want to be friends with
Connie, but like I have said before, this will not happen. And so, I am
Why do I have so much trouble fitting in with other people? I find I can
often understand them, sometimes it is even easy to tell what they really
think, how they really are and yet again, I cannot be like them. Maybe I
am caught between two extremes: Normal, and genius. I am not normal, and can
never be normal, but I do not have the focus, the ability to see things on a
different level, that a genius has.
Once again, I wonder if I should submit this to mist. I still believe some of
my previous arguments that only the creator can understand his art, and that
art is not meant for an audience but the part of me that is normal, and not
genius, yearns for recognition, achievement. Right now, I exist both on the
mundane and the existential level. A true genius lives only on the existential
level, until they ascend to the ultimate level, where they destroy themselves.
I wish I could understand this final step, but it is not within my grasp. I
suppose, once I understand that final step, I too will destroy myself. It is
funny that if this happened, people would mourn my death. I suppose it is a
sad thing, but really, what choice did the destroyed have? I now know that I
will not mourn Audreys death, if she does reach the ultimate level, because
even though I cannot comprehend what she thinks, I know that she sees only
the truth. That sounds corny so Ill try to rephrase it: The decisions she
makes, no matter how wrong they appear, are always right.
I think my tone in that last paragraph was much too... hmm... prophetic, maybe is that even a
word? Like, something Mr Miyagi would say, or something. Too wise sounding, without the
wisdom to back it up. Of course, maybe it is true, but I think first I have to believe it to be true.
That is one thing that Ive definitely learned recently what you believe is
more important than what is real, or what other people believe, or whatever.
Of course, what is real? But Ill get to that later. I wish I believed in
myself more. I wish I could go up to someone and say exactly what I wanted,
oblivious of the repercussions. I think the best word to describe it is
fatalistic. I get very fatalistic when drunk, and Ive become very
fatalistic with Conny, I think because I now understand that no matter what I
say to her, it wont affect her. In a way, thats good. I can practice
saying what I believe its harder than it sounds and if I screw up, it
doesnt matter. Unfortunately, it doesnt matter when I dont screw up,
Oh yeah, so what is real? I think that changes depending on your
intelligence. People living on the mundane level accept everything as it is
everything is real, everything is how it appears. And then theres people who
understand more about what reality is. Reality to them is the collective
perception of reality by all people. 1984 is a good example of this. And
then, I think, comes solipsism the belief that reality is how you perceive
it - Reality exists only in your mind. These last 2 examples are on the
existential level. Perhaps, when one reaches the ultimate level, one discovers
that reality is nothing. Nothing is real, nothing exists. I am not sure,
though, because this is a view far beyond my comprehension.
I have figured out what to do about the mist question. I think what I said
before, that for this book to be art it must never be seen and must
ultimately be destroyed, is true. However, I do not yet believe these words.
When this book is finished, then I will know what to do. Either I will
believe in my previous words, and show the book to no one, because it is
better or I will still doubt the truth if it is the truth and submit it to
mist. Right now I would do the latter. I think maybe the book has improved
recently, because it now includes things which I would not have written had I
thought it would be read. True, if I do submit this, I will wish I hadnt
written these things, but of course I will include everything anyway. I
think I regret some of the things I have written recently, as a lot of it is
crap. I say this, but I accept it. Right now, a part of me is crap. It is
interesting, because if I get to the stage where I no longer believe in crap,
then this book will be destroyed, and no one will know of the crap I wrote
but if I do not, then the crap will be read. I suppose this is just.
I believe I have discovered yet another thing about human nature. I think it
is the quest for scientific knowledge that keeps man from going insane. Today
I was playing with Lego and, granted, its not exactly atomic theory, but it
was technic lego, so you have to use your brain a fair amount to figure out
how to build something. Anyway, I realized that when Im thinking, how does
this work? or whatever, that I no longer ponder my existence. Anyway, what
does this signify? I think it further shows that their are two distince types
of thinking scientific and artistic left-brained and right-brained Im not
sure which is which. I think both types of thinking define what makes us
human, and I think both types are equally important, but I also think that the
two are opposed to each other. Science seems to further the continued
existence of man, whereas the type of thinking Ive been doing lately, which
Im not really sure is artistic, seems to lead to ultimate destruction. Im
not sure if what I write is true to that extent, but I think its clear that
art has no practical purpose. Now Im thinking about the list again. It
seems like science has everything to do with the mundane level, and art has
everything to do with the existential level. Note that the existential level
is just a name I gave it because it seemed appropriate. I do not know very
much about existentialism.
Hmm... time for a new paragraph, same theme, though. When I say art has no
practical purpose, I mean it is not any type of tool. You cant use it to
predict the weather, or cut the grass, or whatever. What it can do is make
you think. I think it is clear that too much thinking is a bad thing.
Imagine if everyone were to constantly be questioning their existence their
purpose in life, and whatever else. Like I said above, it would lead to the
destruction of the human race. So why do I think about these things? I
think I have realized the answer. Thinking about things on the existential
level does nothing for the human race, but everything for yourself. I guess it
could then be called a very selfish thing to do. I consider myself a better
person having realized the things written about in this book. Whether or not
they are true is of little importance more important is whether I believe them
to be true. Unfortunately, as I said before, I do not yet believe everything I
have written.
Now, a bit about solipsism. I wish I could be a solipsist. I wish I could
look around, and firmly believe that everything was only in my head, and did
not really exist. That other people were a creation of my mind, and nothing
more. I understand solipsism I think the best thing about it is that it is
impossible to disprove, and it may well be true, that I am the only one, and
the universe exists only in my mind. Like I said already, though, I do not
yet believe this. Maybe one day...
Solipsism leads you to questions, though. If everything is in my mind, then
what am I? Am I a physical entity, or does nothing physical exist? Maybe my
life is like a dream, and Ill wake up from it. Hmm... I think this could
be a very good argument for solipsism. When you dream, you believe it to be
real. You do not know it is a dream. Everything that you dream exists only
in your head. I have even dreamt that Ive fallen asleep, and dreamt. Then
Ive woken up, thought Oh, that was just a dream, and now Im awake. Of
course, the me that is writing in a book right now was still asleep.
Theres more about dreams, too, sometimes they seem to last a very long time.
True, Ive never had dreams that have spanned 17 years, but I dont think its
impossible. Maybe its happening right now.
I think this is the best argument for the afterlife. Life is a dream, and
then youll wake up, do something for a day however long that happens to be
and then at night youll go back to sleep, and have another dream which
would be another life, maybe in a very different universe.
I think I understand now what happens when a solipsist reaches the ultimate
level. To them, life would be exactly the same as a dream. I do not believe
this, I still believe in physical things. Its interesting, maybe dreams are
trying to tell us that there are no physical things, that it is all in your
mind. Anyway, when a solipsist reaches the ultimate level, He is then sure
that he is in a dream, so he wakes himself up. Of course, to an observer, he
kills himself. To the solipsist, though, it is much different. Either he
ceases to live, and that is it No more thoughts, no more universe, no nothing.
If this is the case, then it doesnt matter to the solipsist, because dead
people cannot regret the life they lost. The other thing that could happen
is he could be right his life was only a dream, and now he is awake. Maybe
he is something much, much more powerful. Maybe he is a god. Of course,
maybe in the world he now belongs to this doesnt mean a whole lot. I find
this most recent stuff about solipsism interesting because if it true, then I
am writing this only for myself, because no one else exists. If this is the
case, then maybe I am dreaming, and these words are my subconscious, telling
me what to do. Now I realize something else. This stuff on solipsism ties in
with everything. I said a few days ago that art was meant only for its
creator, and now I find that if solipsism is true, what Im writing can only
be for me.
I have also said that art exists on the existential level. So does solipsism.
Someone who only cares about 2 on the list, which is on the existential level,
is a solipsist. Maybe art is what tells us how we really are. Maybe art is how
our real selves communicate with our physical bodies, which may or may not
be on the planet Earth, in the universe as we know it. I can see how number 3
ties into this as well. Other people exist only in your mind. The things they
say would also be subconscious messages to yourself. That is why other people
are so important - you will learn a lot about yourself by what they say. What
about the rest of the list? If the mundane aspects also exist only in my mind,
then they too could be important. It is scary, but maybe all these things
teach you something. Maybe I am a baby in a womb, and this dream is how my
species prepares its children for life. Everything is in my mind, and the
knowledge I gain about myself through this dream is what I will need when I am
born. I picture entities floating through space, vast, powerful bodies. Of
course, what I really am is undoubtedly far beyond my comprehension. I think,
maybe, I have taken another step. I still believe in the actual existence of
the universe, but I am less sure now. I am also less sure if there is any
reason for anyone else to read the book. Undoubtedly I am writing it for
myself, and I am not even positive of other peoples existence. I think this
is a very good thing, my growing unsureness about the way things are.
Now, I understand more than I believe. I think it is important not to let
what I understand dictate my actions, until I believe that these are the
right actions. Maybe I have had a glimpse of reality, but I still cling to
this dream, if that is how it is.
I have been thinking about other peoples art. Before I thought that is
was not art but now, I think maybe it is. Other peoples art is my own art.
It exists in my mind, and that is all I can be sure of. Because I, meaning
my physical body, did not create it, it was created by my subconscious to
teach me something. Therefore, it is art because it was created by me and I am
the only one who will ever see it. I cannot yet understand it because I do not
yet understand my subconscious. I am thinking I should submit this to mist to
see what people say. Probably, I could learn a lot from that. It is
interesting Recently I have been able to see meaning in things that I did not
understand before. In nature, in the way people act, in art, in everything.
True, what I understand is only very, very small compared to what I dont
understand, but I think I am learning.
If I believed these things I write, I would be crazy. I know that I would
prefer it that way, but I cant believe these things. I dont know if it is
the truth, and I just cannot bring myself to accept it, or if I really do not
believe these things. Truth is irrelevant. There is no definite truth here.
If I believe these things to be true, then they are. If I dont believe them,
then they are false. This I already knew. The question is whether or not I
will one day believe these things, or if I will stay this way. I find it
curious that I can write these things, but not believe them. I hope that the
answer to the above question is that the more I learn, the more I understand,
until I believe these things. It seems strange, though, that something like
this would come in small steps. It seems like you should know it all your
life, or you should live your life, and never have the faintest notion of it.
Here is an interesting thought: I have thought long and hard, trying to think
of some instance that could disprove that what we are living in is real, and
prove that it is a dream. I have come up with nothing. However, it has made
me consider some things...
What is the past? Much like the what is real question, the answer depends on
your intelligence. On the mundane level, the past is what has already happened,
and thats it. On a higher level, the past is what you currently believe has
already happened. Much like reality itself, there is no way to prove that the
past ever happened, or that there is such a thing as time. For instance, I
remember getting up this morning, but maybe thats all it is: a memory. Whos
to say that I actually got up this morning, or that this morning ever occurred?
For that matter, whos to say that I have been in this life for more than a
split second in the present. I can feel time passing, but once it has past, I
can no longer be sure that it occurred. Maybe the memories I have of what has
already happened are not real. Hmm... I figured out the best way to explain
this. Maybe my brain is looking at a wide assortment of postcards from all
sorts of different universes, flipping through them very quickly. Each
postcard, though, contains the memories of an entire lifetime, so that I can
experience a life, for instance, the one I have been having for supposedly
17 years, in a split second. The only flaw to this theory is that I should
logically remember the previous postcards as well, but it is possible that
this is the first one, and that I am only a fraction of a second old.
Oh yeah... anyway, even if I have been alive on this planet for all these years,
whos to say what really happened? I think everyone can probably think of a
case where theyve remembered an event from the past happening in a particular
way, and then theyve found out later that it actually happened a different way.
Yeah, so, what Im getting at is... its possible that things have happened in
the past that would disprove reality, but now I remember them differently, or
dont remember them at all. I have no way of being sure.
As I am writing, and as I have been writing for the last few pages, I am
wishing and have been wishing that my surroundings will melt away, and a
voice will say something like, You have finished your first lesson, or,
there is nothing more to learn from this world, and then I will discover my
true nature, and begin my real life.
It is funny, the reason I wrote that last paragraph was because maybe I needed
to say it would happen for it to happen. Im still here, though, and nothings
changed, so I guess I can still learn more from this world.
I have been writing a lot about things that could be perceived as the afterlife
lately. I do not believe in the human notion of God. I think much of what I
have said is possible that I am a baby in the womb, still unborn duh....
I am sure, though, that if there is a higher power, we humans would not know
about it.
I now realize how much I have been lying to myself. I now realize my own
arrogance my false assumptions of other people. Maybe some of the things I
have written here are true, but that is not important. I have brought my
depression upon myself not just by my actions in Canada, but here, too. I
have not even tried to enjoy myself. Of course Connys friends do not like
me I gave them no choice. I do not know the reasons behind what I have done.
Sure, I thought I know exactly why I did something, but now I know I had been
lying to myself, lying to everyone. I believed I could see what everyone was
thinking, what they were really like, and I believed that I was so much deeper
than them, so much more intelligent, so superior. I think now that the
opposite must be true, that they could see exactly what I was thinking, they
could see my arrogance, and I had no idea what was going on inside their head.
Im thinking of calling this book Dream World. Their are 2 reasons for
this. The first is that maybe the world is a dream Ive already explained
how this could be possible. The second reason is that Ive been living in a
dream world up until the last few days. Every entry in this book except for
this one and the last one were made while I was living under these false
assumptions. Anyway, those are my reasons, which maybe I shouldnt have
written down it kind of takes the meaning out of the words when you explain
them..., but Im still not sure, so Ill ponder the question some more.
Oh yeah, I think Ill clear up some stuff Ive written earlier. First, the
stuff earlier in this book is what I thought when I wrote it, so I think it
is still important its just that I want to make sure that the reader knows
that Ive changed my mind on a lot of it, so here goes.
First, about Audrey. I think I understand how she feels. I think Ive spent
the whole summer feeling like she always feels. Now I feel sure that there is
no reason for me to feel this way, and no reason for her to feel this way. I
have already stated the most important theme of what Im trying to say, but
Ill state it again. You wont enjoy life if you dont try to enjoy life.
You wont make friends unless you try to make friends. You must have
self-esteem. I guess it is something that I have been rather low on this
summer, and maybe Audreys been low on it her whole life, but whom can either
of us blame for it but ourselves. The other thing about Audrey is that of
course Id mourn her death if she died, and I hope to hell that she doesnt
do anything stupid like that.
Now, what else is there in this book that I violently disagree with? Oh
yeah. The two poems I wrote - the one to Conny and the one to Teresa - are
shit. Maybe the poems are OK, I honestly dont know, but I now disagree with
their meaning. They say Pity me. Im so pathetic, but, of course, whos
fault is that? Certainly not theirs.
I also disagree with my previous opinions of this book. I dont know if it
classifies as art or not, maybe anything you choose to call art is art, but
I definitely know that this book is nothing special. I said before that maybe
this book could win a nobel prize, maybe it could be my doctorate thesis.
Well, now Im 100 sure that that is crap. I still think that this is one of
my best pieces of writing, maybe even my best, but that is all.
I guess I should mention that my views on solipsism remain unchanged.
Hmm... now the interesting question. I had previously written that art is not
meant for an audience, and only its creator can truly understand it. I think
there is still a certain amount of truth behind these statements. Ill have
to think about it some more, though. I do, however, disagree with what I said
about people like Van Gogh and Shakespeare not being artists because they were
recognized. I think they were definitely very good artists, and that their work
really does have meaning. Still, though, I wonder if the very best artists were
Oh yeah. I also highly doubt that I will fake my death. It is still a very
lucrative idea, but I doubt I will actually do it. I also doubt I will destroy
this book, and probably I will submit it to mist. Maybe I am a sellout for that,
but I dont know maybe people can learn something from it or something...
I now have under 1 week remaining in Europe. It is a bit ironic that the
whole time I was here, I wanted to be able to redo Connys stay in Canada,
and fix everything that I did wrong which was everything, and now when I
look back at the past seven weeks yes, I still have a bit of time I find
myself wishing I could redo them too. Youd think Id have learned the first
time around. How do I do this? What makes me so good at blowing every chance
I get? I guess this is a good example of the saying, Those who do not learn
from the past are doomed to repeat it, or whatever it was. Well, I think
Ive learned this time but I really cant say that for sure. I think the
best way to describe what I do is I just let things slip through my fingers.
I just procrastinate, or I think, Oh, it doesnt really matter, and slowly,
I start to lose touch with people, or whatever. I guess Im just too lazy.
Ive been thinking about all my bad qualities lately. I know I shouldnt
really think about these things if I want to keep a positive attitude, make
friends, etc... but oh well, Heres a quick list.
- Lazy
- Procrastinator
- Poor listener
- egotistic egocentric?
- arrogant
- overconfident
- immature
- irresponsible
I wonder if superficial belongs on the list. A week ago that would have been
the last thing Id call myself, but now Im not so sure. A bit of
explanation... It used to be that I thought most other people were superficial.
I thought I could understand them. I thought they werent nearly so deep as I.
But then, to find out that just one person was much, much more deep than I had
thought, and probably much more deep than myself, puts everything in doubt.
Was it not superficial of me to assume I could understand a person by the way
they looked, what they said, and how they acted? I think it probably was.
Maybe, though, Im not quite so superficial now.
I wonder why I made that list above. I think it was something I had to do,
to show that I recognize my own faults. Still, it seems almost a superficial
thing to do, writing them down, as if Im saying, look at me! Im so great!
I recognize my own faults! Also, I wonder how much I believe them. Hmm...
this part gets confusing... It seems to me that believing something and
knowing something are 2 different things. Zum beispiel: someone can believe
in God, but they do not know God exists. However, I think the opposite is
equally possible I know I am not perfect, but I believe myself to be perfect.
Im not sure if that last sentence was just an example or not. Maybe I should
just say that I know I am not perfect. Im not sure what to believe. I think
the difference between the two is that people believe what they want to
believe, but what they know is a definite fact, whether they want it to be
true or not. I think usually the two are interchangeable. For instance:
Probably, if you believe in God, you also know God to exist. I hope my mind
is not so deluded as the one that subscribes to the last statement... Oh, I
thought of another good example I believe I have learned something from all
the screw-ups this summer, but I do not know that for sure. Maybe something
similar to this will happen in the future, and Ill screw up just the same.
I suppose what you believe is more important that what you know, as you can
never know anything for sure. Everything you learn is based on a set of
assumptions that can never be proven true or false. I think probably the
only thing you know for certain is your own existence, but that means very
little, as you do not know what you are.
I have also been thinking about everything I wrote after The Big Change.
Ill call it that for lack of a better name. The big change is what occurred
last Tuesday night, and all the entries in this book after the double break
were written after the big change. I still have doubts in my mind as to
what I believe. Hmm, before I go on, I have 2 awesome examples...
Example 1: Pippen, the Stephen Schwarz musical. Mist members be damned, I
wont summarize it. Go buy the soundtrack. Anyway, I think it is a pretty
good example of how Im currently thinking.
Example 2: The Last Temptation of Christ, the Martin Scorsese film. If you
havent seen it, rent it. This is a good example of the doubts that are
lingering in my mind.
Okay, where to start? I think it is safe to say that pre-BC big change I
had pretty much come up with the philosophy that I was much different than your
everyday person. I thought I was much deeper, much more intelligent, basically
superior. Yes, it was arrogant, but it was what I believed. I could also see a
rationale word? behind my actions that made sense according to my philosophy.
And then, came The Big Change doom-doom timpani noise. In short, a friend of
Connys told me a lot about how to live. Now, my attitude is that my previous
actions were irrational and stupid, and I should try to enjoy myself. This is
much different from my pre-BC attitude, which was to try not to enjoy myself.
Okay, now for the lingering doubts. What if I was right the first time? What
if I really am Extraordinary? I think there is no chance of this, but I think
I know why I have these doubts, so Ill explain...
The Explanation of the Doubts: Okay. First, remember what I said about
believing something and knowing something. Im not sure which the more
important is, but I believe that it is believing maybe, though, I know that
it is knowing... a bad joke, but possibly true. Anyway, Pre-BC, I believed
that I was so great. Im not sure how to explain this, but in a way, if you
believe you are something, then you really are that thing. Now, Post-BC, I
believe myself to be not nearly so great so therefore, I am not nearly so
great. Like I said, its hard to explain... Now, doesnt it seem like its
better to be Extraordinary that Common? True, maybe people will hate you
because you think youre so great, but so what? Theyre stupid. They dont
understand you. They dont matter. Its strange Reading it now it seems
unthinkable, but it is what I believed. Anyway, I have gone from
Extraordinary to Common and it feels like I have lost something. And the
hardest part is that I can never know for sure maybe I have.
Today I have composed yet another poem.
I never know
What to do,
or what to say
So if you want me
to go away,
I will
But if you want to talk,
Ill listen
And if you want to listen,
Ill talk
And if you need anything,
Im here.
Hmm... The last line is a bit cheesy. Oh well, its done. Yes, it too is
Its funny, I consider some of the poems in this book to be better than
anything else I have ever written About a Martyr is hard to beat, mind
you. I also consider some of them to be crap, upon reflection, but thats
not the point. The point is that all these poems are the conversations in my
head, put onto paper. Is that good? Im not sure if Ive learned something
about writing poetry this summer, or forgotten something. It seems to me that
probably the former is true, though, since there isnt a whole lot I could
So much running through my mind and yet, so little to write. My thoughts are
too confused, too unsure to put to paper. I even feel that maybe I should not
be writing this entry right now, but I have less than 48 hours remaining in
Deutschland, and I havent written in a few days, and I have nothing better to
do, so Ill attempt to describe what Ive been thinking about.
I now understand the situation with Conny, I think. Maybe I have stated
before that the only thing that matters here in Germany to me is that I
become friends with Conny. I have certainly told her that often enough.
Anyway, I think I understand why. The way I treated her in Canada was
unexcusable that much is certain. I know that the only way I can forgive
myself for what Ive done is if she can forgive me. Yes, I have apologized
and she has said it is okay, or whatever, but she has not forgiven me. Only
if we became friends would it mean that she has looked past what has already
happened, and that I am truly forgiven. And so, I am in conflict with myself,
with Conny as the arbiter. The thing that aggravates me the most right now is
that I feel it is possible that she forgives me, and that we become friends,
and that I forgive myself however, I have run out of time. I leave tomorrow,
without achieving closure.
That is not the only thing on my mind. I have also been wondering whether I
love Conny. It is a question about which I am very, very unsure of the answer.
And still I say yes.
I think I just figured out what to put in her yearbook that was another thing
ive been thinking about... Yes, of course its a poem.
i can never forgive
for what i have done
to you
i leave here today
for you have stolen
my soul.
i love you.
P.S. sorry it doesnt rhyme.
I dont know why im so intent on putting that P.S. in, but oh well... I also
dont know why I chose the word soul over heart, but it seems like the
right word for some reason... I think this one is a much better choice than
my previous one, though its still possible I decide to write something else.
I wonder if not naming my poems is something that will become a regular thing.
I think over half the poems in this book are nameless. Well, I suppose it
really doesnt matter...
I have decided that I am a very vain person add it to the list a few pages
back. I am still trying to decide exactly what that means. I care about my
personal appearance and yes, I still think that your personal appearance is
a good indication of what you are like, but I think it would be better in a
way if I didnt care about my personal appearance. Hmm... having difficulty
explaining... Yes, I think most people care about their personal appearance
to some extent, and I dont think I care excessively about it, so I have some
comfort there but heres what Im not sure about: What does it mean when
someone doesnt care about how he looks? I can think of 2 answers to this
either he is a slob who is too lazy to bother with making sure his clothes
match, his hair is good, whatever or he realizes that you cant judge a
person by his appearance, and that it really doesnt matter what he looks
like or both. Yes, I definitely wish I didnt care about my physical
appearance. Maybe this is another example of the difference between knowing
and believing if I know I shouldnt judge people by their looks, then why do
I do it anyways? Maybe its partly instinctive sort of a survival of the
fittest type of thing, at least as far as it goes for how I look at girls
Does that sentence make any sense at all, grammatically or ideologically?.
Anyway, I think our society and culture is more to blame for this
Heres a philosophical I think question: If youve lost something but you
dont know it, have you lost anything at all?
There are 2 more related Questions:
1. If you havent lost something, but you think you have, then have you lost
it or not?
2. If youve gained something but you dont know it, have you gained anything
at all?
I think the last question is the most important. Keep in mind that Im not
really talking about tangible things in these questions, more like
opportunities, insights Yes, I know, cheezy words... or whatever.
My answer to the original question would be that no, you havent lost anything,
and my answers to the others would correspond appropriately.
It is 14 hours until I leave. I think my stay here has been a contrast of
extremes I loved it, and I hated it I cant wait to go home, and I never
want to leave. I think often of the regrets I have, not just of how things
have gone with Conny, but other things as well. People say that what is done
is done, and you have to move on, but I wonder how that is possible. How can
I forget the terrible things Ive done the mistakes Ive made? Why should I
say, Ive treated you like shit, but that was all in the past, and I want to
enjoy myself, so all the suffering I put you through counts for nothing?
Its interesting that if given a choice I would choose the destruction of the
human race over my own death, and yet I feel compelled to live in misery
because of the way I have treated one person.
Everything has its season,
Everything has its time
Give me a reason,
and Ill soon show you rhyme.
-Stephen Schwarz
Corner of the Sky from Pippen
I think maybe guilt is what destroys people. They accept it so willingly,
too Yes, I deserve to feel like shit it isnt nearly compensation for what
Ive done. And then they start to lose their focus, their rationality they
no longer know why they get the way they do, or what the right decision is.
Soon, they no longer know what they believe.
Maybe you are supposed to forget the past. Maybe you have done something
terrible to someone, but maybe you are a different person now. Is it right
to hold something you did against yourself, when you know you are not the
same, and would never do it again? I think my problem here is that I do not
know for sure that I have changed. Yes, I think waht I said before was right
when Conny forgives me, I can forgive myself. It is unfortunate that the
chance of that happening has almost reached 0. Of course, maybe that was my
chance from the beginning.
I think that might be the one thing that has bothered me maybe she didnt
give me a chance, maybe there was absolutely nothing I could do. I dont
really believe that to be true, but I can never know for sure. The ironic
thing is that it is I who never gave myself a chance I made that choice when
Conny arrived in Canada, by not giving her a chance, and for no reason.
I said before that I will leave without achieving closure. I think that is
what bothers me more than anything else. We have not come to any
understanding things are in many ways the same as when I arrived here. The
worst part is that I have tried, and failed. There really is nothing I can do.
I had for a long time decided that this would be my last entry in this book.
Right now, it is Saturday, September 1, and I am on the plane to Vancouver.
One thing I thought would happen was that this book would come to a natural
close. I now know that this will not be the case.
And so, what to write?